Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna (Living Imprint Project)

Lithuanian Court Ruling - Swastikas a Historic Legacy

2010-06-01T00:05:00.001-07:00

To read article click here - http://jta.org/news/article/2010/05/21/2739264/lithuanian-court-rules-swastikas-historic-legacy

Exhibition at Central Synagogue, Great Portland Street W1, London - 21-25 June 2010

2010-05-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

Photo: Shivaun and Steven Leas, 14 May 2010

It's been a pretty crazy time for us over the last few months. I don't think we've stopped since we got back from Cape Town, South Africa :) The Surviving History exhibition is still touring South Africa at this moment and will open shortly in Durban. (To read about our time in South Africa, click here.)

We've been hoping to put on the complete exhibition in London for some time now. At one of our events last year, Steven Leas, the cantor at the Central Synagogue of London, expressed interest in bringing it the exhibition to the synagogue. So, it's been a long time coming, but the dates have finally been locked down for the Surviving History exhibition in London.

We still have to iron out the finer details but there will be an amazing concert for the opening, courtesy of international and renowned cantors who will be in London for the International Cantors' Convention. (For more info on the convention, have a look at the Jewish Music Institute's webpage on the event.) The exhibition will run from 21-25 June, 2010. As for opening times and so on, stay tuned for the next update!

Some articles on Surviving History in Cape Town

2010-05-08T16:28:00.000-07:00

The Lithuanian Jewish Spirit Lives On - by Claudia B Braude, SA Jewish Report, 7-14 May 2010

Vilna Exhibition Looks 'Beyond Historical Narrative' - Moira Schneider, SA Jewish Report, 23 Apr 2010

Blurred distinctions

2010-05-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

This year, ultra nationalists in Vilnius staged another march to mark independence day. Supposedly less vitriolic than the march in 2008 (which was featured in our film Surviving History), in that there wasn't calls for "Jews Out!" or "Russians Out!" as in that previous march, but limited to "Lithuania for Lithuanians!"

This photo from Holocaust in the Baltics (see http://www.holocaustinthebaltics.com/38401/index.html)

Sometimes I wonder if we can recognise the distinction between ultra-nationalists and fascists, or if there is any distinction between them at all? And if such displays are not met with any response, does apathy amount to acceptance or collusion?

Efraim Zuroff has written several scathing articles about this event and condemned the apathy.
See Guardian, 3 April 2010
See The Jerusalem Post, 1 May 2010

I must say I am surprised that the mainstream press has missed out on this repeat incident, unlike the span of coverage in 2008. Perhaps because fascist activities are nothing new, whether in Lithuania or elsewhere. (For example, see article on white supremacist march in LA in April 2010.) However, unlike that reported in Vilnius, counter protesters were involved in the fray.

Will the time come, I wonder, when we will see some counter protesters in Lithuania?

If anti-semitism is a yardstick for intolerance around the world, perhaps we should endeavour to be counter protesters. Ultra-nationlists see Jews as the enemy along with any other minority group that inhabit their lands. In this age of globalisation and transient migrant populations, it is impossible for a country to be 'pure' in terms of ethnicity or nationality. And yet, the world sees no shortage of people blindly and actively inciting hatred. For a snapshot, have a look at this website. Or for those in the UK, just look at the BNP and its use of the term 'indigenious' British population.

Robben Island Visit

2010-04-19T15:10:00.000-07:00

Mr Apartheid Puppet

I've been meaning the blog about the places we've visited when we haven't been working but truth be told, the whole flight cancellation thing has left me a little flat. Over the last 4 days we've been working the phones and surfing online with regards to alternate means to get back to London but this Icelandic ash business seems to only be worsening. Anyway, I decided that I should make it a point to record the amazing experiences we have encountered - the township of Guguletu (meaning 'Our Pride'), the gardens at Kirstenboch, the views around Chapman's Peak and Noordhoek, as well as of course the famous landmark Table Mountain. But these experiences really deserve their own blog entry so I shall take my time...

I thought it befitting to start with Robben Island; the first 'touristy' place we visited on one of our days off. This is of course where political prisoners were kept. Nelson Mandela spent 27 years here. To get to the island, you have to buy tickets in advance at the Mandela Gateway at the V&A Waterfront. The centre also doubles as a museum. There is a message on one of the walls, which begins... "While we will not forget the brutality of apartheid..." (see picture below). Very inspiring, no?

