Transcription of Betsy Lidsky Memoirs
Translated from Russian by Aurora Zinder
9/?/1945
Today is two years since I parted with Abram. Parted without a friendly handshake, without a kiss – all past is the love and devotion of our 25 years together and the 30th anniversary of the start of our youthful friendship.
He stood in the hospital courtyard with other doctors along the barrack-like formation. I and a few of my colleagues were sitting, trembling, waiting in the children’s department. The windows of the room looked out on the courtyard, where the enemies were lined up. We saw only their backs.
Sick kids who felt something menacing was going on laid quietly and speechless in their beds. We waited for a commander to come to decide who will stay and who will be coming out. Suddenly a few people burst in, with Commander G. in the front of the force of enemies. He checked out lines with an intense piercing stare and started to call individual doctors. A hysterical squeal from one of my colleagues was heard. Her husband was called from the formation; she is sure he will be sent. Ten doctors who were standing opposite the formation were quickly selected this way. It became clear that all selected by G. he wants to rescue, to remain.
We clung to windows. We felt that the last minute was coming. My colleague and friend N. whispered to me that whatever happened to them and with us we have to be happy that we had behind us a long, happy life. Suddenly, a harsh military order: take off doctor’s smock.
Doctors, in a desperate movement, threw them down to their feet.
How much desperation was in this movement? This movement was startling. This is the way prisoners of war are disarmed; this is the way military honors are taken from traitors.
In the last minute, we – regardless of threat of shooting – opened the window. Abram hurled his doctor’s smock and was able only to ask for his coat.
With anxiety I found it and threw it from the window.
Order: forward! They were lined up by four; they are leaving the yard. Leaving half-dressed – some without jacket, some in only a shirt.
For a few minutes we were held inside. When we entered the yard, they already were gone. I ran to the house to find some clothes for the road. But with the pack I was not let inside.
Through the slot in the gates I saw a few doctors. I asked them, and they answered that Abram already was taken out. I returned with the pack walking up the stairs and suddenly, after all these agonizing hours, I was stricken by the thought: I will never see Abram; I am a widow. Such terrifying words. I, very even-tempered, hit my head with fists, but no tears.
One minute I stayed on a cornice where no one saw me. I returned to the room hardened into stone, threw myself on the bed, and stayed there for an unknown time. Mother did not say a word to me.
After a few hours I climbed upstairs, where men of our house were hiding. There, too, were Alia and Tolia. Alia creeped up to the hole:
“Nu, what? Where is papa?”
“Papa is gone.” I tried to talk calmly.
Alia yelled, “I do not want to stay here. I do not want to live without papa.”
I continued to try to talk calmly: “Children, enough to have one victim, our lives are sacred, no need for more victims. There, let’s take each other’s hands and leave. I do not want to live without papa, either.”
Only then, all of us started to cry.
---
pp. 7-35
Recollections of events from August 1943 till September 23, 1943: liquidation of ghetto; husband Abram was taken 9/3/43, their sons Alia and Tolia (twins, 22 at that time?) 9/10/43, author 9/16/45. Her mother, 79 years old at that time, was killed later. All of them were sent to Ponary. She writes a lot about killing of Tolia 7/3/1944. She never mentioned Alia.
Some information about the family: She lived in Riga. In 1913 she visited Kiev; Abram was studying abroad. Both her sons after high school attended university in France. They returned home in 1939. Their town was occupied by the Red Army. Both sons resumed university in Kovno in 1941.
Last entry 9/16/45, two years after the family was destroyed.
* * *
Papers of Abraham Lidsky
Translated from Yiddish by Goldie Knobel
He was a physician who lived in Vilna. Was a teacher. Worked in the ghetto hospital. He was murdered in the Vaivara labor camp in 1943.
The records were received from Ella Lidsky, his daughter-in-law.
Ella Lidsky donated three letters, written by the physician Dr. Abraham Lidsky in 1943, and smuggled to his wife Pola. These letters were written while Dr. Lidsky was being deported from the Vilna ghetto to the Vaivara labor camp in Estonia. Dr. Lidsky did not survive.
Diary, Dr. Betsy Lidsky and three items.
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A.D. March 7, 1944, Munich, June 29, 1947
The 11th of Tamuz
Today we commemorate Talinkeh’s third anniversary. I visit the Munich cemetery. When I come here I feel closer to Talinkeh.
Last year, on this day, I went to the Lodz cemetery.
Now, I’m so far from my child’s grave. The way he probably looks in his grave is not how I visualize him.
Vilna … fool us! A nice forest… It’s large, covered with sand. All over you see human bones. There are disembodied feet, hands, skeletal remains…. Here we see a girl’s braided hair, a thick, black braid.
You can also notice silk clothing, bathed in blood. There are also blood-soaked headdresses.
Further off you see military belts, used for holding bullets. They were placed on woolen fabrics where the armor equipment was kept.
On the floor, boxes of lime were placed to protect the robbers from air contamination. You could also see many painted-over documents, photographs. They were damaged by the lime.
And all around it was quiet, quite silent…. The trees are still, the whole forest is quiet. The whole world is silent. Man’s conscience is silent.
I’m also silent. To whom should I speak…. My husband, my friend, with whom I could converse for the rest of my life, talk about our child, also disappeared forever.
With my son Alinkeh, I cannot and should not speak. And I must not speak about him. One must speak, in general, and think about life.
Who would think that such a young beautiful branch, like a young twig, should be torn away in such a murderous way!
Torn from their roots, at least some branches remained. Take, for example, your crystal pure father, and my friend, companion, my husband and beloved one, torn away in the midst of their bloom. Life taken away. They were just chopped away and cast into the sea.
In your last letter, you wrote that you are a believer in destiny. So you can see that it is not the will of G-d for us not to meet again. May each one of us find his path.
You have found your way! And the cold spring waves of the ocean….
And I? How can I still find my way in this autumn of my life?!
We can find a similar thought in the work of Meterling’s “Blue Bird.”
Those children who have passed away prematurely talk to us from the “other side” and they say the following: They say that when those humans who are still alive and embodied mention those that are departed, it makes them feel alive, also, in an earthly way. They, then, also feel that they are together with their live little brothers and sisters.
My dear child, my dear husband, my beloved one, if I would be able with quick reminders make you alive, resurrect you – you would have returned to me a long time ago.
My reminders are, but, a bitter mention and recall of that happy time, when we were together. It was when I and my husband lived a life of joy together.
