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Displaying 6271 - 6300 of 50826 results
Sarra Eidlin
![](/themes/custom/centro/flags/ru.svg)
In 1928 I entered the Jewish Industrial Special School, but lessons were in Yiddish, so I wasn't able to study there. My mother tongue is Russian. I also know Ukrainian perfectly, I learnt German, but I don't speak it freely. I wasn't able to study at the Jewish school because I didn't understand many terms.
,
1928
See text in interview
I remember, when I was a pioneer, there was a Zionist organization in Kherson.
Our neighbor lived across the street. We were taken there for a meeting and were lectured - I don't remember about what. I attended this meeting maybe twice. They were children of approximately YCL members' age, and I was younger. There were Zionists in Kherson but I didn't participate in their activities.
Our neighbor lived across the street. We were taken there for a meeting and were lectured - I don't remember about what. I attended this meeting maybe twice. They were children of approximately YCL members' age, and I was younger. There were Zionists in Kherson but I didn't participate in their activities.
He worked in administration and wasn't able to get evacuated when the war broke out. Their neighbor wrote to me later; her signature was crossed out, I think, by the military censorship: the signature and last line were snipped off. She wrote that 9,000 Jews and 6,000 Russians had perished. It wasn't possible to leave Kherson: the railroad was cut off and the ships weren't able to carry everyone, so father remained there. All citizens were taken out of the city, a ditch was dug out and people were executed. They all perished. My father perished too. It happened at the end of 1943 or the beginning of 1944.
I studied at the road construction school between 1929 and 1931. After finishing the school I was assigned to work as a foreman at the Jewish Kalinindorf district. A position of a foreman is much lower than a technician, who supervises the works. I worked at the administration of the executive committee and supervised the construction of bridge roads. In 1932 a party central committee resolution was introduced for all officials in charge to move to agricultural districts. I was authorized by the YCL and worked in a kolkhoz [17].
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
Working at the plant, I simultaneously studied at the workers' faculty of the Odessa Water Resources Institute. This faculty assisted those who had no education to enter a higher school. We studied in the evening after work. Jewish traditions were out of the question - I was a YCL member, and religion was alien to YCL members.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
In fall 1933 I was assigned to work at the machine-tractor station [MTS] according to the mobilization program of the YCL obkom [regional committee]. The Komsomol [19] members were summoned and informed about the necessity to participate in works for a year. I had this stepmother, Anna Lazarevna, so I left without demur. Total collectivization [20] was carried out and the kolkhozes were to be strengthened. I visited various villages, conducted seminars and taught people how to arrange Komsomol meetings. I was always an active member. I was also sent as an authorized member for sowing grain crops.
,
1933
See text in interview
At the beginning of 1935 I moved to the town of Gayvoron in Odessa region. From then on I worked for the district newspaper, Put Communy. Later its name was changed. At first I supervised the mass department in the editorial office: wrote articles, taught new employees, rural reporters and conducted meetings. Reporters went to kolkhozes and brought me material for publication. Later I became the executive secretary for the newspaper.
In 1939 I became deputy editor-in-chief and in 1940 I was approved editor-in- chief for the same newspaper. I worked there until 1969, and then retired. There was no Jewish employee with the newspaper except for me. Everyone knew I was a Jewess, but I didn't feel any anti-Semitism at that time.
In 1939 I became deputy editor-in-chief and in 1940 I was approved editor-in- chief for the same newspaper. I worked there until 1969, and then retired. There was no Jewish employee with the newspaper except for me. Everyone knew I was a Jewess, but I didn't feel any anti-Semitism at that time.
My younger brother Mordekhai finished several grades in a Ukrainian school and worked in Kherson as a car and tractor re-fueller. When I started to work I took both my brothers to live with me in Gayvoron. Mordekhai worked at a machine-tractor station as a mechanic. He moved to Nikolayev in 1939 according to mobilization. He worked as a mechanic at the Andre Marti ship- building plant. [Andre Marti: leader of the French sailors' rebellion at the Black Sea; Secretary of the Comintern Executive Committee.]
Later the plant was renamed. Andre Marti seemed not to satisfy communists anymore. He worked as a foreman and had a reservation, which kept him away from the army, in spite of his call-up age. The country needed him at the home front. However, in 1940 he voluntarily joined the army and served in Roven region and in western Ukraine. In 1941 when the war broke out, they were bombed on the first day. The first and last message about him was that he was in Kiev in 1941. Mordekhai perished at the front.
Later the plant was renamed. Andre Marti seemed not to satisfy communists anymore. He worked as a foreman and had a reservation, which kept him away from the army, in spite of his call-up age. The country needed him at the home front. However, in 1940 he voluntarily joined the army and served in Roven region and in western Ukraine. In 1941 when the war broke out, they were bombed on the first day. The first and last message about him was that he was in Kiev in 1941. Mordekhai perished at the front.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
Pavel Sendrei
![](/themes/custom/centro/flags/rs.svg)
Immediately after liberation, I was employed at the repatriation
office in Bratislava. The Jewish community in Bratislava had started its
work, and I was informed that the repatriation office needed employees.
Thanks to the fact that I speak several languages, Hungarian, German,
Slovakian and Czech, I was engaged in April 1945. The office belonged to
the Czech Office of Internal Affairs. I met my wife, Judita Bruck, and her
family while I was working in Bratislava. They went from the Strashov camp
to a work camp in Austria, where they were held until the war ended. They
went to Bratislava on foot and in a wagon and they ended up in the
repatriation office where I worked.
I liked Judita immediately, and because she was hungry most of the
time, whenever I could I took her to restaurants, sometimes three times a
day. Wishing to do something in return, Judita's father Matija invited me
to visit the family in Subotica (Yugoslavia). When I could, I accepted his
invitation and visited them in 1946. The love between Judita and me was
mutual, and we agreed to get married. We married in May l947 and went to
Czechoslovakia. On April 24, l949 Sonja, our daughter, was born.