Display panels at the museum

The queue for the ferry begins to grow, half hour before departure

Shivaun and Maggie get ready to board

A tourist shop on Robben Island, the lettering above the display racks echo the theme of the site

The entrance reads: "We serve with pride."

...I wonder if this is for the benefit of the guards or the prisoners? I wonder whether the deception is akin to that of the 'Arbeit Macht Freit' (Work will set you free) signs posted above ghetto gates by the Nazis?

It's all very rush rush. We are hustled on to buses lined up in rows with optimistic mottos on them, such as this one below. Another reads "We are on this journey together." Lots of double entendre here.

Above: This is the entrance to the main prison block.

The bus takes us around the island, but we are not allowed off. The guide talks almost non-stop. I wish they would let us off the bus. And I wished the guide would stop talking. It's hard to immerse yourself or attempt to feel or read what this place speaks of when all one can hear is the roar of the bus and the constant narrative - which most of the time is peppered with irreverent humour - it's all strangely incongruous within this setting.

Finally, we reach the main prison buildings. They let us off and we are handed over to another guide. He tells us he was imprisoned here. He asks us to follow him and we do, from one cell to another, one corridor leading into the next, one courtyard opening into another, and he gives us a 10 minute talk in a large cell. He rushes and checks the time, another group is due to arrive after us. So he makes his way to a gate, opens it, and we re-emerge where we began. He walks briskly away - probably to get ready for the next busload of curious tourists.

Ashes, Ashes and We All Got Stuck!

2010-04-16T11:21:00.000-07:00

A different start for a change today. We decided to walk to the Cape Town Holocaust Centre (CTHC) and get some breakfast along the way. One unusual thing we noticed was that when we passed two FNB branches, we saw queues stretching round the corner. Maggie, ever the curious one, asked one of those queuing what she was there for. We found out that they were buying FIFA World Cup tickets. You have to be a real fan I think to endure these queues :)

It's been another productive and amazing day. Today we returned to the CTHC as Shivaun was conducting a session for students from the University of Stellenboch on oral testimony and how to go beyond that towards adopting a multidimensional approach. The questions we received were engaging and stimulating, and there was a really cool sense of collaboration and mutual exhange.

After that, we met up with Razia from the Peace Ambassador Project and her young ambassadors aged between 13-14. They had a tour of the exhibition and we discussed the various installations, and a range of things - from the use of symbolic metaphors in art to the activities of the Einsatzgruppen!

Sharing their art work with us

This is an amazing group of young people who have taken it upon themselves to promote the 8 Millennium Development Goals. They aim to do so through art and performance and a host of other activities. Already they have gone on a road trip entitled 'Dialogue for Mutual Understanding' where they engaged their peers to address issues of education, health care, culture, environment and violence. If you would like to have these young ambassadors at your event, contact them here.

Everyone say "peeeeace!"

Whoa, I feel sooooo short compared to most of these kids!

But alas.... the high we were on did not last, when Shivaun received a text that our flight tomorrow was cancelled on account of the Icelandic volcanic ash and Heathrow being shut down. So we spent the closing of the day frantically trying to get a seat on a later flight before heading out for a late dinner. But all our efforts were to no avail, so we will have to try again tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed. We are loving Cape Town, but I think it's time to go home.

Cape Town Holocaust Centre Photos

2010-04-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

An amazing array of photos captured by Amanda Cooper from the Cape Town Holocaust Centre of the teachers workshop and opening launch of the exhibition. Enjoy!

A Briefing at CTHC and Shivaun Is Interviewed, 13 April 2010

2010-04-14T14:15:00.000-07:00

Shivaun interviewed by writer Claudia Braude

Yikes, we turned up 15 minutes late for a briefing at the Cape Town Holocaust Centre (CTHC) 'cos we got our schedules mixed up. We were supposed to be there for 2pm but thought it was 2.30pm. Sorry to the many volunteers and CTHC staff who took the time to be there. And also a big thank you, especially to the volunteers, who will be giving their time to guide visitors through the exhibition for the duration of the exhibition (until 29 April). In a way, I feel as if we have passed the baton on to these volunteers and staff members; it is now their turn to share and spread these stories.

