I
remember him well; my father and his shop. Somehow I remember him and
our shop better than all the rest of my childhood, I am thankful to God
for that. Why?
I shall explain this later and you will understand.
Our house, with the shop below, was situated in the centre of the market
place, a lovely, noisy place where most of the business of the town was
carried on in those days. Every small town in Eastern Europe had its
market place; the square of empty ground with side pavements and the old
houses encircling it. There the families like my own lived for
generations. The houses were big, double storied, with dark well-like
yards.
The spacious flats, for all had large families and often relations lived
permanently with them. Although they often looked neglected and
dilapidated from the outside, they were however happy houses, full of
wonderful smells, and full of children with content faces. There were no
playgrounds, but the shops down below, and the market place were the
most wonderful places of all.
My father had a sweetshop. What could be better for a little girl? And
there were others. Shops with beautiful china, shops with gorgeous
materials, shops with leather where the landlords bought their saddles
and riding boots, shops with delicacies. Each family had been in
business for generations and all were proud of their shops.
When the market place was empty it made a delightful playground, and on
market days it was a fascinating place for children. With the dawn we
heard the people arrive with their goods in carts, on foot, with their
cattle, baskets, and boxes full of country produce: such as butter,
cheeses, cream, vegetables, fruit and poultry. We heard the angry voices
of women, the swearing of men, the bustle of preparations, and the
erection of stalls. Suddenly, like a fairy-tale, the market place was
full; full of neighing horses, squeaking pigs, cackling hens and lowing
cattle. The stalls were heavy with food, materials, laces, pictures,
medallions, linen and flowers.
I marveled again and again at how they managed to pile all those things
in, in such a short time. The crowds, the noise, the calls of women
praising their products, all mingled together.
This was the day we had all been looking forward to; and we children
never failed to enjoy ourselves, just watching, running about, buying
penny sweets from the stalls and touching all.
But my father’s shop was the best of all. It was not an impressive shop
being rather dark and narrow with a long counter running down the length
of it and shelves all around. But the shelves had all the sweets one
could ever dream of. There were boxes and boxes of delicious chocolates
lollipops marzipan, wafers, matzo, biscuits, fruits in sugar, enormous
chocolate eggs, halva, and Easter snowy lambs all made out of sweet
stuff. Even the boxes were beautiful with their foreign labels and
inscriptions. How I loved to look at them!
My favorite place was in a dark corner under the staircase leading from
our flat to the shop where I stayed for long hours watching my father.
My father….
He was a tall, dark man, and though I do not remember his features
distinctly, I know he had a wise and gentle face. Always in the same
black suit, a cap on his head, he was there in our shop, serving the
customers, counting the money, sorting the boxes, and talking to the
people. When the ring of the doorbell announced a newcomer, he would
hasten to greet him “Your servant Sir, Good day.” Sometimes he sold a
lot, sometimes
a pennies worth, but always gracefully, bowing low, and thanking
profoundly. Our frequent customers were the rich people living just
outside the town, who used to come to the shop in carriage drawn by two
beautiful horses, often followed by a smaller carriage, drawn by four
ponies containing their four little daughters. How my father loved their
visits. The girls giggled, argued about sweets, and asked for different
tit-bits. Their parents bought boxes and boxes of delicacies for their
latest party, and the landlord, who was very fond of my father, teased
him “Mr. Baum, when are you going to Palestine?” It was my father’s
great dream to go there, and settle down there with his cousins. For as
long as I can remember he was always on the verge of going, but he was
torn between his two loves: his fatherland and the house and the shop in
the market place. So he just talked about our going away and selling the
business, and argued with my mother, who having small children and her
own aged parents to care for, never encouraged him much. We were happy
where we were and it was unthinkable for us children to leave the home
we loved so much. I suppose we were not especially well off, but our
lives were happy, our parents were good, pious people, who loved us
dearly, and because of my love for the shop, I think I was my father’s
favorite child. My two big brothers were at school, and my baby sisters
were either too occupied or too small, to take an interest in the
business. I alone could stay there for hours, just watching, thinking,
and dreaming.
But I did not dream of the lovely ponies the other children had, or of
the house with the swimming pool, or the park full of peacocks and tame
deer, where they lived. I was happy in my own home and I would not
change it for anything else. I just dreamt about working in the shop and
selling sweets, talking to the customers and sorting the boxes the way
my father did.