At that time, when my husband and I were young, poor, bereft of money we were, nonetheless, rich in spirit. Both of us were full of hope. We energetically raised and nurtured our two children, young, like small chicks. The names of our children were Alinkeh and Talinkeh. As grandma would say, they were like one soul.
Who would have thought that these two children, united in one soul, would be torn apart. And I’m surprised that I, as their mother, would be able to go on living. Who would believe that the younger Talinkeh would end up this way?!
---
Munchen
Second day of Shavuos, May 26, 1947
Today, the second day of Shavuos, is Yizkor. The regions and countries change, from Lithuania to Poland, to the cursed Germany, to Vilna, Lodz to Munchen, may she be cursed tenfold.
The lament, the mourning remains the same … it supercedes all geographical space.
The discourse in the synagogue, the liberal, modern preacher would deliver. One of the statements he made really penetrated my heart.
Generally, when we say Yizkor, we think about the departed ones. We say to them, “Go to your eternal rest today. And, also, when we say Yizkor, we call the souls who went away from us.
We address these spirits to keep the contact with them, precisely because they were torn out of this life, ripped away from us, in their full bloom of their young lives. This was done through those cruel, so-called human hands. When we utter the Yizkor prayer, we can sense the presence of their souls.
During Yizkor we are in the presence of our departed mothers, fathers, our children and grandchildren, sisters and brothers.
Our world has remained lonely. Only the mountains remain stationary. Their world is eternal.
It was a situation where one would want to tear themselves out, to freedom.
This place is so wild! It’s so cold here. This is why it is most comprehensible that such a devilish spot could give birth to thoughts and concepts of annihilating the world.
One feels like bursting out. The atmosphere is so wild. It’s awfully cold.
One would understand that such a devilish place would lend itself to the birth of such diabolic thoughts, to destroy a whole world.
Opposite my window one can see beautiful high mountains. At the peak of one of the mountains stands Hitler’s tea house. Inside the mountain is the location of his bunkers.
Nowadays, almost nothing is left of the bunkers. Only a pile of stones is left. It’s like the remains of those cursed landowners.
But what consolation do we have from this? They are indeed erased from this life. But, nonetheless, that doesn’t bring my Avrumie back. And my Talinkeh, who could have enjoyed a long, beautiful life, also, isn’t coming back.
The children aren’t returning to their loved ones.
---
Berchtesgaden
April 19, 1947
I am cursed a thousandfold because I am in Hitler’s nest.
It is here that I am spending my two-week vacation. We are here in a women’s rest-house where my co-workers from the Jewish committee are resting up, during their time off.
Outside, one observes the beauty of nature. These mountains hide many secrets. We have just visited a spot called Almbachklamm. The old, old trees are rooted firmly in the ground, like an ancient wall. They are so near to each other, practically touching.
And inbetween those tight spaces one can hear the powerful force and fall of the strong waterfall. Like the sound of Hell.
The waters intently soar downwards with extraordinary force. They seem like angry waters. They seem to want to cleanse this cursed piece of land.
There are other spots like the one I described above. And, also, in these new places, the water pushes noisily, like some food on a high fire. The waters go around like a whirlpool. In these more distant areas the waters roar and look like they did many years ago.
“Dear Madam, look under the pillows, your husband and children send their regards.”
I really enjoyed this piece of nature. But I couldn’t share it. No one to whisper to. No one to tell secrets to. Avrum is no more. Talinkeh is gone. Alinkeh is all alone!
The 24th of February was my birthday. What can I record about this day? Alinkeh ran around all day to look for a gift for me. She [he?] only returned at 12 midnight. She [he?] awakened me with a kiss and handed me a pretty handbag. It goes without saying that this interchange was pleasant. But remembering what and who is missing is so painful.
And it used to be like this: Way before my actual birthday, Avrum and the children started talking, secretly, and whispering. Upon my entrance, I used to hear: “Quiet, she is coming!”
They spoke quietly and securely about their plans for my birthday. Quietly they considered what kind of present they would buy for me.
In the morning my birthday gift was already under my pillow. Avrum, in a childish way, would add a verse.
In those days the sun really shone. At sunset we headed home. On the journey back, Talinkeh would turn towards the lake, look at it as if enchanted. This would last for a few minutes.
Little lake, little lake! Those words would spring out of his mouth.
Wearisome but joyful we would arrive home.
Surely these thoughts flashed in his mind. Surely these memories came to the surface, memories of yesteryear. Memories about himself, at the lake, with his children.
Wow, too terrifying is the struggle with those cold gone-wild waves. Those waves hailing from the sea in early spring!
This is how we passed our time. In the early days, together with the children. Later on, only, the two of us.
When it was just the two of us, during our strolls, we were like young lovers…. Along with mother nature, we absorbed the joy of spring. We collected, from under the snow, the snow blossoms. We looked at the sun. We looked at each other. We glanced into each other’s eyes….
And Avrum’s eyes were, of course, blue, like the sky in the spring time. That’s how we walked around, all over town: Karalink, Kaspieshki, Dalnieh….
I remember our outing to Dalnieh when the children were nine years old.
We spent the whole day at the lake. It was early in the day, during the spring season. It was early spring. And it wasn’t far from their birthday.
According to all signs this was not far from the end of the war.
I remember Abraham’s birthday…. I recall being in the process of preparing some presents for him.
Instead, today, I light a memorial candle for him. It’s just an approximation of the day of his passing.
I really don’t know the exact day of his passing.
But it was in early spring. At that time the ocean waters were still cold. And the waves were still roaring. And the swimmers had to fight the waves. We struggled against the waves until we had no energy left.
At that time, in early spring, we already started our walks to the edges of town.
---
The 13th of March 1947
Today it is Abraham’s birthday. But, alas, his birthday morphed into his memorial day. I, unfortunately, don’t know the exact day of his passing.
And can one say that he died?!
When one is cast into the sea….
This describes a person who wants to live and fights to stay alive and live….
It is the custom that one dies from an illness, from old age….
To die is a natural phenomenon. It happens when one’s vital system and energy fade away.
But when robbers of life throw a full-blooded, full-of-life creature into the devouring sea (admittedly, a two-year-old child, starved of food, etc.).
And, most likely, his iron will to live, still, makes him struggle with the waves.
Even devoid of physical life, he is still fighting.
In a period of 20 years, the luckiest day for us has been the 3rd of February, our holy day and holiday.
But nowadays, this same day reminds us of WWII, the “Shoah,” our great calamity. The miracle of February only happened once.
And suddenly, a child alone….