After the war I worked for a short period in a drugstore, but when it
was nationalized I got work as a photoreporter in Czech TANJUG. I worked
there until the "Slansky trial." In Czechoslovakia antisemitism was
reestablished, and because of that I and another seventy Jews were expelled
from our jobs. In 1950 I was a member of the three-member presidency of the
Jewish community of Zilina. In 1956 the Jewish community received an
invitation to a reception with the Israeli ambassador in Prague. I went
with my wife Judita. We were the only members of the entire Jewish
community in Czechoslovakia who accepted the invitation, the rest were too
scared of the communists to go.
At the reception I met the secretary of the embassy who made aliyah
from Czechoslovakia in 1938 and whom I knew from our days back in Makabi.
He told us that the JOINT was helping as much as it could old Jews who had
survived the Holocaust, but that it was not something that was going
through the Jewish community rather through individuals who were willing to
help. Judita and I accepted this work and we worked until the end of March
1959 when we were arrested by the Czech government for allegedly "spying."
Later, we were accused of undermining the Republic of Czechoslovakia
because the JOINT were sending the money anonymously to survivors of the
Holocaust. Judita was imprisoned from March 29, 1957 to November 29, 1957
and I was incarcerated from March 29, 1957 until March 29, 1959.
After fulfilling my sentence, I could not find work and life was very
hard. Finally, we packed our things took our daughter, Sonja, and in
October 1962 we moved to Subotica, Yugoslavia where we live today.
In Subotica I was employed in the "Slavica" cosmetic factory where I
worked for a year. After that I was employed at the "Sever" electro-motor
factory as an export representative. I worked there for ten years. From
1974-1984 I worked as the head of international transport in "Dinamo
trans." I retired in 1984 with 43 years and 12 days of work experience. All
during this time I was very active in the Jewish community. From 1992-1993
I was secretary of the community. And now, my wife, Judita, and I enjoy
going to the community to celebrate the holidays and to participate in
cultural events.
office in Bratislava. The Jewish community in Bratislava had started its
work, and I was informed that the repatriation office needed employees.
Thanks to the fact that I speak several languages, Hungarian, German,
Slovakian and Czech, I was engaged in April 1945. The office belonged to
the Czech Office of Internal Affairs. I met my wife, Judita Bruck, and her
family while I was working in Bratislava. They went from the Strashov camp
to a work camp in Austria, where they were held until the war ended. They
went to Bratislava on foot and in a wagon and they ended up in the
repatriation office where I worked.
I liked Judita immediately, and because she was hungry most of the
time, whenever I could I took her to restaurants, sometimes three times a
day. Wishing to do something in return, Judita's father Matija invited me
to visit the family in Subotica (Yugoslavia). When I could, I accepted his
invitation and visited them in 1946. The love between Judita and me was
mutual, and we agreed to get married. We married in May l947 and went to
Czechoslovakia. On April 24, l949 Sonja, our daughter, was born.
After the war I worked for a short period in a drugstore, but when it
was nationalized I got work as a photoreporter in Czech TANJUG. I worked
there until the "Slansky trial." In Czechoslovakia antisemitism was
reestablished, and because of that I and another seventy Jews were expelled
from our jobs. In 1950 I was a member of the three-member presidency of the
Jewish community of Zilina. In 1956 the Jewish community received an
invitation to a reception with the Israeli ambassador in Prague. I went
with my wife Judita. We were the only members of the entire Jewish
community in Czechoslovakia who accepted the invitation, the rest were too
scared of the communists to go.
At the reception I met the secretary of the embassy who made aliyah
from Czechoslovakia in 1938 and whom I knew from our days back in Makabi.
He told us that the JOINT was helping as much as it could old Jews who had
survived the Holocaust, but that it was not something that was going
through the Jewish community rather through individuals who were willing to
help. Judita and I accepted this work and we worked until the end of March
1959 when we were arrested by the Czech government for allegedly "spying."
Later, we were accused of undermining the Republic of Czechoslovakia
because the JOINT were sending the money anonymously to survivors of the
Holocaust. Judita was imprisoned from March 29, 1957 to November 29, 1957
and I was incarcerated from March 29, 1957 until March 29, 1959.
After fulfilling my sentence, I could not find work and life was very
hard. Finally, we packed our things took our daughter, Sonja, and in
October 1962 we moved to Subotica, Yugoslavia where we live today.
In Subotica I was employed in the "Slavica" cosmetic factory where I
worked for a year. After that I was employed at the "Sever" electro-motor
factory as an export representative. I worked there for ten years. From
1974-1984 I worked as the head of international transport in "Dinamo
trans." I retired in 1984 with 43 years and 12 days of work experience. All
during this time I was very active in the Jewish community. From 1992-1993
I was secretary of the community. And now, my wife, Judita, and I enjoy
going to the community to celebrate the holidays and to participate in
cultural events.
Serbia
I remember that in school every week we had lessons with Rabbi Dr.
Fridman. He taught Hebrew language and the history of the Jewish people.
After graduation I worked in the drugstore until its "aryanization." Then I
got fired, and like many Jewish children, I attended an agricultural course
in the Jewish community. The course took place on rented agricultural
property. We cultivated the land ourselves, and sold everything that grew,
and that is how we survived. This lasted about a year. On that farm, we
worked for a living, but it wasn't in preparation for aliyah to Israel,
only for survival.
During that time my father, Aleksandar Sendrei, as a former member of
the social democratic party was imprisoned. My father wasn't an active
member of that party. He had a very good friend, who was a secretary in the
social democratic party and he persuaded my father not to register for the
party. So, my father was more like a passive member. From prison he was
taken to a concentration camp where he remained until the Slovakian
uprising in 1944, when he was liberated. After that he joined the
partisans, but quickly in one of the actions he fell into the hands of the
Germans and was deported to Bergen Belsen where he died on March 15, 1945
of typhus.