Then came the war, one of the nightmares I pray to forget. German planes
appeared over the town, the shops were closed and the market square
deserted. Frightened people talked in whispers: WAR I remember the
whistling siren, roaring planes over our house, and the crump of falling
bombs followed by the screams of women and children.
I remember crouching in our wet, dark cellar and the quiet weeping of my
mother.
But the war did not last long. After a few weeks it was over and the
Germans marched
triumphantly into the town. As children, we welcomed the end of the war.
We had had enough of cellars, and the roaring of the planes. We walked
behind the German soldiers, watching them curiously, admiring their
cars, tanks and equipment. The grown-ups, less excited, but glad
nevertheless talked and laughed, relaxing after the tension of the past
few weeks.
The German occupation had begun. One had to get used to this idea and
start living again. How little I knew of what was happening in the rest
of the country where we lived. Hundreds in exile or in concentration
camps, thousands homeless or destroyed: misery, poverty and suffering
were all around us. But I was an ignorant little girl who could smile
again because I was free to romp and play happily in the market square.
My father however, although he re-opened his shop, was strangely silent
and moody these days. Perhaps he regretted his lack of decision to go to
Palestine, who knows?
At first everything went well. His business carried on as usual although
supplies were getting shorter and shorter and we had fewer customers.
Our shop was often very quiet and empty as the people did not have
enough money to buy luxuries.
The first thing to upset our lives was the German order to wear bands
with the King David star on our arms. I did not mind very much, because
in a way it was fun. We were like soldiers proudly showing the badge of
our regiment. But my family was upset. Now we often heard the word
“Jew.” In certain shops, cinemas and restaurants notices appeared
saying: “Entrance for Jews forbidden.”
Still our market place was free from this as we were all of the same
kind. And then suddenly they started talking about a Ghetto, making our
market square and the surrounding streets into a Ghetto and moving in
all the Jews from the rest of the town to live with us.
We had a large flat and I thought it would be fun to share it with
others, until the day they began to arrive! They came in groups led by
German soldiers, pale and frightened some with small babies in their
arms. They carried suitcases, the only belongings they were allowed to
take with them. Small, old, men and women, all driven from their houses
one morning and given only a few minutes to prepare themselves. And here
they came with the soldiers kicking, swearing and shouting at them to
disperse. Everyone had to find a place to live. They also came to us
begging for shelter, tears in the men’s eyes, and the women crying
bitterly. I recognized many of them, doctors, lawyers, shopkeepers and
tradesmen.
My father brought them in until every hook and cranny was occupied. We
even shared our beds with them and my mother’s big kitchen was always
crowded now. Small babies crawled on the floor, women cooked meals,
prepared food, borrowed pots and cutlery, constantly arguing, quarreling
and crying. The men sat in the house in gloomy silence, brooding over
their losses and lack of work. But for us children it was a picnic. We
soon made friends with other boys and girls, sharing our food and toys
with them and showing them our favorite games and hiding places. The
shop, of course was the centre of attraction, and although its supplies
were rapidly diminishing, my father always managed to have something to
give to the little ones. He was dearly loved by all, and was the only
one who could pacify the quarreling families, console the tearful and
give courage to the faint-hearted. We shared all our belongings with the
others and it was like having an enormous family of brothers and
sisters, aunts and uncles. Our Ghetto was still open, and we could go to
the town wearing our bands on our arms. My father could still run his
business, buying supplies from local traders, and life (although
cramped) was not too bad. Men slowly returned to work, some helping the
other shopkeepers, some practicing their trades and occupations. A
school was going to be opened in the Ghetto in a few months time, to
which we would all go.
The winter came and with it new rules and regulations. The Ghetto was to
be closed and guarded by German soldiers. All wishing to go to town had
to receive special permission and state their reason. This meant one
thing: HUNGER Now the children were merry no more, and the cold weather
with its snow and frost increased our misery. The supplies of potatoes,
flour and fat were diminishing rapidly, so we lived mainly on soup and
bread which was rationed. The people were getting ill, thin and fretful.
My father closed his shop and the rest of his supplies were carefully
shared among us all. The school would not be opened after all, and
suddenly I was afraid. I watched my father praying long into the night
and by the light of the candles I saw him as never before. He became an
old, disillusioned, and bitter man. All the people prayed a lot. One
could see them in the evening in the candlelight heads young and old,
bowed low, murmuring their prayers, and singing their hymns. Outside was
the winter night with snow falling quietly on the trees, roofs and
windows. The whole world seemed sleeping and peaceful. We children spent
most of our time cuddled near the kitchen stove, playing silently with
toys or listening to the stories my father read to us from the Old
Testament. It was still a home and a peaceful life.