And speaking of this child, as soon as his illness subsided until February the 3rd, it was good. But only that one time. His paralysis was disappearing: the child started speaking, swallowing; he started moving his hands, his tiny feet. And finally he recuperated.
My intense hope and faith did not fail, nor mislead me. My child, now, was healthy.
For 20 years I was, still, destined to derive joy and parental satisfaction.
And my child, also, was granted this amount of years. And I know that he strived to go on living, even in the horrific days of 1943.
Boy, did he want to go on living. He just didn’t believe that he was going to die.
When he was two years old, he was so tall that he, practically, occupied my entire bed.
First day of illness: face paralysis.
Second day: hands paralysis.
Third day: difficulty in breathing, speaking, and swallowing.
Only his little heart is beating. When the paralysis reaches his heart, everything is finished.
It is 3 a.m. Everybody is exhausted from the day’s exertions. And they have fallen asleep.
But I’m still sitting and dropping little drops of milk into his little mouth. And, all of a sudden, a weak utterance is emitted from my child’s mouth.
I awaken everybody. Our joy is undescribable [indescribable]. Unfortunately, daylight didn’t bring us that same happiness.
Again, he stopped talking. The next night the same thing happened.
I’m spoon-feeding my child. It was the end of January.
I’m sitting at my desk at work. Grandma has Talinkeh in her arms. He is not well. He’s been analyzed with the grippe (bad cold).
Evening time, the sequence of paralysis begins again. First it is the face, then the hands, and “blitz”-fast. Within two days, the child is totally paralyzed. But the heart is still beating.
The doctors are consoling me. They wanted me to prepare myself for the demise of my child. And they didn’t want me to be pained by his premature departure?!
The physicians said that if he survived he would live his life as a cripple. He could even be struck with epilepsy.
I’m not ready to listen to any commentary … I just want my child to live! Let him just stay alive. And, then, I can hope that all those frightening maladies will not materialize. In the meantime, I just want one thing, I want him to LIVE.
The child is stretched out in his state of paralysis. Woe to me!
---
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
And that’s how the story runs. Everyone who saw him, at that time, had a lot to tell about this scene: the young father, with two young children on his hands.
And so the first year went by. It was the most difficult. The children matured, they started to walk. How parents glee over the first steps of their children.
I remember myself in a bent-over position. My hands are outstretched. And my child’s hands are in the same position. His feet are far apart from each other.
He takes three steps and falls into my outstretched hands. But, right away, he pushes me backwards. He wants to show more progress. And, right away, he takes three more steps.
The second year of his life also passed by happily. By now, the children walk firmly and talk fluently.
I remember the day when I breastfed one of my children. Grandma is sitting on the bed with the other one. He’ll be next, at the feeding.
On a particular difficult day, grandpa says: “If I were the Kaiser (King), I, instead of sending criminals to prison, I would force them to have twins.
But I and Abram are both lucky and joyous with our twins.
Now I’ll describe a sunny day, on a Sunday, in June. My twins were around six or seven months old. I’m working, grandma and grandpa are away. The maid doesn’t come on Sundays. And my husband, Abram, also has to leave on some errands. It’s a real hot day.
I’m wearing sandals, a sleeveless shirt. I took both my children in my hands, one in my right hand and one in my left hand. I headed to the main boulevard in the nearby city.
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The 3rd of February
February, my lucky month….
I always considered February my lucky month. The 20th of February is my wedding date.
The 20th of February – the day of my wedding.
The 3rd of February, the next lucky day. Talinkeh recuperated from his critical illness, encephalitis.
As for myself, when I overcame typhus, I no longer visited Russia. The border was, already, closed. My husband, Abram, had returned home.
I, then, started studying at the university. And I recall that my twins were born on the 18th of November.
My dear children, how difficult it was to raise you! We all had a hand in nurturing you: grandma and grandpa, they all pitched in.
Now I’ll describe a night scene: Grandpa is holding one child. Then a month passes. We literally were planning to cross the border. The Poles and, especially, the extremists among them, were rioting. This resulted in many victims.
I no longer succeeded in reaching them. But Abram came home in a month. It was the beginning of June.
Toby remained there. He was working for the Red Cross. There was a typhus problem then. It continued until November. Typhus is quite a contagious disease. Toby caught the disease and passed away the 17th of November in 1919. It was the first victim in our family.
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Tuesday, May the 4th, 2010
And, so, I became bedridden, suffering from “spotted” typhus.
My husband, Abraham, didn’t leave my bedside. He watched over me day and night.
In his train of thought, he decided not to obstruct the free flow of air, in my room, by moving his bed into the corridor. The corridor was on the other side of our door. There, all my movements would be audible to him.
This portion of our life was very restless. The Russian-Polish war had ended. In April, we had a full-blown pogrom. It was an attack by the Poles.
By this time I had gotten out of my crisis state. But I was, still, very weak.
As soon as I stepped off my bed, we concluded the following: I, my husband, and Toby, absolutely, are not remaining with the Poles. We will move toward the Russian border and enter Russia.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t walk yet. So my family left without me. Abraham and Toby left during the month of May of 1919. Subsequently, I was to leave, too.
Now I’ll talk about my wedding. It was a grand wedding. After the festivities, everyone returned to their home.
Next day, Abraham and I went on our honeymoon.
I haven’t told you that I had jobs at the following places:
The first job was at the hospital specializing in epidemia in Fadpradz.
The second one was in the new sector of Aushwitz [Auschwitz?]. They treated “spotted” typhus and “pokin” (pox).
We were in the area of these hospitals for six weeks. But it was good being there just for the pristine, fresh air. We liked being there, even though we worked hard, just for the pure, invigorating air.
At the end of the winter, the beginning of spring, we traveled over to another place.
That area had barracks. These were situated in the forest, beyond the village. And we all spent some time there.
I had been in a study program and was obligated to complete some projects and present myself for some exams. These were the last ones prior to receiving my diploma.
After reaching Vilna, I unpacked. Suddenly, I felt a severe headache coming upon me. Wow! So I postponed everything for a day.
Getting back to family matters, I can relate the following:
My sister Leah, my father, my mother, Toby, and our friends traveled first. Thinking back on this I calculate that 28 years had passed. And aside from myself, not one of the forementioned [aforementioned] has remained alive.
For our people, in general, very few perished from a natural demise. The first one to succumb to death was my sister Toby. She was only 28 years old.
She died on the 17th of November from typhus. She ultimately died from “spotted” typhus.
Abraham’s sister Leah died in 1943. Then, she was living far away, deep into Russia. During that year she starved from [to] death. My mother died in the gas chambers, also in 1943. Madam Farush died in the gas chamber.
