FOREWORD

The history of the Jews is a tragic history of persecuted, innocent people. There have been many genocides in human history, scores of people of different races murdered; but this was only one - Holocaust. Only Jews were killed because they were Jews.

When World War II was over, Europe was a big cemetery. A thriving culture, Jewish life there was essentially destroyed. A whole Jewish world vanished.

Many books have been written about the Holocaust over the years, and people don't want to hear more about the horrors of the past. They say that it's time to forget things that happened so many years ago. The past belongs to history.

Probably they are right - life has to go on.

Unfortunately, the survivors who are still alive can't forget it. I am one of them and what outrages me are the revisionists, the falsifiers of history, dishonest liars, manipulators who crawled out lately to deny...deny the facts, documents, films, and witnesses' testimonies.

Their goal? To minimize the terrible tragedy which befell the Jewish people under the Nazi rule. Distorting the truth, they can't hide their sympathy with the criminals who are responsible for the genocide. They can't hide their prejudice and their blatant anti-Semitism.

This book is a personal story, a memoir of a child, a survivor in Nazi­occupied Poland, a young girl who eluded the killers.

Why have I now decided to write this story? Why was I silent for so long? There are a few reasons. First of all, after the war I lived 37 years in the Soviet Union, and there the Jewish Holocaust was ignored. I think that was partly (as they said) they had enough of their own martyrs and most of all because of anti-Semitism.

Anyway, silence allowed me to cast a veil over my past which I wanted desperately to forget. But this was impossible. That cursed time haunted me all my life. There is no place to hide.

All these years I was reading other people's memories and my heart was aching. Their hell was my hell; their misery, my misery. I was crying rivers of tears for them and for myself.

Through all these years I was writing in my mind my story - a story of a Jewish child, a teenager in Poland during the war 1939 - 1945.

Why it has taken me so long to put it on paper? Simple. This was the one and only thing I didn't want to share with my new family - the agony of my childhood, the fear of being born Jewish.

In this way, years in hiding during the war were followed by many years of hiding my past, my pain, my nightmares. But deep inside the past kept me captive. Under the normalcy of every-day life, there was a troubled, wounded, and weeping soul.

When the Germans occupied Poland in 1939, I was nine years old. When they left I was 14 - the age of Anne Frank.

I read many times her book, and her situation was similar to mine, Nobody can imagine hiding half a year in a dark, stinking pit under a pigsty - the physical discomfort, suffocating in a crouched position, not to be able to stretch your legs and the hunger - constant gnawing hunger.

Days and nights in the darkness, with manure leaking from above, and the mental anguish to be discovered and killed on the spot. And the fear of neighbours lurking around and the threat from our host, who was paid but was not willing to keep us....

And we left this "heaven" for the fields and the woods, where we were exposed to more dangers.

Yes, the most vulnerable victims were the Jewish children, whose fight for survival more often than not ended in disaster. Like Anne Frank, I was sentenced to death - doomed for the sin of being Jewish.

Our luck ended on September 15, 1943.

The last time I saw my mother and heard her voice was then, when surrounded by the Germans she told me to try to climb a tree. I survived ... but my family did not.

I was 13 years old, left alone in the woods, still hunted, cold and hungry, in shock for losing my beloved family. What chance did I have?

Children who survived alone without family went through such hell, such a grinding experience, that it marked them for life.

When a few months later, I got the false birth certificate, I was half dead at the end of human endurance.

Now, how to change overnight from a hunted Jewish child hiding two years from human contact, suddenly to a pious Catholic girl? These were my choices: to succumb to a bullet, cold, hunger, or to jump for a chance to survive (or perish) in the midst of my enemies - pretend to be what I am not.

It was very dangerous for a Jew with false identity to mix with a hostile, suspicious crowd, who boasted that they "smell a Jew from a distance."

I went through traps, tests, and passed. For them it was a game. For me, a fight for survival. The cruelty of people... I feared everything - a knock at the door (Gestapo!), a neighbour's glance, my anti-Semitic hosts, and even myself. What if in my sleep I would speak Yiddish? I survived, but crucial in my plight was the help of a few noble people, not ordinary citizens. Stanislav Michalowski (who gave me the false birth certificate) was a poor village shoemaker with six children. He was a secret Communist, who believed in people's equality and rejected racism. For this he paid later with his life. A farmer with the name Pluta, a Bible reader and village philosopher who believed that Christians should not murder, and that Jews are human too. He was an outcast in his community. And Kaspizak, he was an enigma, a former murderer (he killed his first wife in an act of rage) then spent twenty years in prison. Only the war liberated him. Now he had a new family and what made him risk his life, everything, to save a few Jews without any financial gain? It was my luck that I met these good people who helped me to survive.

In the summer of 1944, the Russians liberated me and others. But we were still not out of the woods. The Polish nationalist AK was finishing the remaining Jews. They didn't need the Jews who witnessed their collaboration with the Nazis and the main thing - the Poles didn't want to part with the booty they robbed from the Jews. The best solution - to kill the owners, the Jews.

No wonder that under the circumstances, I, at the age of 14, was lured by the Soviet propaganda about a country free of racism. Everybody is equal and education is free!

I didn't want to live in a country that became for me a cemetery and a dangerous one. I wanted out, and this was my only way out. As a war orphan, I was taken to Russia. Very soon, I was feeling that I made a big mistake, but the Iron Curtain sealed my fate.

The next 37 years in the Soviet Union is another story of survival. Alone, in a strange country ruined by the war, I had my share of suffering: hunger, cold, humiliation, and loneliness.

But, I survived this, too. I got my education, built a new family, and kept silent about my past.

All these 37 years I never felt at home there. It was like sitting in a railway station on my suitcase waiting for the train to arrive.

I had only one dream - to reunite with my only surviving sister in Canada. But it was only a dream for many years. When we had the opportunity to apply for immigration and we did, we were promptly refused. But we applied again, again, and again. We were refused for a few years, and this was not a picnic.

When we were let out in 1982, we ran for our lives, afraid that they would change their minds at the last minute.

Canada! The best country in the world! The first democratic country in my life. Here in Canada my faith in humanity was restored. Only here I have a feeling of belonging and peace.

Peace? But my past never goes away, never abates. It follows me like a shadow. I don't have peace even in this peaceful country. My nightmares about the war are tormenting me, added by dreams about being locked forever in Russia, not able to leave. I wake up in a cold sweat, look around and can't grasp "Where am I? Who am I?”

I am scared to go back to sleep and usually I spend the rest of the night in the chair, reading.

Sometimes when I am walking down the streets, enjoying the sight of nice houses, decorated with flowers, shrubs, bushes, suddenly it hits me. "Can I hide in these shrubs so that nobody will find me?"....

Many books are written about the Holocaust by scholars and historians. But with all my respect for them, I can tell you that only survivors know the real story, the real hell. Only they saw the murderers with their own eyes. Only they know the horror and despair to be left alone, when everybody you loved is gone - murdered.

That is why some of them ended their misery after liberation. They simply were unable to cope with their losses, their loneliness. They were unable to function again in a normal world.