I was taken into forced labor until September 20, 1944. Then I saw
Jews being taken to the train station for deportation, and I decided to go
into hiding. My mother refused to go with me because she wanted to live in
her apartment and wait for father to come home. However, in October 1944
she was taken to Auschwitz and from there she was taken to a factory where
they made parts for airplanes in Sakis-bat-kudove, and from where she was
liberated on May 8, 1945.
Fridman. He taught Hebrew language and the history of the Jewish people.
After graduation I worked in the drugstore until its "aryanization." Then I
got fired, and like many Jewish children, I attended an agricultural course
in the Jewish community. The course took place on rented agricultural
property. We cultivated the land ourselves, and sold everything that grew,
and that is how we survived. This lasted about a year. On that farm, we
worked for a living, but it wasn't in preparation for aliyah to Israel,
only for survival.
During that time my father, Aleksandar Sendrei, as a former member of
the social democratic party was imprisoned. My father wasn't an active
member of that party. He had a very good friend, who was a secretary in the
social democratic party and he persuaded my father not to register for the
party. So, my father was more like a passive member. From prison he was
taken to a concentration camp where he remained until the Slovakian
uprising in 1944, when he was liberated. After that he joined the
partisans, but quickly in one of the actions he fell into the hands of the
Germans and was deported to Bergen Belsen where he died on March 15, 1945
of typhus.
I was taken into forced labor until September 20, 1944. Then I saw
Jews being taken to the train station for deportation, and I decided to go
into hiding. My mother refused to go with me because she wanted to live in
her apartment and wait for father to come home. However, in October 1944
she was taken to Auschwitz and from there she was taken to a factory where
they made parts for airplanes in Sakis-bat-kudove, and from where she was
liberated on May 8, 1945.
Serbia
I socialized exclusively with Jewish children. In my class in school
there were about 40 children, 11 of which were Jews. I was happy that there
were no arguments in my class between the Jewish pupils and the others. We
spent seven years together and were good friends all that time. My best
friend, Kornil Verthajn, and I sat on the same bench. We went together to
the Makabi Hazair. Kornil was deported together with his parents and
returned, but his parents did not survive the Holocaust. After the war I
helped him make aliyah from Czechoslovakia through Yugoslavia.
there were about 40 children, 11 of which were Jews. I was happy that there
were no arguments in my class between the Jewish pupils and the others. We
spent seven years together and were good friends all that time. My best
friend, Kornil Verthajn, and I sat on the same bench. We went together to
the Makabi Hazair. Kornil was deported together with his parents and
returned, but his parents did not survive the Holocaust. After the war I
helped him make aliyah from Czechoslovakia through Yugoslavia.
Serbia
Zilina had about 25,000 residents of which about 6,000 were Jews. One
of the deputy mayors was a Jew. During the war Zilina was a big camp. It
was a gathering camp where people were put into wagons and transported to
other camps.
My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, spent all day in his drugstore. He was
a big fan of football. He was a member of the ESKA ZILINA football club and
one of its big donors. This football club was once one of the leaders in
Slovakia. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei, was a classical housewife. She made
really tasty meals, but her cuisine was not kosher.
I do not remember either my maternal or paternal grandfathers, as they
died when I was quite small. I met my grandmothers, but I do not remember
them too clearly because they had both died around 1930.
My family gathered around my grandmother's sister Hermina Glazel. She
was a housewife, very communicative and always willing to make the best
reception for her guests. She was in fact the head of our family. She had
two married daughters in Zilina. Hermina had a big house with a huge garden
in which there were all kinds of fruits. All of our relatives would gather
here during the summers. We loved gathering in her garden in the summer
time. In the shade of the trees we used to drink cold drinks and talk about
everything. Those were moments of real relaxation.
of the deputy mayors was a Jew. During the war Zilina was a big camp. It
was a gathering camp where people were put into wagons and transported to
other camps.
My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, spent all day in his drugstore. He was
a big fan of football. He was a member of the ESKA ZILINA football club and
one of its big donors. This football club was once one of the leaders in
Slovakia. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei, was a classical housewife. She made
really tasty meals, but her cuisine was not kosher.
I do not remember either my maternal or paternal grandfathers, as they
died when I was quite small. I met my grandmothers, but I do not remember
them too clearly because they had both died around 1930.
My family gathered around my grandmother's sister Hermina Glazel. She
was a housewife, very communicative and always willing to make the best
reception for her guests. She was in fact the head of our family. She had
two married daughters in Zilina. Hermina had a big house with a huge garden
in which there were all kinds of fruits. All of our relatives would gather
here during the summers. We loved gathering in her garden in the summer
time. In the shade of the trees we used to drink cold drinks and talk about
everything. Those were moments of real relaxation.
Serbia
My name is Pavel Sendrei. I was born on August 18, 1922 in Zilina
(Czechoslovakia). My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, was born on August 28,
1888 in Krivosud Bodovska, Slovakia. He was killed on March 15, 1945 in the
concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei (maiden
name - Holzmann) was born on October 31, 1893 in Stari Bistira, and she
died on December 2, 1981 in Subotica.
I grew up in a middle class Neolog Jewish family. We did not go to
synagogue everyday, but we observed the big holidays. We lived in a rented
apartment. Hungarian was my mother tongue, because my father had finished
his studies at the university in Budapest and my mother went to a Hungarian
school during the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I had a governess
who taught me German. I only began to learn Slovakian when I started the
first grade of primary school. After elementary school I enrolled in a
secondary school. I didn't have any problems with Slovakian. I graduated on
May 25, 1939.
As a young boy I was a member of the Makabi where we practiced
gymnastics and athletics and which was part of the Zionist society Makabi
Hazair. The members of this organization went on picnics, and camping trips
where we were taught dances, songs, Hebrew language and history. In 1937 I
participated in the Makabiada in Zilina and every year I went to the Makabi
Hazair camp. After 1940 this was interrupted because of the German
occupation of Slovakia.