It was only my father’s father and Boris Farush [who] died naturally. And, as for my husband, we lived, together, so happily, for 24-and-a-half years. My dear husband met his death through the hands of the Germans, who cast him into the ocean’s waves.
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20th of February 1947, Thursday
I went to the “chupa” marriage canopy with Abraham. I went, meaning, literally, walked to the “chupa.” We went by foot to the Rabbi. There the “chupa” ceremony took place.
The guests were: my father, my father-in-law. At that time, Abraham’s mother was no longer alive. Just then, my mother had broken her foot. By coincidence, we had all returned home at, about, the same time.
I had arrived from Russia. Abraham had come back from a military, German, prison. We were virtually naked.
I had the tradition of attending every “chupa” in town. And, of course, I also attended Toby’s wedding.
I went to Toby’s wedding with an old pair of shoes, which had just been repaired with new soles.
I was wearing a garment covered with a white silk blouse. It had just one patch on the sleeve.
Nonetheless we were all satisfied, happy and feeling lucky.
After the “chupa,” we had supper at home. The only guest we had for dinner was my father-in-law.
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From March of 1946
Today I wrote a letter to Genzel. He’s in a most unfortunate situation; he informed us that [hard-to-figure-out word: mother? Moueh? Motleh?] passed away. He compares himself to Job.
But when he sees the situation in its entirety, he doesn’t even think about reward and punishment for the way one led his life. How surprising!
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December 3, 1946
Yesterday I dreamt about Abraham. He appeared barely alive. He looked exasperated.
But I’m thinking about the yesteryear. We were so happy. We had it so good.
That morning I was, still, under the influence of the dream, and, even though Abraham didn’t look so good in it, just the mere fact that I saw him made, gave me a feeling of satisfaction.
But as time passes, one feels his misfortune in a deeper way.
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March 15, 1946
Today I went to a children’s camp. It is located in the rear of Dachau. I saw that a group of SS men were being led into this camp. And is this ample punishment for them?!
They led them in with guile and, there, they were shot…. They were able to fool them by saying that they are scheduled for labor camp.
Until 1945, more or less, during the month of April, Abraham was, still, alive….
At a later date, we all entered the ghetto, all five: Abraham, I, Alinkeh and Talinkeh, grandma. The date was the 6th of September of 1941, on the Sabbath.
On the 4th of July, Alinkeh and I left the KKP….
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March 12, 1946
I went into the cellar on the 3rd of July of 1944. I went in alone on the 3rd of July of 1944. I went in alone, without Talinkeh.
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The 24th of September of 1946
Yesterday I started recording the dates of each of my writings. There aren’t too many dates, but I’m still afraid that my written records shouldn’t be forgotten. In the tumult of life this can, also, happen.
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The 3rd of September of 1943
I took out Abraham and brought him to Estonia, accompanied by a group of doctors from the hospital.
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The 16th of September of 1943
Alinkeh and Talinkeh and I leave this place. We head to the KKP office. We bid our farewell to grandma.
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The 23rd of September of 1943
The ghetto is liquidated. They lead out the ghetto’s majority inhabitants, including my grandma.
They’re going to the gas chambers.
---
The 3rd of July of 1944
I see Talinkeh and Luba leaving the ghetto.
---
The 24th of September [no year listed]
Last night I received an answer to my question this night.
I had the following dream: I saw Talinkeh and myself standing at a certain place. People are shooting at us….
Talinkeh is shot dead. I survived….
Then, all of a sudden, someone is inviting us to the theatre; I just don’t understand this. How does it dawn on that other person to think about theatre. I see him as a madman. This personage was in the image of a thwarted, bent-over gentile. I distance myself from him….
And, as in a dreamlike sense, strange things transpired during these years. Each episode reminded me of more serious pain and problems. The incidents awakened my soul. They tore off the thin coverings of my wounds.
The second phase was similar to Bernard Shaw’s philosophy. An empty of content kind of thing! Nonetheless, there’s something intellectual in all of this! It’s expressed in the form [of] aphorisms, and a deep kind of thought.
May I call myself apologetic? Maybe this is hypocritical. But this is the real truth.
Whenever I do attend the theatre, I never forget, even for a moment, those that once sat with me, those that I miss.
I never attended the theatre without Abraham. And I feel his absence every time I sit alone. The thoughts that fly through my head, at the theatre. I think of all the pain and troubles I have witnessed. Enough for a lifetime. And, even, my little child was a witness to this world of evil.
When the holidays arrived I felt even worse. As if a fresh wound had been opened. And there was no hope left. Everything was extinguished.
This year I had a kind of remembrance for Alinkeh, by celebrating his birthday. It’s true, Alinkeh and his brother shared the same soul. But, in reality, they were two separate people. Whichever half remained must live and must consider himself fortunate. And what a tragedy transpired over his short life!
This week, I attended the theatre twice. We can call it balanced behavior. The first performance was about Professor Mamlock. It portrays the beginning of our troubles. Now it seems like a child’s play. This is how it appears with the background of the things that happened.
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The 23rd of September of 1946, Munchen
It was the 23rd of September that the Vilna ghetto was liquidated. They led out my mother and all the rest of the sacrificed victims to asphyxiate them somewhere. I have a feeling that they brought them to Treblinkeh [Treblinka].
This year I overlooked the 3rd of September. It was the date that they separated me from my husband. My husband who was, also, my friend, my buddy, my companion, the love of my life. That day, I was on the train, exiting from Lodz.
Last year I did not commemorate the 18th of November, 1945. What could be the reason. I, certainly, would not forget!
I probably couldn’t think of the best way to commemorate this day.
The only thing I remember from that time is that I had come from Moscow around the 14th or 15th of November.
I did not spend Alinkeh’s birthday in a festive way.
It has been revealed that, they, the Germans are not burning us in conventional ovens. We never thought that they would stick us into gas chambers. And a portion was, also, drowned in the ocean. And large contingents were just shot, unarmed people, defenseless human beings – young and old.
But, we shall persevere! That’s what we said. But is it true?!...
Not everyone had the same resistance power.
And in this was of such unbalanced sides; I lost three-fifths of my family: my mother, my husband, my child, who today would have been celebrating its [his] 23rd. He would have been celebrating, together, with his brother and his papa.
---
1946
The 26th of January
On this date we departed from Vilna. We, then, stayed in Lodz for seven months.
On the 3rd of September, 1946, the [anniversary of the?] day they tore my husband away from me – we left Lodz.