In the summer of 1943, when I was 13 and hiding in the fields, I wrote a poem, "The Doomed," in Polish. I ended the poem with these words:

Why can't we live like others do?

Will the world change in our life?

Is it worth it all to stay alive?

You, inhuman beasts, who did it to us

Forever be damned your name!

If even we survive this hell on earth

We'd never be quite the same....

Unfortunately, my prophecy turned out true. We are trying hard to live like others, but it is a double life. We are the ghosts of a vanished world.

All alone, I stare at the window

Feeling my soul in me cry

Hearing the painful screams of my heart

Calling silently: Why?

Why are my dreams scattered, destroyed?

Why am I put in this cage?

Why is the world silently watching?

Why can't they hear my rage?

Why is the barbed wire holding me prisoner?

Blocking to Freedom my way,

Why do I still keep waiting and dreaming

Hoping .... maybe .... someday....

Ruth Minsky

MY CHILDHOOD AND FAMILY LIFE

I was born Nela Rotbart in Poland on the 4th of July 1930. My family was Jewish and we lived in a village named Bojmie, which was sixty kilometers east of Warsaw. It was a big settlement, but only a few Jewish families of craftsmen and a couple of merchants lived there.

One of them was my father, Lazar Rotbart, the other his uncle, Mordechai Rotbart. They were partners, cattle dealers, and their wives managed little grocery stores.

My father was born not far away, in the city of Kosovo where he lived with his four siblings. Actually two, because his two brothers, Isaak and Yoseph, were already living on their own in Warsaw. His two sisters, a teenager named Fradel and three-year-old Miriam, lived with him because my grandparents passed away a year before from ailments which are today easily cured - appendicitis and other diseases like pneumonia. There was a tragedy before this. He had an older brother who only graduated from the Yeshiva and, at the age of twenty-three, was a Rabbi. Going home one winter, he caught a cold and a week later died from pneumonia. There were no doctors in this area.

My father, a handsome young man only fresh from the army, was the provider for his two orphaned sisters when his uncle Mordechai from Bojmie offered him a partnership. He agreed, and moved to Bojmie.

Mordechai had his own plans for his young nephew. He wanted him to marry one of his three daughters - Sara, Rivka or Dora. But my father didn't fulfill his expectations.

They were no beauties these girls, fat and quite dull, but I think the main obstacle why they were still not married was their mother, Yenta. She was a real Yenta. She never smiled, didn't like people (even though she was a shopkeeper) and was simply unfriendly. What her problem was I don't know, but I knew that we children feared her, especially when she sat at the window of her store, looking out so gloomy, that we avoided her by crossing the street.

So, I think that was the reason suitors avoided entering their house.

Mordechai's house was the biggest and on holidays one room served as a prayer house for all the village Jews. Except that later when he had two grandsons Tojve and Shloime (our constant playmates) he kept a melamed in one of these rooms, which was serving as a Chader for the kids, including me and Eva. but this was later.

Uncle Mordechai was quite a jolly, small and very fat man (with such a depressing wife like Yenta, no wonder that his only pleasure was eating) and having so many women in the house, he cherished the company of his nephew Lazar.

To his uncle's disappointment, my father fell in love with a girl from the neighbouring village of Sionne, a daughter of a blacksmith named Abram.

She was eighteen years old and her name was Yochevet. The family of uncle Mordechai never forgave father for this betrayal and severed all contacts with the young family.

Anyway, our mother told us later how my father proposed. He didn't ask her the simple question "Will you marry me?" No, he asked, "Do you want to be a sister-in-law to my sisters?" They married.

In Bojmie, they began their life together on a little farm, which consisted of a one-room shack with a straw roof, a yard, a barn, a meadow behind the barn and a little creek crossing the property.

There were no utilities of any kind. No electricity, no water, no heat and certainly no washroom. The lavatory was in the open behind the barn. You simply did your business sticking your behind out (rain or shine), and saw your neighbours doing the same. No shame, it was a natural thing. People didn't bother to build some shelter for this activity, as it was an unnecessary luxury.

In this one room, we had an oven for baking and a wood stove for cooking. My mother was very handy and she made this shack nice and cozy with her handy-work.

She was a remarkable woman, my mother. One of six siblings from an orthodox family, she learned early the art of sewing and helped her parents earn a living.

She was still a child when she was already working to help the parents, who were so pious, so orthodox, that they had to interrupt their work for prayers a few times a day.

When a tall customer came in, to take his measurements, my mother had to climb on the table to reach his neck.

My grandparents were not very affectionate to their six children (they didn't have time between prayers) and the children grew up without hugging or kissing or simply hearing the words "I love you." It's very sad but this was common in the working class, struggling to survive, no sentiments.

Anyway, all their children grew up without it, all were talented in music, drawing, designing, but nobody got an education - it was not affordable.

All of them became craftsmen on their own - the girls, seamstresses - the boys, blacksmiths. Actually, one boy; the other boy Moishe was the black sheep of the family. He taught himself to play the fiddle and choose the life of a wandering professional musician. More will be said about him later.

I don't know how many grades she had in school, but my mother taught herself Yiddish, Hebrew and Polish so fluently that she read books in these languages and was extremely intelligent, clever and talented.

She was everything a husband could wish for. A great cook, housewife, mother, businesswoman, etc.

When she was nineteen years old, they married. The only dowry my father brought to her was his six-year-old sister Miriam, an orphan. So, she had a child from the first day.

Because father was always on the move with his cattle business, my mother, alone with a child, had a lot to do in the house and in the yard. She had to make a fire in the stove (for cooking and heating), milk the cow, feed chickens and other animals, clean, wash, carry water from a well (which was far away), make breakfast, etc. When nine months later my older sister, Sima, was born, one can imagine how much work she had to do (at that time you washed diapers). Sima was a beautiful child with black hair, huge black eyes and white skin. She was so adorable that everybody loved her. She was very smart from the first day, even uncle Mordechai's non-speaking family made an exception for her, inviting her to play with them. So, mother now had two children - Miriam and Sima. Not for long, because two years later, Eva was born and two years after that another girl jumped out - me. My parents had hoped for a boy, but didn't try anymore. Three girls with the fourth being our young aunt Miriam.

Years later, Miriam complained that she was our babysitter, and it was hard for her. I believe it, but on the other hand, my mother was overwhelmed with a household and children and Miriam was the eldest.

Miriam was not an easy child. she was ambitious, and being an orphan made her very sensitive to any sign of neglect. She saw things in situations that other children don't even notice.

She complained that before she went to school, she had to do chores around the house. This was something she resented.

I don't think my young mother was happy with this "dowry" my father brought with him. They only had one room for all of them.

The rebellious Miriam was not easy to handle but my mother loved my father and as it says­ “you don't choose your relatives."

On the other hand, my father showed Miriam much love and affection. I think he spoiled her. He always took her to Kalushin before the school year and she chose everything she needed for school - all new and in abundance. (We never had such luxury to choose - we used books and supplies handed down from older sisters, but that was normal.)

One thing I know - we loved Miriam and she loved us. We had many aunts but none was as close to us as our Marysia. She was a member of our family - that's it.