(Czechoslovakia). My father, Aleksandar Sendrei, was born on August 28,
1888 in Krivosud Bodovska, Slovakia. He was killed on March 15, 1945 in the
concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen. My mother, Adolfina Sendrei (maiden
name - Holzmann) was born on October 31, 1893 in Stari Bistira, and she
died on December 2, 1981 in Subotica.
I grew up in a middle class Neolog Jewish family. We did not go to
synagogue everyday, but we observed the big holidays. We lived in a rented
apartment. Hungarian was my mother tongue, because my father had finished
his studies at the university in Budapest and my mother went to a Hungarian
school during the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I had a governess
who taught me German. I only began to learn Slovakian when I started the
first grade of primary school. After elementary school I enrolled in a
secondary school. I didn't have any problems with Slovakian. I graduated on
May 25, 1939.
As a young boy I was a member of the Makabi where we practiced
gymnastics and athletics and which was part of the Zionist society Makabi
Hazair. The members of this organization went on picnics, and camping trips
where we were taught dances, songs, Hebrew language and history. In 1937 I
participated in the Makabiada in Zilina and every year I went to the Makabi
Hazair camp. After 1940 this was interrupted because of the German
occupation of Slovakia.
Serbia
Renée Molho
![](/themes/custom/centro/flags/gr.svg)
Our house was a small one on the other side of the yard. It had two rooms and a living room: a living room as you entered, two bedrooms and a kitchen, of course. It was heated by wood stoves but not in every room - one in the living room and one in the kitchen; the bedrooms were cold. One bedroom was for our parents and the other one for us, the three girls. Matilde had a bed of her own but Eda and I used to sleep together in the same bed.
Eda was younger than me and she was a joyful person. She was no pessimist, I was more of a pessimist, and I have always been. I always was much more reserved. Eda was exuberant, like my mother, happy, and she danced, she danced that Russian dance sitting down, kalinka, I think they call it, she danced a lot and she liked it.
In the house we had running water. We had running water, but in the yard was a hand-operated water pump. We used it to water the plants. The funny thing is that we also had a bath tub although this wasn't a common thing at the time. We had some kind of a boiler that operated with gas. It had a small base with seven beaks, you would open it, put a lit match to all the beaks and with the fire have hot water. It was a round thing, approximately 20cm, and when the fuel was finished you would open it up and put some more. We also had electricity.
In this garden we didn't grow anything edible, vegetables or so, just flowers and green plants. In this garden, all of us children gathered to play; five of Uncle Sinto and us three, but I used to sit on the fence and watch what they were doing because they were wild.
We didn't have any animals. In this yard we played and every night Uncle Sabetai gathered us and made us sing 'be, a, ba, be, a, be, ba, bo.' He would say the letters and we would sing like stupid 'l, le, l, la,' and then he would response with a cry of admiration 'Aaa,' or a cry of exclamation, 'Ooo.' He kept us busy; he gave us money and then took it back.
When we lived in this yard, my grandfather used to sit on a low parapet in front of the house and watched his grandchildren playing. There was a pomegranate tree that was very small, with two flowers, and he was waiting for them to turn into fruit, and one day he saw that one of the flowers was fading and fading. Eda had cut the flower and then when she realized what she had done she took a needle and pinched it back on. When my grandfather saw what had happened he was moved by her thought and didn't punish her.
Eda was younger than me and she was a joyful person. She was no pessimist, I was more of a pessimist, and I have always been. I always was much more reserved. Eda was exuberant, like my mother, happy, and she danced, she danced that Russian dance sitting down, kalinka, I think they call it, she danced a lot and she liked it.
In the house we had running water. We had running water, but in the yard was a hand-operated water pump. We used it to water the plants. The funny thing is that we also had a bath tub although this wasn't a common thing at the time. We had some kind of a boiler that operated with gas. It had a small base with seven beaks, you would open it, put a lit match to all the beaks and with the fire have hot water. It was a round thing, approximately 20cm, and when the fuel was finished you would open it up and put some more. We also had electricity.
In this garden we didn't grow anything edible, vegetables or so, just flowers and green plants. In this garden, all of us children gathered to play; five of Uncle Sinto and us three, but I used to sit on the fence and watch what they were doing because they were wild.
We didn't have any animals. In this yard we played and every night Uncle Sabetai gathered us and made us sing 'be, a, ba, be, a, be, ba, bo.' He would say the letters and we would sing like stupid 'l, le, l, la,' and then he would response with a cry of admiration 'Aaa,' or a cry of exclamation, 'Ooo.' He kept us busy; he gave us money and then took it back.
When we lived in this yard, my grandfather used to sit on a low parapet in front of the house and watched his grandchildren playing. There was a pomegranate tree that was very small, with two flowers, and he was waiting for them to turn into fruit, and one day he saw that one of the flowers was fading and fading. Eda had cut the flower and then when she realized what she had done she took a needle and pinched it back on. When my grandfather saw what had happened he was moved by her thought and didn't punish her.
,
Before WW2
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When I was a child, we lived in a house that had a big yard. In this yard was a big two-story house where my uncle Sinto lived with his family, on the first floor, and on the ground floor my grandmother and my grandfather with Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai, who were not married yet.
,
Before WW2
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I know that my parents' marriage was arranged by a match-maker. How did match-making work? Well, somebody who knew the families and knew that this family had a daughter, let's say 20 years old, could suit that family that had that and that boy, and they tried to put them in contact. The parents, of course, not the children. That was well before the age they get married now, at 18, 19, 20; if a girl was not married my 29, she was an old maid.