We were on the road for a month’s time. Then we spent three weeks in Austria, Zalsburgh [Salzburg?]. Then we traveled on to Munich. Munich, it’s the city from which hailed the “Blackest Satan” in the whole world.
We’re living with the nation that decimated us. They are guilty of atrocious acts that no people, ever, perpetrated on any ethnic group, not for thousands of years of human-recorded history. And, in post-war years, descendants of these monsters in human form are working as domestics for Jews. But this gives us no semblance of satisfaction.
And, nowadays, these devils are out for walks with their offspring. And, even those among them who are poor, will probably live on, because all creatures desire to survive. The Jews, also, wanted to live.
I remember the quality time I spent with Alinkeh. I made those days into a quasi-holiday. Now my lament and mourning cannot be measured. But, thank G-d, my good fortune is large. G-d saw it fitting to, at least, leave me one child.
And now, the life of my remaining child belongs to him. He has to choose his own path. He has to, on his own, find his spot in life, in society.
I have one purpose in life now: to see that my son is happy. And I want to carry over this legacy to other children. I want to be the “surrogate” mother of Jewish orphaned children.
Last year I was negligent in marking off this date on my calendar. It was probably because I was all worked up, after having arrived from Moscow. And, maybe, it was because I didn’t know how to record an encapsulated description of my dear son.
This year there have been many twists and changes in our lives.
The perennial child: that my child is dead. His pure soul has ascended from the terrestrial to the celestial abode.
My imagination is working. I think of how today can be so different. Had all of these horrors not happened. We would have been celebrating the birthday of our twin son.
Even a year ago I had not given up hope. I waited and hoped. And, of course, I couldn’t celebrate Alinkeh’s and Umeninkeh’s birthday. What I did was just prepare an extra good lunch. Food that he likes.
So, today, wiping illusion away, I know that my Talinkeh is not here. And my pocket handkerchief is soaked in tears!
Where the Jews are buried, those murdered by the Germans, there are a series of hills, surrounding the final rest places of our Holy Ones.
I just stared, I couldn’t take my eyes off these places. I was like glued to the spot. I didn’t go over to where the eulogies were being recited. I didn’t hear the discourses. I didn’t hear the “Keil Malei Rachamim” prayer (the prayer called “Lord, Full of Compassion”). And I thought, perhaps, among all these unmarked graves, lie the remains of my little one!
There lay the bones of our pure, holy, souls.
And, although the thought crossed my mind that my little one is among those mass shallow graves, those piles of bodies, I still had a parallel that, a spark of hope that he was somewhere, someplace, and alive. That little flame of aspiration did not lend itself to extinguishment.
Because there were echoes, there were rumors of remaining lives, of survivors. Maybe these whispers are true.
Maybe there are Jews who are still alive. Like those who left Kovno. Like those who headed to the Displaced Persons camps.
Those remnants from our Jewish People will find each other.
Now three years have passed. Today I am aware of the truth. The big truth.
---
Munich, the 18th of November of 1946
Today is the birthday of my twins. It is their 26th birthday. Were Talinkeh alive he, also, would have been celebrating. Those were the happy days for myself and for my husband. I insisted on celebrating both their birthdays.
Talinkeh’s body has been underground for three-and-a-half years. It’s lying in Tonar, beyond Vilna. My boy’s body is not in a real grave. It’s, probably, somewhere in the middle of the forest, near the earth’s surface, sprinkled, lightly, with some earth.
I was in Panor [sp?] twice. Each time I could not entertain the thought that my child was dead. I looked at the mass grave. There I saw a young girl’s thick braid in the dust. Then I noticed a skeleton. Then there piles of individual bones: one from hands, one from [feet? – word missing]. Other piles were of headkerchiefs [head kerchiefs? handkerchiefs?] of various colors.
I don’t think my child met his death in the ovens of Madanek [Majdanek]. Most likely, Fuhnar [sp?] swallowed his young, beautiful body. It was here that the ocean waves severed his promising life. How life was torn apart: separate bundles of hands and feet.
My child’s life torn apart. As he appeared so he was – a transparent crystal, clear nature. And so was my husband’s life destroyed. He was my only, and best friend. The waves blew them away.
The Germans just cast live bodies into the sea. At times they would dynamite a whole boat of Jews. Then everything would just sink. These episodes happened over a short period of time. Probably in April of 1945.
A little over a year has passed. I came here to be in the presence of the ocean. The ocean will also give me rest. I’ve, already, been here for two days. I guard the ocean expanse from early morning until darkness casts its shadow. Do I really rest? Can you call composure that state of mind wherein one loses himself in the sound and movement of the ocean’s waves, where one incessantly chases his thoughts.
I am here at the last resting place of my forefathers. It’s not the place of papa, mama. They lived out their lives. There lives were, more or less, calm.
How blue is the ocean! There is no imperfection throughout its immense expanse. Not, even, one cloud could be seen overhead.
Nature gives no hint of the calamities and destruction that happened in this area. Absolutely no indication of the horrific murders that transpired here. If I’m not standing on this very spot, then it’s just a few kilometers away from here.
This seashore area is now populated by able-bodied, healthy looking men and women. Locally born, beautiful children play with the seashore’s sand. They place their toy little boats into the ocean. You cannot find a Jew, here, at all.
Alas, thousands of Jewish people were put on barges just like garbage. They didn’t get a chance to admire the ocean. And if they did glance at it, they were, already, emaciated or dead from malnutrition, starvation, illness. They ended up in the depths of the ocean.
---
Tuesday, May 26, 2010
July 27 [no year given]
The German murderers tore apart a proud, beautiful life.
They threw my beloved one into the waves of the ocean and, there in the depths, was his grave.
No monument stands to mark the spot.
This, also, goes for the body of your grandmother, your father, your lover, even your own body.
The bones just sway noisily among the ocean’s waves. These very bones will eternally tell the tale of the “LAMENT” without consolation.
I’m sitting at the shore of the ocean. The waves are roaring. These waves are doing their job. They roar as they move. One wave chases the other. The waves are covered with white foam.
I listen to the noise of the waves. I watch their movement. I am trying to extract the secret of my husband’s moment of death. The waves are my witness. They saw so much. But how can I and the waves communicate with each other. I’m afraid that I’ll get no information from them. Here I am, sitting at the ocean’s front, watching the waves and listening. The blueness of the sky is pouring upon me.
Suddenly, amidst the waves, I hear Liasik’s voice: “In no manner or shape am I, even, remotely, thinking, I [I’m?] being cast into this vast ocean!”