Anyway, in that time in rural areas, stepchildren always helped and very often were mistreated by the stepmothers. My mother never laid a finger on her, never abused her, and if she didn't show enough affection to her (and she badly needed it as an orphan), it was because she was brought up in a family without hugs and kisses. She didn't show it to her own children, but we knew that she loved us. Sure, Miriam deserved all the love and affection, and my father gave it to her.

She loved him very much, he was always a father figure to her, and she was like his own child.

My mother was very respected in the community for her wisdom, intelligence and cooking.

The nearest city, Kalushin, with a Jewish population of six thousand, had many organizations, Zionist and others. Sometimes on Saturdays we had young educated people come to talk, discuss politics with my mother. How she managed to read, I have no idea, but she really stood out in our rural environment, like a star. I think Father was proud of his wife.

Whatever complaints Miriam had about her childhood, it was really her only home. She could always come back and was welcome.

She loved us dearly and we simply adored her, for she was our favourite Marysia, our older sister.

Mother didn't have an easy life; she always worked hard from early morning to late at night, and always waited with supper for father, no matter what time he returned.

I remember her rinsing the laundry in the creek, and baking bread and chalas (she was also a great baker).

Especially, I remember her sewing on our Singer sewing machine and me on the floor playing with the scraps of fabric.

Once, I made my sisters laugh while I was crying bitterly. I was making myself a bride with scraps of white fabric, which I decorated myself with like a Christmas tree...

Shouting "Yade do slubce!" (I am a bride!) I got up from under the machine and banged my head hard. My marriage dissolved in tears, but for my sisters, it was a circus. They were hysterical.

What I remember from this time, when we lived “zadami" (behind the orchard) is one time, when I was alone with my mother (maybe my sisters were visiting my grandparents in Sienna) and it was dark outside and mother went to the stable to milk the cow and left me alone. Suddenly the oil lamp went out and I was in the darkness. I think I was two years old and the fear was so terrible, so tangible that I could only howl, but nobody heard me. When mother came back, I think I was a mess.

I have very little memories of our first house, but I remember the day when father brought home a little white puppy in his pocket, to my great delight. My young aunties from Sionna (my mother's sisters), Narjanka and Luba, helped us to name the puppy - Sniesch ka (Snow White). Now I had my best friend - she ate, slept and played with me.

For some reason, I taught her to dance. Sniechtia - skik - brick.It was a very clever dog. Our Polish neighbours called her the "Jewish Dog." I think she was fluent in Yiddish and Polish - she understood every word. And, it was a proud dog, too. If mother shouted at her, she refused to take food from my mother.

If she needed to go outside at night, she didn't bark to wake us up. She came to my sleeping father and gently woke him up by touching his nose.

I don't think I was an angel as a baby. I suspect I was a whiny one. Once, on Friday, when mother was baking a little matzos for the chicken soup, I sat on my father's lap and demanded some (I was always a good eater). So, father gave me one, but I made a gewalt "I want more", and father took the matzo; and behind his back, broke it in several pieces, and gave them to me. Then I was satisfied ... I was a very bright child it seems . . .

At home we spoke Yiddish, so my Polish was not very good before I went to school. It happened that some gentiles, I suppose my mother's clients, came to our house, and as they waited for mother to finish some sewing, I decided to be a good hostess and entertain them.

The gentiles were my future teachers ... two sisters, one of them was a hunchback, which fascinated me. I concluded that she must be an "old child."

It was winter time and very cold. The frost painted over little windows with exotic plants and trees. I love to watch the designs, finding here a branch, there a leaf. I think that my love for drawing made me feel and see it more clearly than others.

We were not used, in the winter, to going out and playing in the snow before school (up until seven years old). My father simply told us to keep inside. He didn't want us to catch a cold.

This very day, we had these visitors.

I was not yet three years old. Pointing with a finger at the wall calendar, I said in Polish, "To gataz." I forgot that "page" in Polish is list, which in Yiddish meant, "leaf on a tree". So I managed to say, "This is a branch." (Not far from a leaf).

My sisters were very articulate but contrary. When I began to talk, my translator was Eva, she always knew what I was talking about. Sometimes even mother asked her what I was saying. But soon I was quite good; except one letter I couldn't manage was the letter "R". Many Jews in Poland had this defect, and some were killed later, recognized as Jews because of the letter "R".

When I was three years old, our Marysia (Miriam) left for Warsaw to learn a trade and make a living. She was ambitious and wanted to be independent. She was hired as an apprentice to a seamstress and learned fast to sew and design clothes.

She had to stay with her married older brother Isaak and his family. His wife, Pearl, was famous as a bitch, the greatest bitch in the world. She had three beautiful children, Holina, Heniek and Bella. What kind of a woman was she that she loved only two of her children? Holina, the eldest was constantly mistreated and abused. Her mother hated her, ignored her and didn't take care of her. That is the kind of person she was.

When Marysia arrived in Warsaw, she had to take a train to the house where Isaak lived. For some reason, she went to the side of the train where there was no open door. As a village girl, she didn't have any idea how to handle this. Instead of just going to the other side of the train where the door was open, she began to pull on the closed door. All the passengers had great fun watching out the windows at her pulling, shaking and banging on the door. Later, this was a joke in the family - how Marysia had a fight with a train

Uncle Isaak felt obligated to take Marysia. Pearl fired her maid as she planned to use Marysia as one. But, Pearl couldn't do such a thing to her; Marysia rebelled immediately and left the home because it was hell for her. After a short time, she rented somewhere and continued with her studies. My father helped her financially, and she made it. She became independent very young, opened her own study and by working hard, she made a living.

She always came home to us for the Jewish holidays, Rosh Hashanah, Passover - she came on the bus from Warsaw and we always waited for her. When she showed up at the end of he road, we all ran fast to hug and kiss our Marysia. She always brought us something we didn't have in Bojmie, like bananas, nuts and Eva.

She was pretty and liked to dress stylishly. I remember when she wore a hat that completely covered one eye.

I was the youngest and chubby. She called me ponckale (tummy) and if I was told that the front of my dress was dirty, I did a smart thing. I turned it around so now the back was dirty, but I couldn't see it. She always reminded me of such pranks that I am not very proud of.

When I was closer to seven years old, we once played school with my sister's schoolmate, a Polish girl named Frelva. When ink was spilled on the paper, I tried hard to be a good student, pointed at the ink and said in Polish "atinwamenf (ink)". The "R" was perfect! In this way, I improved my pronunciation forever. That was it.

I don't remember when I learned to read, but I went to the first grade with very good reading skills. I think that my sisters who liked to play school at home used me as the only student, and I profited from this.

The other thing I liked was drawing. This was always my favourite occupation except reading.

When I entered the Polish elementary school, I became very soon a pet of the teacher, who taught drawing. He praised me very highly for my work.

But this was later. Now, at the age of four, I was a little chubby follower of my sisters. Sometimes they wanted to get rid of me, but mother ordered them to watch me, so I went with them.

We lived in primitive housing, but our neighbours, the farmers, were not better off than us. There were no wooden floors - only made of clay which didn't need washing, only sweeping. Little children didn't wear underwear or diapers. They did their business right there on the floor.