Marriages were combined. They knew the family; they were brokers, marriage brokers. He/she knew your family and he said, 'ah, he has a son, he has a daughter let's try to get them together .They went and they bargained: 'Yes, I will give you my daughter but how much does he want for a dowry? Dowry that much, and house furnishing that much, and clothing that much.'
Sometimes, during the first years, they lived with the wife's family, they said the groom will stay with the family and then he will make his own home. My parents didn't live with their parents because when they married my mother had no father and Grandmother lived with her boys who weren't married yet.
Marriage depended on what hands you were going to be in, what kind of person your spouse would be. It was rare then to have marriages based on love. I don't know any.
At this time there were not many mixed marriages, very very few. In our family the sisters of Aunt Mitsa, Ida Margariti, and Silva intermarried and all their children are Christians. I don't know what the opinion of the rest of the family was because when it happened I was a little girl.
Marriages were combined. They knew the family; they were brokers, marriage brokers. He/she knew your family and he said, 'ah, he has a son, he has a daughter let's try to get them together .They went and they bargained: 'Yes, I will give you my daughter but how much does he want for a dowry? Dowry that much, and house furnishing that much, and clothing that much.'
Sometimes, during the first years, they lived with the wife's family, they said the groom will stay with the family and then he will make his own home. My parents didn't live with their parents because when they married my mother had no father and Grandmother lived with her boys who weren't married yet.
Marriage depended on what hands you were going to be in, what kind of person your spouse would be. It was rare then to have marriages based on love. I don't know any.
At this time there were not many mixed marriages, very very few. In our family the sisters of Aunt Mitsa, Ida Margariti, and Silva intermarried and all their children are Christians. I don't know what the opinion of the rest of the family was because when it happened I was a little girl.
,
Before WW2
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My father was a construction wood seller. He imported wood from Romania. I remember him coming back from a trip, and he wore high boots and a coat with fur inside and had a fur hat. When he came back he seemed to me, as I was a little girl, as big as the door, at least, this picture is still with me, my father big, tall, strong, and beautiful.
,
Before WW2
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My father wasn't very courageous and even if he had political preferences he would never express them publicly. He wasn't that kind of a man. But he was very wise. Let's say that two people had an argument, they would go to him to make the compromise because he was very just, correct and wise. They all trusted his sincerity and his logic. Middle man, intermediator, compromiser may be the correct word. He would ask: What are your differences with him? And yours? Why don't you do this or that and he tried to make them see sense and find an acceptable answer to whatever their problem was.
At home we didn't discuss things, current events, actuality, politics, rumors or anything. He wasn't the kind to have long conversations. He didn't talk a lot, he wasn't funny.. He wasn't communicative, nor expansive. I never remember him laughing out loud; he was always a little distant, even when he was with his friends, distant! You couldn't reach him easily but I was number one to his love.
He was not making favors to anybody but with me he would shake hands! He would never shake hands with anybody. If he had to, and couldn't avoid it, he would rush back home to wash his hands and clean them with alcohol. He was so afraid of microbes and contamination and in the end he died of cancer.
How was he? He was very strict, very strict and very just. He wanted to be just and this locked him into himself. He never showed any affection, hardly to anyone; to his wife I don't know. He was an introvert.
He didn't go to the army. At that time the army was Turkish. It was in 1912 that Thessaloniki became Greek and during the Turkish period paying a certain amount of money would assure that they didn't go to the army.
At home we didn't discuss things, current events, actuality, politics, rumors or anything. He wasn't the kind to have long conversations. He didn't talk a lot, he wasn't funny.. He wasn't communicative, nor expansive. I never remember him laughing out loud; he was always a little distant, even when he was with his friends, distant! You couldn't reach him easily but I was number one to his love.
He was not making favors to anybody but with me he would shake hands! He would never shake hands with anybody. If he had to, and couldn't avoid it, he would rush back home to wash his hands and clean them with alcohol. He was so afraid of microbes and contamination and in the end he died of cancer.
How was he? He was very strict, very strict and very just. He wanted to be just and this locked him into himself. He never showed any affection, hardly to anyone; to his wife I don't know. He was an introvert.
He didn't go to the army. At that time the army was Turkish. It was in 1912 that Thessaloniki became Greek and during the Turkish period paying a certain amount of money would assure that they didn't go to the army.
,
Before WW2
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My father, Joseph Samuel Saltiel, was born here in Thessaloniki [on 5th June 1881]. He spoke Spanish and German and, of course, Greek. He was beautiful, tall, dark-haired, attractive. He was not very funny; he was serious, probably more serious than he should have been because he had three girls and that bothered him. He dressed in a suit wearing a tie, and was never neglected, hat of course and gloves, he was always very well dressed. A very elegant man.
,
Before WW2
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Uncle Mario married Ida. Her father war a doctor, who had studied and had been trained in the Hospitals of Paris [les hôpitaux de Paris]. When they married they went to live in Paris with her parents but they didn't make it and came back to Thessaloniki. When they came back, Ida's parents followed them and her father was our family doctor and explained everything very nicely to us. I don't know what Uncle Mario did in France but here he was an expert in tobacco. They had a boy, Edward, and two girls, Renée and Lily Abravanel.
During the occupation they were not deported but were hiding in Athens. Edward had already died because during the gathering at Eleutherias Square [3] he got meningitis and died from it.
After the liberation they escaped to Israel hiding in a ship. But Uncle Mario, he was unlucky; he died in the ship and they threw him overboard. His daughters, however, got married in Israel and lived in the kibbutz Afikim.
During the occupation they were not deported but were hiding in Athens. Edward had already died because during the gathering at Eleutherias Square [3] he got meningitis and died from it.
After the liberation they escaped to Israel hiding in a ship. But Uncle Mario, he was unlucky; he died in the ship and they threw him overboard. His daughters, however, got married in Israel and lived in the kibbutz Afikim.