And Talinkeh repeated this concept, saying: “I don’t like this place at all. I will not (and I, also, don’t want to) make any form of entrance into this body of water.”
Here I am, working on the onions. I have a separate case for the onion coverings.
I am thinking about the entrance to our house. I am seriously bothered by this thought: that, maybe, Talinkeh didn’t enter. It’s because the entrance was, already, closed. And, we, who were inside, didn’t open the door for us.
At this time, all the people were screaming that there was no more room inside. Maybe they meant that opening the door could harm all the rest.
One of the people assured us, his name was Gorvitch, that he opened up a hole and called him to crawl inside. He, even, saw how Luba extended his hand to Talinkeh. At that same time he, also, saw Aftarkeh.
I remember that Alinkeh and I were pushed at the other end of that cellar. I couldn’t reach the opening and assist them.
We, as Jews, see that there is an afterlife. I come closer to understanding the way of life of our religious people. I must confess that since I have not been practicing, for the most part, our traditions, this whole lifestyle is strange to me. But since, those [there are?] moments that I feel close to my family, even though they no longer partake of this earthly existence. This in itself is a spiritual experience , tying me, in this fashion, to my people. I, actually, feel their presence.
---
The 15th of July [no year given]
On the 10th of July, at night, on the eve of the Yahrtzeit, at the evening Maariv prayer, after reciting the Kaddish, the first Kaddish for my little Talinkeh, I had then come home with Israel Gurvitch [spelled “Gorvitch” several paragraphs ago]. He was, also, saying Kaddish for his brother. We remembered these holy souls on that night, on the 3rd of July of 1943. Israel told and assured me that with the saying of this Kaddish an opening was made available to connect, to his loved one, from the terrestrial to the celestial.
Now, I’m always immersed in my work. I never delved deeply (except for the times that I, spontaneously, got into a submissive state) about what is called “the other side.” I’m talking about the principle of immortality of the soul, as it goes from its earthly domain to the heavenly domain. This is in the category of morals and religion.
As I understood the concept of morality, it meant behaving properly with other human beings. I limited this idea to interpersonal behavior between human beings in this physical world.
But, my pain and life experiences have brought me to the point of change and transformation. I now have a clarity of feeling and thought, that one cannot define one’s life, only, to this materialistic realm. Our being, our life, must be seen from the perspective of our soul, from us, as spiritual creation housed in a physical body. We must sensitize ourselves to the spiritual intensity that surrounds us and to the spiritual encased within us.
We are overconcentrated on our preoccupations with the material. This is our engagement day and night.
I took myself to the Academy of Jewish Learning. I observed the Jewish men who frequented the center of Jewish study. How happy those Jews were with their lot, with their adherence to our Torah!
I stayed at this “Klois” (place of Jewish learning) for several hours. Being rooted in one’s tradition makes the burden of life lighter. So, everything that was so foreign and strange to me in the past became a little more understandable to me.
I can’t consider the above a minor matter. Just fathom this: three times daily, these devout Jewish men show up for services, and for studying, no matter what there were engaged in previously. This is no small matter. Who of us would tear themselves away from work or some other obligation and run to pray?!
Even if they have worries, even if they’re busy, at these times, earning a livelihood, they still tear themselves away to their designated appointment with G-d and His Torah. They close their shop, they close their businesses and offices and run to the “House of Prayer and Learning.”
The spiritual portion of life is of major concern. Even though they do these things by habit, these habits come out of commitment, loyalty and feeling. Of course, they do it for themselves. But their selves are rooted in G-d.
This respite from the drudgery of day-to-day life is of paramount importance to them. There, in the synagogue, they are able to find a space-time continuity of the sacred. It is the only way to find proximity to G-d.
One thing I found out, pain and suffering cleanses the soul.
Woe is to me! Alinkeh is no longer here. My Alinkeh is not with me. He is transferred to the ocean. Will he recite Kaddish there for his father? This I do not know. I had never thought about these things in former years. “Kaddish” was, then, a remote term.
Now, this remembrance prayer has its place. Now the recital of Kaddish has a great significance in my heart. I would, even, hire a stranger to recite the Kaddish. This is how things were done in my grandmother’s day. Let the tradition continue! This will tie my child to grandma and grandpa. In their days, even strangers could arrange these memorial ceremonies.
---
The 11th of July, 12th of Tammuz, Lodz
Today is the Jewish Yahrtzeit of my child, Talinkeh. On the 3rd of July, I spent the whole day at the cemetery. This cemetery is in Lodz. Most of the graves there are of Jews, unrelated to me.
Nonetheless, at this field of the former living, I felt the presence of my child. There, I felt close to my child. I felt that he had his place among his reposing brethren of this memorial to the dead.
I decided to fast this whole day. And the food and drink deprivation caused me a certain amount of discomfort and pain.
---
The 11th of July, 12th of Tammuz, Lodz (continued)
Strangely enough, my food deprivation didn’t bother me. Fasting made me more spiritual. I felt like transported to another dimension.
When I came home my friends and family wondered why I look so bad. No wonder I did as I did!
Somehow this Jewish Yahrtzeit today doesn’t give me the feeling I had when I found out about my child’s demise. Today should have been the day that Alinkeh would say the Kaddish for his brother. And here I am lighting candles for their souls!
Years ago, I did not know that one should fast when going to the cemetery. There is, also, the custom of fasting on the Yahrtzeit of a loved one. When I found out I realized the justification of this Jewish practice.
Our departed loved ones agonized and suffered so much! So it stands to reason that I, the surviving person, should, at least, suffer a semblance of their pain.
My dear child! When did the first bullet hit you? Were you bombarded with a hail of bullets? Did you fall down immediately? Or, when the bullets hit you, were you stunned and throbbed on the soil? Were you trying to hold on to life by pressing on your arms?
My dear child! Would that your grave were marked! Then I would come and sit near you.
Having nowhere else to grieve, I sit in this cemetery, near the graves of strangers. I bemoan three young lives – my husband’s and my two little boys. Your lives could have been so beautiful.
Also, your grandma and grandpa have no monument marking their final resting place. None of our loved ones have erected monuments. Only the rustling of the trees gives testimony to the presence of the roaming spirits of our loved ones.
One cannot imagine how much they were tortured. They marched in hunger. Wounded lives. Shortened days. The German murderers cut our lives. Lives of pride. And those cast into the modern-day “Nile” found no permanent rest. The waves perpetually carry them to endless resting places. Their remains are constantly being moved. They find no peace.