Above: An overview of the exhibition space and the various elements

It was a fantastic in-depth session and we were asked great questions - did the artists get to meet the survivors? How many times were they interviewed? and so on. We told them about the artists - Dwora Fried, Katie Dell Kaufman, Lynsey Cleaver, Mike Moran, Birgit Muller - their background, how they approached the stories, their interpretations, and our vision. We also told them about what it was like working with Ruta Puisyte, Fania Brantsovsky, and Dovid Katz at the Vilnius Yiddish Institute, Chasia Spaneflig at the Community Centre, the narrators - Dora Pilianskiene, Berl Glazer, Gita Geseleva, Isroel (Izidor) Galperin, Cholem Sapsai, Rachel Kostanian, Margarita Civuncik, Josef Levinson...

After the briefing, we went for a drink at Mount Nelson as Shivaun was interviewed by Claudia Braude. It was another lovely Capetonian day.

Live music at Mount Nelson

Opening Launch, Cape Town, 12 April 2010

2010-04-13T04:24:00.000-07:00

What a night it was! We received a lot of positive feedback and Shivaun was swamped after the official program was over by people wanting to express what the exhibition had given them or their impressions of it. As a picture speaks a thousand words, I will leave the talking to the video below.

Some highlights:

Selected clip of speech by Richard Freedman, the director of Cape Town Holocaust Centre, which encapsulates succinctly what the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition is about.
Selected clip from Shivaun Woolfson's speech - her touching tribute to the memory of her late father, one of the personal motivations behind this project and exhibition.
A touching moment - a visitor at the Shoah Memorial installation painstakingly searches for the names of particular massacre sites/shtetls on the side of the bottles and finding the ones she is looking for, again painstakingly searches for their location on the map before placing it there
A rousing performance of "Vilna" by several members of the Herzlia youth vocal ensemble (I heard Polina Shepherd sing this, once at Spiro Ark in London and when we opened this exhibition at Vilnius last year. Every now and then it still chokes me up, eventhough I don't know why.)
And selected scenes of the 150 or so who turned up to experience the art installations and/or pay homage to their Litvak roots.

Yom Hashoah V'Hagevurah (Holocaust and Heroism Day) 11 April 2010

2010-04-13T04:23:00.000-07:00

It's been a bit of a roller coaster ride over the last few days so I thought I had better hunker down and get up to speed with the blog entries. There was a window of opportunity this morning as we are due to drop into the Cape Town Holocaust Centre only this afternoon for a briefing with the volunteers who will show visitors around the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition until the 29 April, before it moves to Johannesburg and finally to Durban.

But I thought I would jot down a few notes about the events over the weekend. Shivaun attended the Yom Hashoah memorial service at Pinelands Jewish Cemetery on Sunday, 11 April. I did not attend so unfortunately we don't have any images to post. But she came back overawed and enthused and said it was truly amazing, that there was pomp, ceremony and a sombre ritual laying of wreaths, people in military attire, and heartrending testimonies. So she said Maggie and I had to come and join her that evening for an informal dinner at the Sephardic Jewish Shul. One main objective of that dinner was to remember the Rhodes survivors who had made it to South Africa and to honour them.

What was amazing to me once again, and for anyone who has followed this blog since the early days in 2008 when we embarked on this project will know, is the Jewish propensity for commemoration, intergenerational transmission of memory, and the reverence paid to such memories. As you will see in the images below, there is a display wall sponsored by a member of the congregation that remembers these survivors and provides a bit of a history lesson to its congregation. How wonderful to have such public commemoration, so that "we shall never forget" the lessons of the Holocaust.

The cantor and rabbi performs for the diners

Survivors Ella Blumenthal and friend celebrate

No Antelope at Sidewalk in Bell Air

2010-04-09T23:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, after we'd finished at the centre, Richard took us to a cafe off the tourist beaten track called Sidewalk Cafe. It was on Bell Air Road. And no this is not a typo. He used the word 'quirky' to describe it. Very nice, exuding boho chic by the buckets. And really super friendly people. Actually come to think of it, everyone we've met so far has been really terrific and amazing.