,
Before WW2
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When my father's shop was destroyed by the fire [2] it was Uncle David who was next to him, to encourage him and he even gave him the money to start all over again. At the same time he opened a bank account for my mother so that she wouldn't have to worry, that she wouldn't have to ask anybody when she needed something. Of course I have a weak spot for him in my heart. He was always there for us, helping in any way he could.
,
Before WW2
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My name is Renée Molho; my maiden name is Saltiel Abravanel. I was born in Thessaloniki on 9th August 1918. During the German occupation I lived in Israel. I speak Greek, French, English, Spanish [Ladino] [1] and I understand Italian.
I have two sisters, Matilde Dzivre who lives in Athens, and Eda Saporta who lives in Paris. Matilde was born in 1917 and Eda in 1921. They both speak the same languages I do.
I have two sisters, Matilde Dzivre who lives in Athens, and Eda Saporta who lives in Paris. Matilde was born in 1917 and Eda in 1921. They both speak the same languages I do.
This Italian man, Neri, helped us greatly since when they finally came for us, he managed to put Eda, our younger sister, with our father on a train to Athens, and a few days later Matilde and myself.
The decision to leave for Athens was made when we realized that we couldn't take proper care of our father. This Italian guy, Neri, who was working in the Italian consulate, agreed to prepare the proper documents for us to travel to Athens. It was my sister Matilde who went to him, and took care of all the proper documents. Was it Neri who came to our place or Matilde who went to his office? I'm not sure, since I was fully occupied with our sick father. According to these documents, we were Italian citizens, and these documents were to be given directly to the train commander.
This is how our father and Eda left for Athens. Eda and our father left while Matilde and myself left the apartment, we were living in, and went to stay at the place of a girl that was a manicurist. She put us up in a bedroom and we were there all day and all night, with the shutters closed. You see, she was a Christian and her father, who was living in the same house, knew nothing about us. She was bringing us food and we were waiting for when our turn would come to leave for Athens. The girls' name was Angela, simply Angela, no last name. We stayed there more than a week.
Matilde and I were left to leave last. They told us to come to the railway station at a particular date and time. The Italians were in charge of the train, we were with the Italians and we embarked on our journey on it. We had no papers since they were all given to the train commander. The train was supposed to stop at Plati or some other station after it. It was stopped well before for the Germans to control it. It seems that they guessed that something was happening in that train and we knew nothing, not even our names on our false papers or birth dates or anything. The only thing we were taught to say in Italian was, 'The train commander has all the free passages.'
And the moment comes that the Germans get into the train. All the passengers, we were asleep, and it seems that the train commandant took care of the Germans, gave him the papers and finally they got off the train again.
This train left with at least a whole wagon of Jews. Among others there were Rosa, who lives in Athens, the one who remarried, Charliko Joseph, she was first married to Marcel Nagari. All her family was in this wagon.
There were also young Italian soldiers in that train. One of them seemed to like me particularly and he asked to meet me in Athens but with so much fear, no room was left for flirting.
The decision to leave for Athens was made when we realized that we couldn't take proper care of our father. This Italian guy, Neri, who was working in the Italian consulate, agreed to prepare the proper documents for us to travel to Athens. It was my sister Matilde who went to him, and took care of all the proper documents. Was it Neri who came to our place or Matilde who went to his office? I'm not sure, since I was fully occupied with our sick father. According to these documents, we were Italian citizens, and these documents were to be given directly to the train commander.
This is how our father and Eda left for Athens. Eda and our father left while Matilde and myself left the apartment, we were living in, and went to stay at the place of a girl that was a manicurist. She put us up in a bedroom and we were there all day and all night, with the shutters closed. You see, she was a Christian and her father, who was living in the same house, knew nothing about us. She was bringing us food and we were waiting for when our turn would come to leave for Athens. The girls' name was Angela, simply Angela, no last name. We stayed there more than a week.
Matilde and I were left to leave last. They told us to come to the railway station at a particular date and time. The Italians were in charge of the train, we were with the Italians and we embarked on our journey on it. We had no papers since they were all given to the train commander. The train was supposed to stop at Plati or some other station after it. It was stopped well before for the Germans to control it. It seems that they guessed that something was happening in that train and we knew nothing, not even our names on our false papers or birth dates or anything. The only thing we were taught to say in Italian was, 'The train commander has all the free passages.'
And the moment comes that the Germans get into the train. All the passengers, we were asleep, and it seems that the train commandant took care of the Germans, gave him the papers and finally they got off the train again.
This train left with at least a whole wagon of Jews. Among others there were Rosa, who lives in Athens, the one who remarried, Charliko Joseph, she was first married to Marcel Nagari. All her family was in this wagon.
There were also young Italian soldiers in that train. One of them seemed to like me particularly and he asked to meet me in Athens but with so much fear, no room was left for flirting.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
This is how we witnessed the departure from Thessaloniki: The people who were gathered, were leaving with a small valise, or a small sack, walking without knowing where they were going. And, as we learned later, when they reached the railway station they were told to leave their money here, since it wouldn't be valid at their destination, and this is how they would take even their money. All this we learned from descriptions by others since we were staying at home and didn't experience any of this first-hand. We were living in an empty Jewish neighborhood. When they collected all the other Jews, we remained in this house.
The difference between the Germans and the Italians was that the Italians were human. They helped us at this point. It was them who provided us with the proper false papers, in order to travel to Athens, which was under Italian occupation at the time.
This is when Aunt Rachelle decided to go to Israel with Elio and the rest of her children and so she did, in two steps. First three of the children, Nadir, Silvia and Rene left, and later the rest of the family, that is, she and Elio.
All our relatives were Spanish subjects. The Germans had no right to take Spanish subjects to the concentration camps but, all the same, they were all gathered and sent to a concentration camp, with no forced labor. Later they were taken to a camp in Spain, then to a camp in North Africa, in Casablanca, Morocco, and later they were taken to Israel. All of them, with the exception of our father, my sisters and I, who had made an application to the German 'commandature' and asked for an exemption since our father was suffering from cancer, and somehow we were left alone.