They weren’t given a chance to live. Wherever they hid, the German devil dogs found their location. They aimed, they shot, they destroyed. They uprooted these young lives. They were not given the chance to bloom.
I have my nest. But two eagles are missing. As these German devils advance, they destroy everything underfoot.
First they robbed the Father Eagle.
Who was I left with? I was left with my old grandmother. I, also, still had my twins. It didn’t take too long and my grandma was led to the altar as a sacrifice. They couldn’t just die. They had to be strangled, smothered. They pressed and pressed until their holy soul exited to their creator.
But I was, still, spared the ultimate despair. I had my twins. Life still breathed in our nest. We still hoped to be reunited with papa. The three of us trembled and waited.
My dear son, you resembled a full-grown tree. Youthful, but, fully grown. That’s how you looked.
Your soul was so pure, like the fresh dew on the grass, of a summer’s day.
And I had my dreams too! I envisioned spending my life with my best friend, your father. I hoped to be alongside him on our long road of life. Always together.
I imagined myself well-dressed, walking next to my tall, good-looking, life companion. And, in you, my children, our dreams would be realized.
And, here, I see abandoned bodies, strewn out in the fields. Owner-less, public refuse. We couldn’t recognize anyone. They were, practically, faceless. But I still hoped.
I, still, hoped to have one last look at my child. I thought, if you were still alive, somewhere, somehow, you could, still, find your love and live your life. You would, yet, be happy, be fortunate.
As every mother, I hoped to augment my nest. To build and build. New lives. I still hoped to see your father.
I had hoped that, both papa and I, be witness to both of your good fortunes, I wanted to derive “nachas” from my dear twins.
---
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
What a good head he had. And finding him demised, next to a bloody kerchief, garbed in grayish clothing, a handkerchief in the pocket. Cement was poured over the bodies.
Photographs were scattered all over. Chewed-up documents. Nothing was legible any more.
In memory of these lives, over the dead and maimed bodies you could hear the “Keil Malei Rachamim” (The Lord, Who Is Full of Compassion) being recited. Then, the Kaddish was recited.
Me, I am standing at the brink of the grave. I, consciously, absorb everything that I want to remain with me. I want it to become part of my being for a long, long time, my whole lifetime. And, then, I had to bid farewell to my child.
But, nonetheless, when I came home, I, again, started thinking. But, maybe, if….
Maybe my child was not among the victims. They, probably, have cleared the forests of the bodies. I was relieved that those holy bodies were covered superficially, with sand.
But, some days before, when I saw by [my?] child’s body, it was, already, cold to the touch. What thoughts came to mind!
And that’s how I sat at the cemetery in the city of Lodz. Everything, here, is dead quiet. It’s only the graves and the grass.
And how can the sun shine?! The birds are chirping. But, alas, my child’s life has been cut off.
The first time we saw these graves was in August of 1944. In later years, the same stretch of land looked like a beautiful forest. Paths were constructed throughout these woods. Nice trees, new path-walks.
One of the roadways leads to a terrible spot. Beyond the trees there is a large excavated piece of terrain. No fresh grass has, as yet, sprouted here. Even the sand, blown over to this place, is fresh-scented. A skeletal bone is rolling on this ground, powered by the wind. We, also, observe a long braid of hair. Seemingly owner-less objects that were once attached to living bodies.
Am I the thief of my children’s life?
No matter how much I think about this, no matter how much I try to get to the heart of this matter! I just couldn’t figure it out.
I thought that, because of the time and place that my child was located, he has a chance to survive. So I didn’t call them to follow me.
Maybe, this aforementioned thought was just to calm me down.
I remember the moment I heard his whispering voice. It was at 6 a.m. (dawn), on the 3rd of July. They were led to the trucks that the thieves of Jewish lives had driven up.
Then it was quiet for an hour. We waited for the local building to be exploded.
At 8 p.m., those German, murdering, life-snatchers returned.
Then, at one moment in time, I devise [imagine] my Talinkeh’s voice. I holler to him to enter the building. Will those inside open an entrance for us? The Germans are, already, on the search for Jews.
One response came from Liasik Yavragven. I’m not, even, thinking of entering this edifice.
Then I hear Talinkeh’s quiet voice again: “I don’t like this place. I don’t want to go into this place.” Did he truly mean what he said? Or was he just trying to make us feel more relaxed? Maybe he knew that the people inside the building [incomplete sentence, or maybe the word “that” shouldn’t be there?]. This will remain an eternal enigma for me.
What lightning thoughts “blotzed” through my mind! As if propelled by a devil. Maybe it is we, the adults, who will perish here and my son is destined to live. He will save himself and survive. So, maybe, I shouldn’t push him to go with us. And maybe I rationalized all of this because I, myself, was fearful.
So, one day in my life, during this period of time, Luba was standing five steps below the boy, my child, and waited for him to climb down. She was dressed in a reddish color and in a light traveling coat.
Just yesterday, Luba was jesting that she is going to wear all shades of red and carry a colorful red flag to greet the liberators.
And here I am, chasing after Alinkeh.
The people in this particular building had, already, enclosed themselves and not let anyone in. But if someone knocks hard, or is able to tear open the door, he does get in. Inside, there is a small cellar with a tin window. The passersby, outside, are gun-toting Germans.
After a moment’s time, Luba and Talinkeh enter the building. With them are Liasik Yavravahn and Dasieh, Felieh, Esther, and Tuskeh. The entrance is, now, locked. The door is blocked with a large potato-peel garbage can. The door had been nailed shut.
The stairway inside this safe house was like a hive full of ants. It was overflowing with people. They were flying up and down. Alinkeh was the first runner. Then came I. He was on the sixth step, above me.
You see women and children running. My son stopped to let them pass. Luba was standing near me. I said to Luba, “Come!” Talinkeh will catch up with us.
Her response was negative. “No,” she said. She stops for a moment…. “Talinkeh, come quicker,” she screams through her teeth.
This tone hit Talinkeh’s sensitivity. He stood there pale. His lips were puckered. This was the last time I saw my son….
I remember him standing upright, pale, serious, his lips biting one another. He stands to allow the running mothers to pass by first, with their children. He is wearing a light brown overcoat. He has on grayish pants. Beside him stand his boots, ready for the march….
---
Thursday, June 10, 2010
And so we proceeded further down the steps. We noticed that at the entrance Germans were, already, posted.
“Without baggage,” a small child repeats. She’s running up and down the stairs, repeating the German order. “Don’t take any personal property.”
So we understood that we had a death sentence on our hands. We automatically surmised this verdict, like the thought at the speed of a blitz.