Many of them had crooked legs, because of the lack of vitamins. By the way, Miriam and my father had such legs , but we, because of my mother's education, didn't get the rickets. She watched us.

My two older sisters were pretty girls, very good students, but had different natures. Sima was a genius in everything she did, very charming, outspoken and beautiful.

Eva was a serious, pretty child who always helped father when he came home. She was his right hand; the boy he wanted. At home she always knew where to find lost things, a model child.

I was not beautiful, but I was a good eater. They were thin, I was chubby (not fat) and a reader of books, a dreamer.

In all, we were a close-knit family and didn't fight. Everybody had their niche. I loved dolls but never had a real one. Very early, I began to make them myself. It was easy to do, always having scraps of fabric from mother's sewing and a talent for drawing. The problem was with their hair, and I solved that problem, very fast. Father's sheepskin coat consisted of two colours - black and yellow, and it was hanging in the entrance hall.

I only needed scissors to cut some black or blond hair for my dolls. The rest was simple; a scrap of fabric with a hole for the head served as a dress.

One time, for some reason, I began to lose my dolls, but every day I produced new ones and father's sheepskin coat was getting bald.

My kingdom was under the kitchen table. There was my doll house with furniture I made from boxes. Sometimes, the village shoemaker visited us with his daughter, the snotty Ruchla, and she was charmed by my treasures!

Not long after, I was robbed. My whole kingdom disappeared after such a visit. I was outraged by such bold thievery and went, with my sisters, to their house. Sure, there was Ruchla, and there were my possessions under her table. I came back home with all my missing stuff and never trusted Ruchla again.

My maternal grandparents, Hana and Abram, who lived in Sionna (four kilometers from Bojmie), were a very pious, orthodox family. Their children were: Mindle, married in Warsaw to a cousin named Benjamin and had three children; Shepsl, who in the same profession as Zaida was a blacksmith, married in Kalushin to Rivka, and had four children; my mother, Yochevet, married in Bojmie to Lazar, and was, as they considered us to be, well-to-do "land owners". The black sheep of the family was Mojshe (Marjau), a self-appointed musician - a fiddler who wandered around with his only possession which was a fiddle, played at weddings, drank vodka and chased Shiksas (even though he already had had two wives and four children). Because he was away from his wives, not supporting them and nobody else wanted to keep this parasite, he often came to stay with us. Only Yochevet had pity and he took advantage of this for many years. We all hated him, but mother couldn't refuse to help her brother.

He considered himself a big musician and a big inventor. When he was younger, while still living with his parents, he invented a "plane" on the roof of Zaida's workshop and asked the whole family to watch him fly. He landed in the yard, breaking his leg. The "Mojshe-Shlemazel".

After Mojshe my grandparents bore two girls - Marjanka and Luba. Marjanka. was a beautiful girl with long braids, big blue eyes and had a very shapely figure. She was very talented in art, drawing, but also was a seamstress to earn a living. That's life.

Luba, the youngest was clever and talented, too. She was only three years older than Sima, my sister, and they were always good friends.

They lived in a dilapidated house with Polish neighbours door to door. I think the two families were selling something like groceries to the villagers and above the door of the Pole's was a sign: "swoj do swego" which means "Jews to Jews, Poles to Poles." How does one survive such competition?

Anyway, Zaida Abram, the blacksmith was always in his workshop. Marjanka and Luba were sewing and Bube was praying.

For the young girls, Marjanka and Luba, it was a place where there were no Jewish boys and they had no company. So every Saturday they walked the four kilometers to Bojmie where more Jews lived.

Our house was always a place where they gathered and had some social life.

After we moved to a bigger house near the road Saturday became a day of fun, conversation, songs, and music.

There was a bachelor, Yankel, a handyman, who always came to us. There came a young pink­-cheeked girl, Dolcia, who sang like an angel. She was an orphan, living with an old aunt and peddling around. Often, they earned so little that they didn't have anything to eat.

Poland was always anti-Semitic to the ten percent of the population that were Jews. With the Nazi propaganda in Germany, the Poles felt justified in their hatred. There were not the only anti­-Semites. They abused the Jews, beat them up, and yelled "Jew - go to Palestine," and discriminated on every level of life.

After a severe beating by drunken hooligans, my Zaida was forced to move from Sionna to Warsaw, where his daughter Mindle lived and was employed by Benjamin. There they lived in a basement, and my young aunties tried to make a living, but it was hard for them. So, they sent Bube Hana to live with Yochevet in Bojmie.

My Grandparents prayed all the time, and were quite indifferent to us grandchildren. We were not very fond of them, either.

One hot summer, Bube made an offer to my mother to teach me Torah reading; it was a disaster.

After Polish school, Eva and I went to heder at uncle Mordechai's house, but the melamed was an old man who was hardly ever awake at our lessons. While he slept, we talked to our cousins, Tojwe and Sholjme. The progress of our learning was nil. When the Rebbe fell asleep in the middle of the lesson, the boys attached his shoelaces to the table and we climbed out the window to spend a nice time playing hide and seek outside.

So, I was dumb like a log with Bube; stomped all over Hebrew, absolutely not knowing what I was reading. It was a torture on a hot summer day, seeing my peers running around, enjoying life, while I was stuck with my strict Bube. I think she was a bad teacher, and I was a bad student. I cannot explain how I was a top student in the Polish school, and often won prizes.

Between 40 children in my group, it was not a picnic to be Jewish. They often called us names like "Dirty Jew. Go to Palestine." After school, in winter they ganged up on the Jews and threw snowballs. My sister got struck with a stinking egg in the face.

That was how they got brought up, with bigotry and hatred by their parents.

We were friendly with a few girls. One of them was the daughter of a policeman, Ivonek, who later was very active in killing Jews. Her name was Wanda and she liked to spend time at our place.

Her elder sister, Prena, who helped me to learn to pronounce the letter "R", was a school mate of Sima and they too were friendly, maybe because we were neighbours and the Jews were more worldly than the villagers. The police considered themselves the elite.

Once the school principal, Pan Ziemba, told my sister: "You Jews have to be better students because you are reading books, subscribing to newspapers. So you have it easier." As if somebody forbade them to read newspapers.

But, every Sunday, they went to church where the Catholic priest made sermons condemning the Jews for their sins.

Religion was the most important thing for the Poles, and for most Jews.

My Bube was a religious fanatic, and my family was not (thank God). We were strictly kosher, strictly observed Shabbat and other Jewish holidays. Once on Shabbat, when I was six years old, I got up early because I was anxious to try my new navy dress with the red buttons on it. My grandmother was up too, praying to the East in our big kitchen. We lived in our new house then. I was behind her trying the dress on, when I noticed that mother had forgotten to cut off a piece of white thread on the front. What was I going to do? It is Shabbes and I couldn't cut it, Bube was there ... or could I? Quietly, I did the sin. How she figured out, with her back to me, what I did is a mystery. She reported my "crime" to my mother. That was my Bube. Thank God, my mother was a modern woman.

The year 1935 made a few changes in our lives.