But in the spring the Germans enforced still more rules and regulations.
All healthy men and women between the ages of 16 and 60 were forced to
work.
One morning they came in waking us up at dawn, kicking doors, shouting
commands, and chasing young and old out into the market square. Only
babies were allowed to remain and as they were snatched from their
mothers’ arms, they were left wailing on the beds. We all met in the
market place, hundreds of our friends and neighbors were dragged out of
their beds like us. And now the selection began. Men and women were
separated, while old people and children were left in different groups.
We stood watching the soldiers in bewilderment and fright, as they
counted the people fit for work, while distributing spades and tools
among the men, and then loading them on trucks.
My father, my dearest one, and my two brothers were taken. My mother
went with the women in a different group. I and my two little sisters
were left alone. The little girls seeing their mother going, stretched
out their small arms to her crying loudly “Mummy, Mummy.” She saw us and
stepped forward. Maybe she wanted to come and embrace us and say
good-bye, or maybe it was just a little involuntary movement, or perhaps
she wanted to ask the soldier for permission to go. But the soldier, a
big, red faced man, rushed to her and slapped her heavily in the face.
My mother swayed losing her balance, and then straightened herself and
stood very still and very erect. There were no tears in her eyes. The
whole crowd suddenly became very silent. I looked at my father, also
standing very still, and I saw the pride in his eyes. He was proud of my
mother and suddenly I also became proud of both of them, proud of our
neighbors, proud of them all. They carried spades, wore old garments,
looked ill and tired, but they carried themselves well.
Soon the loading was finished and the soldiers shouted the last command
to disperse. We were free to go. I joined my grandparents and we
returned slowly to the house. There was a lot of work to do that day,
tending to the babies, cooking the meals and cleaning the house. For the
first time in my life I was without either my father or my mother and I
felt sick and hurt, lost and hopeless. But life had to go on. Soon there
were the customary morning sounds in our kitchen. All worked as never
before; the old ladies prepared breakfast, the old men cleaned the home
and the children tended to the babies. We wanted to show our loved ones
that they could also be proud of us. That day my childhood ended. I
fully realized our tragedy and became a grown up person in spirit.
Our dearest ones returned the same evening feeling hungry, tired and
depressed. The men had worked in the fields, while the women worked in
the factories learning how to operate the machines. The long hours of
work under German supervision had been a great strain on them all. I saw
how tired my father looked and felt a pang of pity for him and for the
rest of the exhausted people. My mother however, was full of good
spirits. The Germans had promised them rations of food and she was
looking forward to giving us some proper meals. How brave she was, she
had never worked so hard before. Suddenly I saw her clearly, full of
spiritual strength and courage. How glad we were to see her again,
embracing us, asking about domestic happenings, grateful for all we had
done.
Day after day, every morning at 5 o’clock, we said good-bye to them and
were left to manage the house by ourselves. I became quite an
experienced nurse and loved it. In a way this was still a happy life.
Until one day……….
It was a summer’s morning, quiet, dark and cool. The house was full of
tired, sleeping people. Then suddenly I heard the voices of angry German
voices giving orders. Then there were the heavy steps of soldiers coming
nearer and nearer to us. Suddenly the doors flew open and the shout
“Alles raus, All out” echoed through the house, waking the people from
their sleep. This was not the usual morning call for work. We looked at
each other, frightened, hurriedly dressed and gathered the little ones
together. We went down with our parents, bewildered and speechless, and
full of misgivings.
Again the market place was full, this time full with crying babies,
children half asleep and old people. The soldiers arrived in closed
vans, hundreds of them. They were nervous themselves as every one of
them carried a gun; they shouted, swore and kicked as never before. We
all stood very still, terror on every face. This time they divided us
into two groups; those able to work and those who were too young or too
old. The vans came nearer and stopped next to us, and the loading began.
This time they were loading us, yes US, the children and the old.
There was a moan, then weeping, then angry shouts and screams from the
crowd. Mothers rushed forward, dragging their children from the vans.
Fathers snatched their little ones and carried them past the standing
soldiers, who, for a moment, remained where they were and did not know
what to do. Then I heard a command; and shots, one, two, then more and
more. I saw my mother embracing my baby sisters and then I heard her
scream, a loud and piercing scream. She was falling down, down, down ….
Then mercifully all went black before my eyes and I saw no more.