The difference between the Germans and the Italians was that the Italians were human. They helped us at this point. It was them who provided us with the proper false papers, in order to travel to Athens, which was under Italian occupation at the time.
This is when Aunt Rachelle decided to go to Israel with Elio and the rest of her children and so she did, in two steps. First three of the children, Nadir, Silvia and Rene left, and later the rest of the family, that is, she and Elio.
All our relatives were Spanish subjects. The Germans had no right to take Spanish subjects to the concentration camps but, all the same, they were all gathered and sent to a concentration camp, with no forced labor. Later they were taken to a camp in Spain, then to a camp in North Africa, in Casablanca, Morocco, and later they were taken to Israel. All of them, with the exception of our father, my sisters and I, who had made an application to the German 'commandature' and asked for an exemption since our father was suffering from cancer, and somehow we were left alone.
,
During WW2
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This was the period of our friendly group. We were staying at home and every evening the 'group' would come home to keep us accompany. Nadir and his friends Solon, Totos and the others were there every night. They were all making their best efforts to make us laugh, by saying whatever would come to their minds. This is how I became friends with Solon and later our friendship turned into love.
Nadir was by nature a funny fellow, and together with Senegal they would play theatrical sketches for our benefit. There may even exist photographs of Nadir, wearing a round hat and long trousers, just like Charlie Chaplin. This is what they were doing, making fools of themselves, trying to make us laugh and put some humor in our lives.
There was also Bob. Bob was the son of a friend of Aunt Rachelle who lived in the Vardari area. He also was included in the company. Now he lives in Israel but a few years ago he came to see me here, in Thessaloniki.
Nadir was by nature a funny fellow, and together with Senegal they would play theatrical sketches for our benefit. There may even exist photographs of Nadir, wearing a round hat and long trousers, just like Charlie Chaplin. This is what they were doing, making fools of themselves, trying to make us laugh and put some humor in our lives.
There was also Bob. Bob was the son of a friend of Aunt Rachelle who lived in the Vardari area. He also was included in the company. Now he lives in Israel but a few years ago he came to see me here, in Thessaloniki.
,
During WW2
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We were afraid, actually very afraid, scared, particularly since we knew that they could come anytime, knock at your door, grab you and take you away. I don't remember to whom exactly this happened, but there were many rumors about who was caught, who was taken out of the ghetto, people that nobody knew what had become of them etc.
A few days after the death of our mother, it was probably my sister Matilde who had the idea to organize a white marriage between our father and Aunt Rachelle, our mother's sister, so that she could acquire the Spanish nationality in order to be somewhat better protected.
This white marriage didn't take place in the synagogue. I don't know where, probably in the house, and I have the document from the Spanish consulate. Nobody would go to the synagogue for such a marriage. My father was already quite sick, he was lying in bed, and he would do whatever we would tell him. So Aunt Rachelle became Spanish, but not her children.
During that period a second marriage was quite rare. You see, people wouldn't divorce. People would normally accept all sorts of conditions in order not to divorce, which is not happening now.
If a wife died, and she had a sister, they would try to marry her husband to the wife's sister, etc. Every effort would be made, so that people wouldn't be left alone. There are physical needs that have to be dealt with, and such moves should keep the families closely connected. It is better than leaving people wander, like street dogs.
A few days after the death of our mother, it was probably my sister Matilde who had the idea to organize a white marriage between our father and Aunt Rachelle, our mother's sister, so that she could acquire the Spanish nationality in order to be somewhat better protected.
This white marriage didn't take place in the synagogue. I don't know where, probably in the house, and I have the document from the Spanish consulate. Nobody would go to the synagogue for such a marriage. My father was already quite sick, he was lying in bed, and he would do whatever we would tell him. So Aunt Rachelle became Spanish, but not her children.
During that period a second marriage was quite rare. You see, people wouldn't divorce. People would normally accept all sorts of conditions in order not to divorce, which is not happening now.
If a wife died, and she had a sister, they would try to marry her husband to the wife's sister, etc. Every effort would be made, so that people wouldn't be left alone. There are physical needs that have to be dealt with, and such moves should keep the families closely connected. It is better than leaving people wander, like street dogs.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
Although we were feeling some sort of liberty of movement, compared to the others, we didn't make use of it, and whoever wanted to see us came to our place. All of Nadir's friends were coming, that is Toto Benies, Solon Molho, Davi Frances, and Senegal, who was the funniest of all. Actually his name was Rousso but his nickname was Senegal. You see he was going to the port, to have fun with the fishermen, and as his hair was very, very curly, one fisherman called him Senegal, the only African thing he could recall, and that became his name for all of us. Nobody would call him any other name and I think that, not even he himself would have responded to any other name.
This group of friends was coming to our place almost every evening. We had all sorts of discussions, we had fun, we were singing and sometimes we used to play games, all kind of childish games, and sometimes we played cards. We played cards with the neighbor downstairs, Isaac was his name. You see, he would get passionate in his desire to win while we didn't really care, so one would go behind him, see his cards and step on the foot or give another sign and Mr. Isaac would lose. I don't know why we liked to tease him but we were all very young and full of life, and we had to have a diversion from all the horrible things that we were suffering.
I cannot recall the first time I went dancing but I find it quite improbable that I would have gone alone, that is, without my sister. As we had no brother and our father was very strict we had nobody to take us dancing. Probably it was during this period that it first occurred with Nadir, Toto and the others, or it could have been at home where we listened to the music on the radio and probably danced.
We had a lady neighbor, of German roots, who was always complaining and shouting at us about the music, always wanting us to be quiet. Regarding anti-Semitism all I can recall is a servant from AiVat [16] that we had at home, who once couldn't control herself and said, 'You Jews deserve it.' When exactly this happened I cannot recall. She was referring to all the rules and limitations we were forced to follow.