Father built a new house near the main road (Shosse). It had four rooms, with one in the front that had a separate entrance designed for the grocery store. We had a big kitchen, two bedrooms, and a hall with a storage room at the entrance from the yard. We had a huge yard with farm buildings, a big orchard, but the most important thing we had was a nice outhouse! It was private and clean.

It was a big event to move from our shack to a comfortable house. We even had a well in the yard that we shared with our neighbour Charniecki, a drunkard and some kind of a butcher and storekeeper. He killed pigs in a barbarous way, and made kolbassa that he sold in his store.

The problem of getting the well kosher was solved. The well had a permanent wooden bucket, and every side poured water into smaller buckets.

Charniecki was our closest neighbour, only a fence divided our properties, but we never were friends. He was a drunkard, often beating his wife, and she was a bitter woman, hating the whole world, especially us because our family was close, loving, and not drinking. They had two children, a beautiful, curly haired girl, Yadria, and a boy, Yanek. Our stores were next door to each other, and they were envious that we had more customers.

My mother was a wonderful lady, always friendly to people, often trusting them, giving groceries on a promise to pay later (not everybody kept this promise) so customers were always there - teachers, police, magistrates, workers were all on the borrowing list.

Once a week, father made a trip in his horse wagon to Kolushin for new produce and groceries.

I always enjoyed unpacking his load in the store, the things he brought smelled so good. The wrapping I used in my doll business and also the empty boxes.

Chocolate candies were expensive so we didn't get them often, but I made myself liquid candies from cocoa, sugar and water to satisfy my cravings.

One bad thing was cod liver oil, which mother believed we should take. I was the only one who would drink it for the price of a chocolate.

My mother decorated the new home with curtains, covers, and rugs that she made by hand. We had plants inside and out.

Our garden had twenty-four apple trees, six cherry trees, raspberries and other berries. We had a flower garden in the front with lilac and jasmine bushes. We grew all kinds of vegetables. And we had animals - horses, cows, goats, chickens and two dogs. Snieshka lived in the house, and a big, ferocious red-haired Buyan lived in a doghouse, on a chain in the yard. Only father dealt with him. The rest of the family kept away because he was dangerous. Once, mother brought him his food and he did bite her hand. At night, his chain was attached to a wire that ran across the yard to the barn and allowed him to run back and forth all night. He was an excellent guard dog.

In 1935, the leader of Poland, Joseph Pilsudsky, who was a liberal man died and left the anti-Semites a free hand to abuse the Jews. The government and the police followed the German policy with great enthusiasm. Nobody defended the Jews.

Next to Bojmie was a village, Chojechno, that Jews avoided entering because they would be beaten and stoned by the hooligans there.

On Sundays, when the Poles got drunk, Jews sat at home because it was dangerous to show up on the street. Jewish windows were often broken as that was the Poles' entertainment.

Once, a drunkard chose our house to shout obscenities and threats at. He was in such a rage that he banged with his fist on the kitchen window. Sure, he broke the glass, but injured his fist! After that, he ran to the police to report what the Jews did to him. There were dozens of eyewitnesses inside and out, but the police took his side over my father's. I don't remember what fine my father had to pay to close the claim.

Living for centuries side by side the Jews and Poles were separate - isolated. On one side it was the Jews with their religious fanaticism and especially the clothes, the garb which made them look so different. Being born in this country and speaking badly the official language, with a profoundly Jewish accent, didn't help us to assimilate.

Sure, there were many educated Jews in big cities who didn't practice this religious stuff and spoke perfect Polish, but to be accepted you had to look like a Pole and act like one.

On the other hand, the Poles were so anti-Semitic that even converted Jews were lepers in their society. They always said that Jews smelled differently. They always recognized us under any disguise, which was true.

When later the Germans caught a Jew and couldn't figure out his nationality (the Jew denied) they called a Pole - the "specialist" in recognizing Jews.

After that, the Jew was killed. Before the war, fascism was spreading in Poland like a fire. The most fertile soil in all of Europe - Poland. The future host of Auschwitz, Treblinka, Maidanek, Sobibor, Chelmno, and other killing places.

My father had permission to carry a gun, a revolver, to defend himself while he travelled around. Because he paid cash for the cattle, he always carried some money and a couple of times bandits tried to rob him. The gun saved him, even though he never shot it! They got wind that the Jew Lazar was better left alone because he was armed.

In the same year, my aunt Fradl made herself and our family famous in a bad way. She married a schlemiel, whom she divorced; an act that was not popular in our circles, but sometimes it happened. To make a living, she opened a little liquor store with vodka and kielbassa that she bought from the Polish butcher. Gevalt! This was pork! All the Jews were outraged at her and her brother, my father, who had nothing to do with it. They forbade him to enter the prayer house at his uncle Mordechai's and called him Lazar the hog.

After aunt Fradl's business adventure failed, she did even worse things. She got involved with a goy, a Pole by the name of Mietik Wasak. He was a handsome hard-drinking guy who spent his father's inheritance on vodka. They fell in love! Soon, my aunt Fradl moved to his house, the only two storey house in Bojmie and both the Jews and the Poles boiled with rage. In our area, it was unheard of, Jews and Poles living side-by-side, because the Jews didn't mix with the Poles and vise versa.

I was five years old and didn't understand much, but I remember that father forbade us to even look in the direction of Mietek's house. We heard rumours that Mietek ordered a picture of Fradl to put on the wall and that he considered himself our cousin (!?) No, they were not married, but the day aunt Midam arrived in Bojmie, Mietek went to the city of Kalushin, to a Rabbi, because he wanted to convert and to be circumcised....

Fradl was in love with him and didn't want to listen to her brothers' reason, my father's reason, or anybody's.

It was a real crisis in the family, not only that she was Jewish, and he Catholic, but simply because he was an alcoholic, a lost soul, and she was like an anchor for him. He was looking for a saviour in his drunken stupor. What life could she expect to have with him?

Otherwise, I think, if he was a normal guy, even a goy, the family would react differently. It was not a thing to be proud of but it happens.

Miriam, the younger sister, living in Warsaw, had now even more liberal views, but she knew how her beloved brother Lacar was feeling and the other Jews in Bojmie.

Funny, Miriam had a nickname "Miriam Koza" (Goodie) because she was so energetic and fearless, ready to jump to defend the family.

Now she had a mission - to be the negotiator for the family and for the sake of her sister Fradl.

That was the reason for the trip to Bojmie and because Mietek was in Kolushin, she reached Fradl in his house alone.

Marysia went to her sister, and after a long discussion, she convinced Fradl to run away with her to Warsaw. They boarded the train and settled in Marysia's apartment there. That same evening there was a knock at the door. Fradl jumped into the only hiding place, the wardrobe. She buried herself under the clothing and almost suffocated while she listened to the exchange between Marysia and Mietek. He stormed in and asked, "Where is my Frania?" Miriam answered him in the same tone, "She is not here, get out of my house!" The funny thing was that the burly guy left, leaving my little aunt a winner. She had to drag Fradl half dead from the wardrobe.

Fradl went to work in a private Jewish clinic and lived nicely in Warsaw alone. Mietek drank himself to death although I am sure that he would have done that without Fradl. But this romantic story lived for a long time in our area, and made it easier to blame the Jews. It took a long time for the Jews to forgive my father the sins of his sister.