I recovered from my faint, only to find myself lying in my Granny’s arms
inside a bumping van. I heard the moaning and whimpering of children and
all the people around us. When my eyes had grown accustomed to the
darkness, I saw that we were all crowded together lying side by side in
the van.
We finally stopped outside the town where a train was awaiting us. The
soldiers opened the doors and ordered us to descend. More and more vans
arrived, all filled with stricken old people and frightened children. I
looked feverishly for my small sisters, but it was impossible to find
them among so many people. There was only my Granny, and I clung to her
desperately. We were pushed brutally towards the train and loaded into
empty cattle trucks. Through the open doors we started to enter; the
old, the crippled, the sick, and the children. Babies were thrown in by
soldiers without a glance, like parcels. More and more shouts–“Out,
Hurry ”swearing all the time. Now I knew, even though a child I suddenly
knew the truth. We were going to the place from which there was no
return, and the people started whispering those two dreadful words: GAS
CHAMBERS. I cried desperately for I knew that I would never see my loved
ones again, and nothing my Granny said could console me. Finally I fell
into an exhausted sleep. When I woke up, our train was slowly beginning
to move. The wagon was full of people, and the everlasting crying of
hungry babies, and the smells of vomit, urine and sweat. I nearly
fainted again, but somehow my Granny managed to push me near the door
which was not properly shut and through which came a breath of fresh
air. I peered through the opening and saw the train was moving slowly
through the forest which was one of our favorite picnic spots before the
war. The forest belonged to one of our best customers and was not far
from the house of our Landlord. As I looked out I heard my Granny’s
quiet but urgent whisper: “JUMP OUT”. Without thinking twice I obeyed
her and pushed myself through the narrow opening of the door, and jumped
out. I fell into soft sand and crawled quickly under the surrounding
shrubs and hid myself. I heard the whistle of the train in the distance
and lay there quietly for a long time. They had not noticed my escape
and had not stopped the train. The soldiers were so sure that they had
the small and old at their mercy, that they had taken no precautions
against possible escapes. Moving silently I crept further into the
forest and waited for darkness to come. Then I made my way to the
estate.
It was late in the evening when I reached the house. I stood outside for
a long time, watching them eating their supper through the window. I saw
the servants clear the table and say good-night to their masters.
Finally when I was sure of finding the Landlord and his wife alone, I
walked quietly in. I am afraid I frightened them very much, but what
else could I do? I managed to whisper out my story and they were most
kind. They knew nothing about my family, although they heard what had
taken place that morning, they had not been allowed to enter the Ghetto.
They were moved and shocked by my story and perhaps out of resentment
and hatred against the cruel Germans, they gladly took me in. They
dressed me in peasant clothes, gave me food and took me upstairs to the
loft where I spent the night. They took a great risk for me, as houses
were often searched. They showed me an old wardrobe and told me to hide
there if I heard any suspicious noises downstairs. During the day I
would have to remain in it all the time, and keep very quiet.
During the following days I saw nobody except the Landlord, who at
intervals brought me food and words of comfort. I still marvel at how he
managed to keep me there without the knowledge of his large household.
One night my host came to fetch me. There was a carriage waiting
downstairs and he hid me inside amongst blankets, cushions and boxes.
Then we drove away, on a long and exhausting drive. We finally arrived
at a little forester house, and I stepped out of the suffocating
atmosphere of the carriage, into the fresh, pure air of the forest. The
place looked completely deserted, but after knocking on the door for
some time, it was opened by an old man. He already knew about my coming
and took me inside.
From that moment, until the end of the war I stayed there with two kind
old people. I soon developed into a strong, healthy girl, helping in the
house, loving the freedom, fresh air and out door life. Except for my
memories, and an inward gnawing fear, I was not too sad. The old people
had been told I was an orphan sent by a priest to the Landlord to be
looked after. They never questioned this and they liked me and showed me
much kindness. Was I really an orphan? I often cried at night thinking
about this. I know now that I was, but I am grateful to God, for sparing
me the awful knowledge at that time.
After the war I got in touch with my father’s cousins in Palestine and I
joined them soon afterwards and stayed with them until I married.
Now I am very happy. We have a little shop and as I sit there sorting
the boxes of delicious chocolates, arranging the display of sweets, and
selling them, I often think of my father. Somehow it does not hurt so
much when I remember him: my father and his shop…But the rest is just a
nightmare that I pray to God to forget and to forgive those who have
done this to me and to my people.
May 5, 2007
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