My goodness! They are bringing dynamite! The Germans are piling up the dynamite. Soon they’ll blow up our building. One man from our building is seen running down the stairs screaming, “We are being taken out to be shot!” I don’t want to die.
I get a brainstorm! I don’t want to find myself face-to-face with a German. Let’s shoot our enemy. We have to find a way to stay alive. We cannot allow ourselves to be uprooted!
I say to my co-religionists, folks, we have to hide…. We run and run. No one is letting us in. Maybe it is too late. We are surrounded!
We find the underground tunnel. Through this structure we can find an exit. Someone has to be on guard to advise us of the moment we can safely enter this underground passage.
Here I am, preparing packages for our children. They’ll have a long journey. I make one package for Luba and one for myself.
Everyone is on edge. We are all scattered atop the steps. We’re hoping. Maybe we can avert this tragedy. Maybe we’ll tear ourselves away from the claws of death.
It’s getting late. A neighbor of mine asks me to stay over at her place. She’s afraid to be alone. I send her over my children. Me, I ended up staying at another place. We were so exhausted, we dozed off.
It is 4:00 a.m. … what a tumult! Movement! Everyone jumps out of bed. The children are, already, at my bedside. The word is that the Germans have just arrived with their vehicles. We can only hear the loud buzzing, like a beehive.
People are running back and forth. Some people went missing, for this camp, overnight.
Someone tore out the iron fence gratings from the windows. Many didn’t know about this possibility of escape. We were up for an all-night vigil.
Strange to say, that Alinkeh convinced the guard to release us. But by the time we got things together, the guards had changed. So this is how everything was lost.
It’s the next day. It’s a hot Sunday. We are weary from the heat wave and sleep deprivation.
Luba, and a few other friends, go to the boathouse, knowing that there is, only, cold water there. They just wanted to refresh themselves in order to be able to think clearly. In order to figure out an escape route. There is no, really, trodden path available. Liasik, Yahvrov say that such a road can be found. That it does exist.
The whole thing transpired on the Sabbath, the first of July. We found out, a few days before, that the war front had been broken through. It was an admixture of hope and fright. How murderous those Germans are….
Next to the next three paragraphs on the handwritten page numbered 101, the following words are in the margin: Heeres-Kraft-Park (work). German troop = HKP – labor camp in Vilna, Lithuania.
And what about our side of the story? We heard that the camps in Austria had been evacuated. Maybe we can, also, escape.
We were wondering if any Jews had escaped Estonia. Papa sent us a message that it was indeed the case.
It was Saturday night, the first of July, when the HKP spoke to the assembled Jews. He said, “We have to evacuate you. Believe me, everybody is being evacuated. Believe me, you are going to live, you are not going to die. You are being transferred. Don’t bring too many belongings with you.
This made people uneasy. People started looking for ways to escape the camp.
Alinkeh, Talinkeh, Luba, and I are standing in the yard. Luba is gesturing to the German to let us out. But she doesn’t get anywhere with him….
---
Tuesday, June the 15th of 2010
Cemetery, Lodz, 3rd of July 1946
It is Talinkeh’s second Yahrtzeit (memorial).
I’m sitting on the marble steps of the cemetery of Lodz. I’m sitting on the steps of a grave.
What am I doing here? My child’s bones are scattered far from here. But, somehow, I feel myself closer to him over here. Alas! It is his second Yahrtzeit.
Last year I did not commemorate his first Yahrtzeit. At that time, I just couldn’t get it out of my head that my child is, still, alive.
Sadly, today, all hope has evaporated. Even though I am sitting among the graves of strangers, I somehow feel that I am close to my son.
Overhead today, there is a killer sun. It is so hot! It’s just like it was two years ago. The sky is pure blue. Overhead is a scorching sun.
But how different it was then. No one, then, noticed the sun. Nobody felt the heat.
Today the Jews say Yizkor. Should I go to synagogue and cry and wail with the congregation? Should I utter the Prayer for the Dead (Kaddish)?
I cannot express my mourning pain for others. I carry it buried in my chest. It’s embedded in my soul. The pain is wound around every convolution of my brain.
The pain I feel is solely mine! The pain is my possession.
The Yizkor prayer reverberates around me everyday. It’s with me eternally, every second, even during my sleepless nights. “Vayizkor,” I shall, always, remember.
My child cries to me, “Mama, I love life so much. I want to live so, so much. And having this strong desire for life, I feel that I will live!”
At age 79, after a long and difficult life, wanting to die peacefully, in her own bed, my mother, unfortunately, had to suffer until she was strangled by the Germans, thieves of life.
These victims did not die on their own beds. They did not have the company of their dear ones at their bedside. No one’s heart was bleeding for them.
These bodies are cast away somewhere. Their bones are lying among the cruel enemies. So went my child, so went my husband.
I can imagine the hunger and pain they suffered prior to dying.
But I don’t know exactly who murdered them, not when.
My husband, in full bloom of his life, like a wild animal, mortally wounded. He was in optimum health, energetic and handsome. He had such love to give! His will to live was strong. Death never, even, crossed his mind.
And how did my child meet his death?
At the moment of death, what feelings did my child feel, what feelings did my husband feel?
Were they able to resist? They were so restricted! Their tormentors were so much more powerful than they.
But my beloved ones had strength of soul.
---
Yizkor 1945
Today is the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Yizkor will be recited on Yom Kippur. On this auspicious day, Jews will head to the synagogue and remember their near ones. Those who are no longer with us will be memorialized.
I never forget my near ones, my dear ones: my child, my husband, my mother, all the holy, sacrificed victims. I, always, have them on my mind.
During my sleepless nights I, actually, see them.
Two Yahrtzeits are foremost on my mind. Then, I lost my husband; then, I lost my child.
I never hated those murderers so much. But now that I found out about their deaths, I despise them.
Now, one thought is tormenting my mind. One feeling is pressing against my heart. One preoccupation tortures my soul:
Now I know that they are gone forever.
About Translator Goldie Knobel
My family resided in Poland for generations. In 1939 they barely escaped, at gunpoint, from a contingent of German soldiers. They went into hiding. It was my mother, father and brother. I was born later on, during the war. Our household language was YIDDISH. Of course, my parents and brother spoke several languages, as do I. After the war my family was unable to locate ANY survivors. NOT ONE! This is true to this day. I am, now, retired. Previously, I worked for over three decades teaching foreign languages. Currently, I do volunteer work. I lead an ORTHODOX Jewish Life. This has always been the case.