We children lived in our world as the adult world went by. And, as Jewish children, we were isolated from the Poles, especially before school. So, we played with our own. Every day we gathered at our place: Eva, two of my cousins' brothers named Tojvie and Shloime who were grandsons of Mordechai, Basia who was the daughter of the tailor Saul-David, and me. Sima was older and went to school. Basia's family of eight were very poor and lived not far away in a dilapidated old house with little windows that were almost at ground level.

Once, when I went to look for my friend Basia at their place, I first looked in the window. There, asleep on a cot, was her older sister Fryda. She was not wearing underwear, as it was seldom anybody wore underwear at this time. I noticed to my great surprise something that looked like a black brush between her legs. I went home and reported that Basia was not there, but Fryda was sleeping with a brush, a bershtle in Yiddish, between her legs. Poor Fryda, for the rest of her life the men asked about the bershtle, and it was a joke to them, but not to her.

The big family of the village tailor Saul-David was the poorest family around.

Some of his children were grown ups but how could they find a job in this forsaken place. The eldest, Leiba, was helping father in sewing. Cipa, a plump young woman, was trying to work as a maid in some Jewish family in Kalushin, but it was a disaster for other reasons.

She was not very bright and was naive, so usually the boss or his son seduced her and she got pregnant.

She came back to Bojmie to ask my mother what to do. I have no idea if my mother gave her advice, but rumours were that she aborted and was not pregnant anymore.

By now Fryda was a dark young girl without any occupation.

Then came Fraim, a classmate of my sister, Sima. She was brilliant in school, he was the opposite - dumb. She told us that when he wrote, he stuck out his tongue and followed every move of his pen with it.

Basia, my friend, was a sweet, great girl - in school, dumb, but as a playmate, she was okay - accepted.

There were a few older children whom I didn't know.

Tojvie was an old head, very smart, he knew everything: the political situation in the world, all the gossip; he noticed everything that was going on. Contrary to him, his brother Shloimele was a beautiful boy with big black eyes and was very shy. I don't know why, but everybody teased me that he was my fiancé. Maybe it was because we were the same age and in the same group at school.

As a child, I was very outspoken and I was often the initiator of games that were very inventive. But, my character changed, and after the war I was a shy, silent teenager. That is how one can change when he or she goes through special circumstances.

In our new house we even had a radio and by using a listening device we had all the news in the world. And the news from Germany was frightening. Many German Jews and Gypsies arrived in Poland. The Poles were not happy with their own Jews, and now there were more. Sure, the local Jews tried to help the newcomers, at least with food, but they couldn't do much.

I went to school and because my two sisters had a reputation as excellent students, the teachers expected me to follow in their footsteps. My teacher was Aniela Mernicka, a spinster who was very Catholic, although that didn't prevent a long affair with the Principal, Victor Ziewba, who had a wife who was very fat and jealous. It was everybody's secret of what was going on. Aniela was a fragile woman who suffered from migraines and was very irritable in class with the children. She often sent me to our store for pain killers; they were called kogutki. Nobody cared if I skipped some lessons because of it. Sometimes I thought that children didn't have any rights, they didn't count, and the adults just used and abused them.

I didn't have fond memories of that teacher but, on the other hand, I felt differently about another one. Panna Ragkuran was also a spinster, with short legs who taught geography and music. I didn't have a singing voice and couldn't keep a tune. She listened closely to how the first graders sang and expected me to be as good as my sisters. I got smart and silently opened my mouth at the right time, and she made the mistake of choosing me with a group of classmates to sing in a concert on stage. I was so proud! I would perform on stage? And my family would applaud me? Fantastic!

We were divided into two groups to sing a song about firemen, in questions: one group sang the questions and the other group sang the answer. Simple? Yes, but I was so excited that when the pause came, I jumped out singing solo: Beeee . . ., Our teacher was furious; she went up and down the stage kicking every artist in the ass. She was very energetic and we liked her because she was fair, not anti­-Semitic like other teachers were.

There were only three Jewish children, and the class was divided into a few groups. In one group, the majority were the farmer's children. The second group was an elite class where there were a few children of the szlachta (landowners and estate owners), and we three Jews were the less popular.

Because my parents worked hard to make a living, they didn't have much time to dote on us.

From an early age, we were given independence to look after ourselves. Our homework was never checked. Father spoke, but did not read or write Polish - only Yiddish. mother was always overworked so we were left alone.

I remember in winter time when the days were short and the nights long. The school began at eight o'clock in the morning. I got up when it was still dark, at the age of seven. I dressed in my school uniform (a black robe with a belt and white buttons and white collar) and made myself breakfast. mother was long up, baking bread. So I fried an egg, made cocoa, and with a piece of black rye bread devoured it.

We didn't take lunch to school because we usually finished at 1 or 2 o'clock and went home for a cooked meal which mother prepared, usually a soup, which we ate with bread. No one told us to do our homework, but we always did it to be free afterwards to play with our playmates. This carried on until supper, and then we had quiet time to read. Then we went to bed. That was the winter routine. Summer was different.

I was a top student and had a rival from the elite group named Wanda. We were competing without even exchanging a word. Sure the teachers were in favour of her, but it was hard to ignore me. Usually at the end of the year we got our reports and prizes for our achievements. The first year, the prizes were two books for two students. I knew that I was one of them, the second was Wanda, but I was terribly worried. What if they gave me the book about Jesus? I hoped for the other book: poetry of Konopnicka. I got this book, but in my naiveté, I was afraid they would give me the one about Jesus.

The year I went into the first grade was the year Marysia took my sister Sima to Warsaw to continue her education. She convinced my parents that Sima should continue and be somebody. Even though they were reluctant to let her go under the wing of such a young aunt (she was only twenty-one years old) and Sima was thirteen, but they wanted the best for their child and they agreed. We were all in tears and missed her terribly. We waited for her visits, which were usually Jewish holidays and summer vacations.

Marysia sent Sima to a college where no Jews were allowed. But, seeing her reports, the administrators allowed her to take exams. She got the highest marks, even though she was the youngest student there, and she was accepted. Miriam was the parental figure and went to the parent meetings. She said that it was a pleasure to hear how the professors praised Sima.

In the meantime, in Bojmie, things were not the same. The Polish Fascists boycotted Jewish stores. They stood outside, and tried to divert the customers to the gentile stores, but not everybody listened to them. Old customers preferred our store.

Many customers were also mother's sewing clients and some of them were very friendly with my mother.

I remember a conversation with one such big, childless woman named Waclava. She told my mother "You know Leizorova (father Lazar) your two elder girls are quite pretty, but the youngest one (me) is not so...."

I remember wondering why this woman told this in my presence? Cruelty? Or stupidity?

Anyway, I made my conclusion and got used to this situation. Children have enough optimism to believe in the best or simply to forget.

Early in my life I had trouble with an infection of my eyelids which, without medication, lingered for a few years.

That was one more reason to call me names in school. Finally, mother got me to a doctor in Siedlce and he advised us to go to the sea for a salt bath.