Nestled within a valley and overlooked by Table Mountain range, the food was yummy, yummy, yummy! But no, no springbok, no antelope. (Confused? See blog entry) And the sun came out as well eventually, which was great :)

See the sign? B-e-l-l Air, not Bel Air :) [Click to see larger image]

I like this split door which reminds me of a farm house.

Corrugated sheets, copper pans, decor made from stones painted pink. And a copy of the New Yorker in the magazine rack. Is this boho or what?

Maggie scans the menu... no, no, no... no springbok...

Day 2 of Set Up at Cape Town Holocaust Centre

2010-04-09T10:07:00.000-07:00

Slept like a baby and woke up late - at 9am! Eeek! Quick brekky and out the door. Not great weather today though. It was drizzly and wet, as you can see. Our friend Maggie arrived from the States last night, so she came to help as well. Thanks Maggie!

The centre is home to the Jewish Museum and also the first synagogue in Cape Town, as well as the Albow Centre, where our exhibition will be held.

The posters for the exhibition were up outside the door at the Albow Centre.

As the opening launch on Monday will happen in the hall where the exhibition will be, chairs for 120 people were set up too.

Here's Shivaun arranging chairs for the opening launch...

Here's Maggie having a chat with the director of the centre, Richard.

This pix - Maggie, Zo, Richard and Shivaun

Moi taking Maggie's place in this shot

With Vernon the electrician.

Maggie was set loose with the Flip Video and she went around interviewing people :) The team at the centre was great to us, supplying tea and coffee and biscuits for break time, helping us load and move stuff about, what can I say, just great! Many many thanks for your assistance and hospitality.

Below is a short clip of the day's happenings...

'Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna' South Africa - Day 1

2010-04-08T14:53:00.000-07:00

Arrived at 8.30am this morning into Cape Town.It's now 11.22pm. Quite discombobulated still. Between the both of us, Shivaun and I, we hardly managed forty winks on the 11-and-half hour flight. About 1, Richard Freedman from the Cape Town Holocaust Centre swung by to give us a lift to the centre. Really awesome campus; too bad I didn't carry the camera today, so will take some photos only tomorrow. We spent about 3 hours doing set up today.

Was too knackered by the end of the day to do anything but soak in the bath as soon as we got back to the hotel. Then we went downstairs for some grub. Noticed springbok showed up a few times on the restaurant menu. Hope to try it before I leave. Shiv asked me what a springbok was, I didn't know how to describe it except say it was kinda like a deer and does these leaps as it runs and as I was simulating these movements with my hands, she said, 'isn't that a kangaroo?' Glad the waiter cleared it up and told her it was an antelope. Ah... antelope. Anyways, am too tired to write much. We will go back to the centre tomorrow to administer the finishing touches and get the lights on. Oh and yes, one other observation from Day 1. We asked some people who work at the hotel as well as Richard whether it was true that it's not safe to go out at night and walkabout. The verdict is no. Apparently a few places are okay but not to walk to those places, to cab it there, and stay on the main road and not divert to adjacent lanes. After dinner as I was walking towards the lobby, the management trainee who had served us during dinner intercepted me and cautioned, 'you're not going for a walk are you?' She looked relieved when I assured her I wasn't. Hmm. Looks like we should try and squeeze in some sightseeing during the day. What a pity to not be able to explore or see the city at night. Okay. Am babbling senselessly now. Good night.

Sweden - A Tale of Planes, Trains, Luggage, and A Conference

2010-03-08T11:52:00.000-08:00

Shivaun and I are back in London after a stimulating and eye-opening conference in Vaxjo, Sweden. This was the ESREA conference at Linneaus University from 4th to 7th March. It was titled: ESREA 2010 Conference - Representing Lives and Learning -The science and poetics of our work. At this conference, Shivaun was able to present a glimpse into the research work that she had done on Lithuanian Holocaust survivor testimony. (See abstract here). It was an amazing trip with a lot of new experiences to absorb, interesting ideas to sift through and information that can only be gleaned when you have 40 knowledgeable people in one room and willing to share.

However, as you can imagine, not all trips are undertaken without a hitch. Considering that we have traveled quite some in the last 2 years and managed to evade any misfortune, I suppose it was time for us to experience some.