This group of friends was coming to our place almost every evening. We had all sorts of discussions, we had fun, we were singing and sometimes we used to play games, all kind of childish games, and sometimes we played cards. We played cards with the neighbor downstairs, Isaac was his name. You see, he would get passionate in his desire to win while we didn't really care, so one would go behind him, see his cards and step on the foot or give another sign and Mr. Isaac would lose. I don't know why we liked to tease him but we were all very young and full of life, and we had to have a diversion from all the horrible things that we were suffering.
I cannot recall the first time I went dancing but I find it quite improbable that I would have gone alone, that is, without my sister. As we had no brother and our father was very strict we had nobody to take us dancing. Probably it was during this period that it first occurred with Nadir, Toto and the others, or it could have been at home where we listened to the music on the radio and probably danced.
We had a lady neighbor, of German roots, who was always complaining and shouting at us about the music, always wanting us to be quiet. Regarding anti-Semitism all I can recall is a servant from AiVat [16] that we had at home, who once couldn't control herself and said, 'You Jews deserve it.' When exactly this happened I cannot recall. She was referring to all the rules and limitations we were forced to follow.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
At the beginning, when we entered the ghetto, we were afraid. Actually, not exactly in the beginning. Later, when we had to wear the star, when they started picking up people, making them disappear, limiting free movement ... You could not but feel afraid not knowing what will happen to you from one day to the other.
As for myself, I wasn't moving at all. It was due to my father, who was sick. He had cancer. He went through a period when he had a fever every evening, and it was only when his condition started to deteriorate, that the cancer was diagnosed, but they couldn't do anything about it.
During that period we were renting a home on Broufa Street together with Aunt Rashelle and her kids. It was in the ghetto. I have no idea how the limits of the ghetto were defined... We, the girls, didn't leave the house, but the others were moving around, within the ghetto. Food? We were buying it from the shops that were in the ghetto.
The other Jews were wearing the yellow star but I never put it on. I was a Spanish subject and they were not after us. None of our family wore the yellow star, despite the fact that we were living within the ghetto. I don't know for sure if other people that had no yellow star could move out of the ghetto. I was confined to our house, with my father, and had no particular wish to go out either.
As for myself, I wasn't moving at all. It was due to my father, who was sick. He had cancer. He went through a period when he had a fever every evening, and it was only when his condition started to deteriorate, that the cancer was diagnosed, but they couldn't do anything about it.
During that period we were renting a home on Broufa Street together with Aunt Rashelle and her kids. It was in the ghetto. I have no idea how the limits of the ghetto were defined... We, the girls, didn't leave the house, but the others were moving around, within the ghetto. Food? We were buying it from the shops that were in the ghetto.
The other Jews were wearing the yellow star but I never put it on. I was a Spanish subject and they were not after us. None of our family wore the yellow star, despite the fact that we were living within the ghetto. I don't know for sure if other people that had no yellow star could move out of the ghetto. I was confined to our house, with my father, and had no particular wish to go out either.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
My father, when we were in the ghetto, was already sick and my mother had died. My mother had a small operation; she had a polypus that had to be removed. Since it was during the occupation my father took her to a private clinic for the surgery, and he was so precautious, so afraid that something would happen to her, that he took a stove to her room, to keep her warm, and he bought alcohol, and he sat in my mother's room, and whoever came in was obliged to clean his hands with alcohol, to be disinfected.
The operation was successful but the patient died. The operation was done during the German occupation and nobody took care of her, nobody came to see how she was doing, or to help her get up, or anything, and she got pneumonia and died. When the doctor saw her, he said that if she could make it to midnight she would survive. She passed away at five to midnight. It is written somewhere when exactly she died.
Then there was the funeral but I didn't go to it. The day she died, and there was the funeral, there was a terrible, terrible snow storm. It was snowing heavily and it was bitter cold, and they came to the house, and they took her, and I didn't even see her, and we did nothing about it. They took her, in a hurry, because they had to walk to the cemetery and come back before the night, and they buried her there. The men of the family took care of that. My uncle Sinto, her brother, his son Samuel, my father ... only men. We were girls, we couldn't do anything, we didn't go to funerals, and we didn't go to the cemetery. It is only now that it is fashionable for the women to go to the funerals. After the funeral we had the kria, at home, and everything was done as it should be, because we still had a certain freedom.
When the Germans took our cemetery [15] they had to unbury her, take the remains out of the tomb, and put her in the new cemetery, in the same grave with my grandfather and everybody was very upset and felt uneasy and afraid but what could we do? We had no power, nothing, no way we could defend ourselves.
The operation was successful but the patient died. The operation was done during the German occupation and nobody took care of her, nobody came to see how she was doing, or to help her get up, or anything, and she got pneumonia and died. When the doctor saw her, he said that if she could make it to midnight she would survive. She passed away at five to midnight. It is written somewhere when exactly she died.
Then there was the funeral but I didn't go to it. The day she died, and there was the funeral, there was a terrible, terrible snow storm. It was snowing heavily and it was bitter cold, and they came to the house, and they took her, and I didn't even see her, and we did nothing about it. They took her, in a hurry, because they had to walk to the cemetery and come back before the night, and they buried her there. The men of the family took care of that. My uncle Sinto, her brother, his son Samuel, my father ... only men. We were girls, we couldn't do anything, we didn't go to funerals, and we didn't go to the cemetery. It is only now that it is fashionable for the women to go to the funerals. After the funeral we had the kria, at home, and everything was done as it should be, because we still had a certain freedom.
When the Germans took our cemetery [15] they had to unbury her, take the remains out of the tomb, and put her in the new cemetery, in the same grave with my grandfather and everybody was very upset and felt uneasy and afraid but what could we do? We had no power, nothing, no way we could defend ourselves.
,
During WW2
See text in interview