Ha, not that we could afford such a thing! My mother made a salted bath for me in a barrel (which used to hold herring) I had to sit in it up to my neck for one hour, and it was torture. I often fell asleep and dipped my head in the water. This woke me up!

My mother gave me treats like pumpkin seeds to keep me awake. Funny, but she cured me. It helped.

So the fascists boycotted the Jewish stores. I once witnessed how they shamed one of our customers, the wife of a decent policeman, Sajda. She was not a village lady, but was from the city. She got so angry with them that they left very fast when she opened her mouth and swore at them.

Charniecki, our neighbour, was the owner of the kielbassa store and profited from such policies. Speaking of kielbassa ...

It was summer and he kept the door of his store open for fresh air. Our saintly Jewish dog, Snieshka, couldn't resist the smell of Kielbassa, and found her way in to steal a whole ring ... Such sin! It was not kosher! The storekeeper ran to us, but the dog hid with her trophy and he threatened to kill her on the spot. The dog avoided him after that. It was a very clever dog.

Our orchard of young trees was not yet growing much fruit, so every summer, father had a wagon of apples and put them away in the attic to keep at least until Rosh Hashanna. Knowing my passion for apples, he gave me some and hid the ladder to the attic so I couldn't climb there to eat the rest. But, the smell of the apples was seductive, and I found a way to them.

I climbed on a chair and then on the doorknob; then, standing on the doorknob, I climbed on the door. Holding onto the edge of the attic floor, I lifted myself into the attic. What a feast! I sat in the darkness and ate, and ate, and ate. To get down was harder than getting up, but I managed.

I did this every day, and finished all the apples. My father knew who had done this, but only laughed when mother told him about my acrobatics.

The other thing I remember doing was more serious, but I did it by mistake. Tzitzes in Yiddish is the white, silky thread, which belongs (I think) to the talles. I didn't know this was a part of father’s prayer equipment. I was charmed with such thread and found that I could use it in my doll business. Father was mad. He shouted, but never spanked us and we were never beaten. But shouting was enough and I didn't like it.

Why do people remember summers better than winters? Maybe because winters are more boring. Summers we spent all day outside and came in the house for meals only. We ran around and played our games, barefoot. Except for a ball, I don't remember having any toys. We made them ourselves from broken cups, wood, cardboard, anything. The favourite game was"two fires" with the ball. It took a lot of running, screaming and arguing about the scores. We girls liked to play "classes" which is called hopscotch here.

Hide and seek was played every day, and we had to hide somewhere in our own yard. Sometimes mother asked us to find hidden chicken nests with eggs and this was a real hunt. We had a lot of little yellow chicks and we were ordered to watch them so that the hawks wouldn't pick them up, which happened very often.

I remember summers the best because we had picnics at the river Costryn, which was two kilometers away from Bojmie. Usually we went with a few families and there were a lot of kids. This was safer against the hooligans. The walk was long and tiring for us in the hot sun without shade. But, upon reaching the three bridges over the river, we always perked up. After the third bridge, we went down in the meadows along the river looking for a good place with some shade.

The river was fascinating; wide in some places, deep in others, some shallow, the water so clean you could see a lot of little fish, but it was hard to catch them.

It was such a wonderful feeling of freedom and participation in immense pleasure after the long walk in the hot sun. Now in the meadows, walking along the river, only us, nobody else. We simply were happy, running around like puppies with the adults walking.

Above, near the bridge, was an old mill where my father used to get the flour for baking bread. This mill was burned to the ground in 1940 by the Nazis and the young owner, a decent Pole, was burned inside. We all mourned him, because he was a real human being, without any bigotry.

We were carrying our baskets of food, not to starve the whole day. For us children, it was a ball!

Choosing a place, everybody undressed in a hurry and jumped into the cool water. That was the bliss we waited for! In and out of the water, we got scorched by the sun and were red like tomatoes. We couldn't swim, but that was not important, because we kept to the shallow end. Then we went wild in the meadows, collecting wild flowers. We ate our shabbes (leftovers), hard-boiled eggs and challah, drank compote and ran some more.

By the evening, we were tired and we dragged ourselves back home, but it was so far for us. We did not have that many picnics, but the ones we did have were memorable.

There are many memories of happy days. Shabbats at home ... actually they began on Friday when mother got up at dawn to bake bread challahs, cakes, and I loved to help. mother gave me a piece of dough that I made some figures out of and then we baked them.

I love to make sculptures and make animals with the dough that went grey from handling it. Once, I made a goat and I asked mother to tell me if goats had tails because I had forgotten. It became a family joke because we always kept goats, and how could I have forgotten about the tail?

Later, mother made the gefilte fish and the smell was heavenly. Chickens had to be cleaned first of their feathers, then made kosher. Only then came the chicken soup, noodles and beans. Then came the famous tzimmes with raisins and the cholent shoved in the oven for the next day.

The kitchen floor was scrubbed white; the table was covered with a white tablecloth and mother made her prayer above the two burning candles, while she held her hands to her eyes. Father made Kiddush and the Shabbat began with the Friday meal. It was such a peaceful picture, our little family around the table, the burning candles. After supper, father played checkers with Chawcia, and she often won to his delight. The rest of the family read books, some visitors came for tea and cake, and I liked to listen to their stories about robbers, ghosts and politics.

Speaking of robbers. One stormy, windy and rainy night, some robbers tried to get into our store. I was sleeping with Eva (Chava) in the kitchen near the wall connected with the store, and woke up from drilling-like sounds. It was totally dark and I was afraid to run into the bedroom where my parents slept. I tried to wake up my sister, but there was no way I could do that because she was a hard sleeper. Meanwhile, the thieves finally opened the door with a bang and I screamed, "Father!" Father heard and jumped out with his gun, but the robbers disappeared; the door hung open. Nothing was taken, and I was a hero for a day. I got candy.

Still, when my grandparents lived in Sionna, I was envious that my sisters went for a sleepover sometimes because I wanted to go, too. One day, when aunt Luba was at our place, mother permitted her to take me for a sleepover. I was five years old, and all ready for such an adventure.

We walked the four kilometers to Sionna with Luba late in the afternoon, which for a five year old was quite a distance! Other members of the family welcomed me. After supper, they took me to the estate to watch the milking of the cows. Why? The owner of the estate was selling the milk to the Jewish population in the city and the milk had to be kosher. The leaders of the community hired my pious grandparents to oversee the milking into the right buckets.

Sionna was a little village with a big estate "driedzic". The owner was a shrewd bachelor who employed the villagers and dealt with the Jews including my father.

Once when my father went to deal with the "driedzic" he was walking on the steps up to his office. On the top was a big mirror. Father, seeing a man in this mirror, takes off his hat and greets him. Hello! Then he recognized himself in this man. He was not used to mirrors!

My grandparent's house, located near the szosa, was very old with a straw roof. Behind they had a potato field and a yard with Zaida's workshop.

Inside, it was poorly furnished, but my artistic aunt, Marjanka, made her room all in pink, with a lot of frills, cushions, and embroidery, and I loved it. In my opinion, it was fantastic - a young girl's nest.

