Moms book.pdf

Preview of PDF document moms-book.pdf

Page 1 2 3 45641

Text preview

My memory goes no further back, but my mother told me that on the Fifth of August, 1941,
we were expelled from Kovno, from our spacious and comfortable home. The neighbor next
door, Mom’s friend, had entered early in the morning and told my mother that since the Germans
decided to deport the Jewish community in Kovno, she felt, that as a friend, she should get my
parents dining room furniture which my father had purchased new two weeks earlier. This was
our good neighbor, my mother’s friend. With German efficiency, we were whisked to the ghetto
Slebotka, the poorest part of town, dark, grimy and scary.

When I started writing the story, the words came flooding forth. Little effort was needed as
even long-forgotten pieces jig-sawed together and the pages seemed to write themselves. Within
three months the molds were cast. Quickly, I poured in the iron words that were the fortune of
my life.
After I finished, I set it aside. I felt completed, but after a while, when I started to read the
book, I found the story lacking details about life in the Kovno ghetto.
It seemed to me that this place, “ghetto” was so scary and disgusting. My subconscious
refused to break its seal of pain and disgust.
I will have no choice but to retell a few stories my Mother and Father told me - our first
exit from the ghetto and return to that hole, the story of the brave partisan action and murder of

Train Station
We lived for two years in the ghetto Slebotka, a small town near Kovno - Prison for Jews.
A thick air of miserable grey morose and the smell of desperation enveloped the buildings and
alleys, and this was our whole world. Close quarters held men, women and children, yet it was
the children that least understood the nightmare vision. The children’s eyes were watching all
the happenings in the ghetto, their world. They saw Jews, persecuted, hurt and confused and ask,
“What happened?”
Then, in the confusion of the blink of an eye, I stood at a train station at dusk with my mother
and Zosia. For the past few days Zosia hid us in the broom closet of her home. Her husband
was unaware that two Jews stood stiff in this coffin of a room. After he left for the office, Zosia