My grandmother, although we were always in her prayers, didn't give me much attention. I stuck with my young aunties.

So, Marjanka and Luba took me in the darkness to the stables where the milking was going on by the light of the lanterns. It was unusual and scary; I began to miss my home.

In bed I began to sob, "I want to go home!" They convinced me that with the sunrise I would go back. In the morning we were ready with Luba to go home, Bube ordered Luba to pick a basket of cherries as a gift for my family. As I was helping her pick the cherries, we heard the sound of a horse wagon coming. My father had come early to take me home. They missed me! I was so happy! No more sleepovers! Home sweet home; nothing could have been better.

At the end of the school year, with our good reports, my parents gave us a treat - a day trip to the city of Kalushin. While they did the shopping, we stayed at the store of their friends. With the little money they had left for our lunch, we enjoyed life.

First of all, we ate bagels with salami (sure, kosher) then we bought ice-cream cones, a treat we were dreaming of all year long.

But money was limited and our appetite for ice cream was never satisfied, although our parents had a different opinion - enough is enough. So, we sat on the steps and watched the city life, which for us village children was fascinating. By sunset, we drove the ten kilometers back to Bojmie, which was now a boring and long trip.

Because I was an avid reader, I read the newspapers, too. Once I read an article about a comet that would pass the earth, but astronomers predicted that there was a possibility that it would touch the earth with its tail, which would be disastrous for us. That was all that I needed - a comet!

I worried; I thought all the time about this fateful comet, and couldn't ever sleep, couldn't enjoy life. Nobody worried, only me! And I suffered thinking that the end of the world was so close. I was a very sensitive child with an imagination and this suffering was real. Sure, the comet went on its way and life was again normal, or so it seemed to me.

The news from Germany on the radio was bad; the situation in Poland was tense.

The Polish fascists in Bojmie got very active. Because nobody defended the Jews, they had a free hand. For example, close to our house was the old dilapidated shack where a few poorer Jews lived (including my friend Basia and her big family). The policeman Ivanek decided to build a house on a lot next to them (and us on the other side) but how can he live with such neighbours? It's a shame.

One summer night, we were awakened by screams of "Fire! Fire!" The Jewish house was burning straight to the sky! They chose a windless night so as not to endanger the Polish neighbours. The poor Jews were frantically trying to save some of their possessions while the Poles watched and cheered. This left them (the Jews) destitute and some home owners took them in for a while as they were looking for other lodgings. It was not a secret who did it and why, but you couldn't complain. It was useless.

We lived in our new house but we were scared that they could do the same to us; so the whole summer my father slept outside in the yard with his gun in the company of our guard Bujou, the ferocious dog.

Another example of the lawless situation of the Jews was the incident with our bike. It was our dream to have a bike (one for three of us). We begged father for many months and finally he succumbed to our pleas. He found a used bike, cheap, and our excitement was boundless. We had only one problem - waiting your turn. It was hard.

Because the police station was now next door, one policeman with the name Guzik (Cotols) and with an enormously fat wife decided that the bike was too much for the Jews and promptly confiscated it. One can imagine our despair. We owned it only a few days. Now, we are watching behind the fence how two big policemen taught the fat wife of Guzik to ride our bike. If it had not been our bike, we would have had lots of fun looking at this fat cow falling and crushing under her one or the other of her helpers, cursing them. It was our only satisfaction. Poor us.

We never saw our bike again. When the war began, we owned a beautiful black horse which father was proud of.

Soon the Germans ordered all horses to be brought to the square to choose the best for the army. Our horse was the first to be approved and taken. They promised to pay the farmers for the loss, but when they asked my father's name, Rotbart, they asked, 'Jude?" When my father said yes, they just told him to go. He was glad to come out alive. They only took away the horse.

Once, I was standing at the gate to my yard when a passing gentile girl, twice as big as me, slapped me hard in my face, calling me a "Dirty Jew". It was so cruel, so unexpected, and it hurt me so much. I was feeling so helpless and angry at such injustice. But, children expressed what their parents taught them, what their clerics in the church taught them and that was one tune: Hate the Jews! They killed our Jesus!

I believed that in the big cities, where more educated Poles lived, there were exceptions, more liberal views. But, in the rural areas, the population was illiterate, like they lived in the Middle Ages, and anti-Semitism was rampant.

Still, life went on. We observed all the Jewish traditions. We built a Sukkah in the fall, and served food there by the light of a candle. In bad weather it was not very comfortable, but we still ate our meals there.

Life went on ... Soon the school library was not satisfying my hunger for books and I was always on the hunt for new ones. Nobody controlled my reading, and not all the books I read were for my age. When Sima came home for vacations, she always brought suitcases full of books, and I was the first to lay my hands on them. Once we had a fight about "Anna Karenina". Sima wanted to read it, but I was already reading it. She was furious because this book was not for an eight year old. I disagreed. When my father (who was illiterate in Polish) found out about our fight, he asked Sima what the shouting was about and why couldn't the child (me) read it first? He said that I already began and to let me finish and then she could have it!?! My sister was mad at me, and I, without any scruples, enjoyed my victory. Nasty girl.

I now had a gentile girlfriend named Yosia from Sionna in school. She was quiet like a mouse and very amiable. I did not understand why she befriended me; only later I found out that she was an outcast from her own people because her father was mentally ill. In our times and area this was a stigma which innocent children had to carry for their parents. People avoided them like the plague.

Passover was a special holiday for the Jews and it was for us, also. The preparations began at the end of winter, when father made the Passover wine from dry raisins for the holidays. Then, mother cleaned the entire house, painted the walls, and took out the beds and other things to the yard to air out. The children got new clothes, shoes were washed in a big wooden barrel all together.

Passover dishes were brought down from the attic, all new with colourful wine glasses and cutlery. Father brought a huge wooden box of matzos from Kolushin. mother, the great cook, prepared all the delicious meals: the charoses, salt water eggs, gefilte fish, chicken soup with matzo balls, meat, tzimmes, compote and sponge cake.

We sat at the table with the burning candies, and waited for the arrival of Sima and Marysia on the Warsaw bus. Such a joyful reunion, we were so happy to see each other. Now the family gathered for Seder. Father, the king, sat on a pillow and read the whole Haggadah and we could not wait to begin eating. But, he would read it to the end, and often I fell asleep waiting.

Passover was our favourite holiday. Our guests stayed all eight days, and we cherished the time we spent together. mother cooked Passover meals, people came in and out, and everybody knew how hospitable my parents were and how good the food was.

But, everything has an end, and after our guests left for Warsaw, we were again alone, and everything returned to the old routine.

We went back to school. The one lesson we were free from learning was religion. The Ksiong (cleric) ordered the Jews out, and we waited in the hall for the end of the lesson. The Priest was a very fat man, known for his sermons against the Jews, and we felt his animosity. He played the role of a saintly man of God, celibate, not married, except he was living with his devoted housekeeper. Such hypocrisy. I think such people try to divert attention from themselves and their sins so they barked at others. Anyway, I did not accept any religion; I especially did not like religious fanatics. Now, after the war, I am strictly Jewish, but not religious.