We flew into Copenhagen in Denmark and caught the train to Vaxjo (pronounced like "vacuum" without the 'm'). The flight was easy enough, one and a half hours. The train we caught from the airport, so that was easy peesy too. The 2.5 hours train ride was uneventful, which is what you really want when you need to arrive somewhere in time for the opening on the same day.

As you can see the landscape rolling past was an idyllic one, with huge swathes of snow and poking out every now and then from the undisturbed pale, a yellow house, a red barn...

The passing landscape - wide, open and snowy

Why Shivaun insists on lugging not one but two hardbacks that weigh a ton is a mystery to me :) I generally choose to read magazines or paperbacks that can squeeze into my bag

Anyways, the drama began as soon as we arrived at Vaxjo; I think I must have fallen into a stupor staring out the window, 'cos we got off the train, and I was fussing over Shivaun's bag as she had brought a large suitcase, and as we trundled off across the rail crossings, I looked over at her and her large red bag trailing behind her and suddenly had an awful sinking feeling that all I had on me was my backpack - I had left my hand luggage in the overhead cabin - eeeeek! As I watched the train speed off, my heart sank into my boots.

To cut a long story short, here's what I learned about rail travel in Sweden:

1) The company that operates the trains are not the same company that handles station affairs

2) There is no lost-and-found at the train stations, all missing items get routed to a holding department in Stockholm!!!

3) The trains don't always run on time.

I waited 40 minutes on the freezing platform that evening because I was informed that at Kalmar station, someone would put my bag on the next train back, but anxiety got the better of me and I was at the station at Vaxjo 15 minutes early. Alas, the train was 20 minutes late and I had also forgotten to ask which platform the train would arrive at. I spent that 40 minutes fretting if I was waiting for the right train and climbing on board another train waiting at the station, peering into cabins, hoping to catch sight of my bag. Finally the train arrived and I ran from cabin to cabin but no bag. I was afraid of staying too long on board, what if the train took off with me in it all the way back to Copenhagen? My mobile wasn't working so there was no way to tell Shivaun, who was by now at the Emigre Museum where the conference had kicked off. I have to admit I was a little frantic now; I jumped off the train, ran up the platform, thinking I would plead my case to the driver and hold the train while I did another search. A woman in uniform saw me and after listening to me, pointed to the other end of the platform. In the faint light, I could see a man holding my bag, hurrah! I can't imagine I would have seen my bag again if this was London, much less be able to enlist the help of so many to make sure my bag got back to me. Here, I must mention Larrs, owner at Carisma Hotel. Without him I would never have gotten my bag back; he was patient and diligent in calling Kalmar Station, having someone confirm my bag was on board, making sure it got on to another train back, and confirming the time it would be on.

Does this jacket make me look fat or...? Outside Carisma Hotel

This leaving my bag on the train business plus other experiences which followed has impressed me about the Swedes and this part of Sweden I visited, Smaaland. People were really helpful and friendly and the town, being quite small, had a nice warmth and a relaxed atmosphere about it.

I'll try not to bore you with too much detail of what happened at the conference or the rest of our trip but suffice to say, I came home with lots of ideas about the use of biography in adult education and its importance as a historical tool.

On Linnaeus University campus

Fancy some caviar from a tube? An offering for breakfast which I skipped, only because I wasn't sure what to put it on

Last night: dinner at the Kosta glass factory floor, with entertainment provided by this family. Some ditties were sung to accompany schnap drinking (did I spell schnap right? I don't drink you see...)

Dinner: sausages, bacon (or something that was kinda like thick bacon or ham), pickled herring, cheese, rye crackers and potato.

I actually thought they had baked the potatoes and grilled the sausages in the furnace they used as part of the glass blowing exercise, but that's probably unlikely right? :)

Glass blowing demonstration. It takes ages to make, and ages to cool down when made.

Above: Scenes from downtown Vaxjo on Sunday morning.

On our travel home, we had another slight mishap, having read the train schedules wrong; apparently, our return ticket was for the 12:12 train and not the 11:06 - two different companies. We ambled about the streets looking for a cafe but these were scarce, hardly anything was open, so we had to make do with a coffee dispensing machine and hot dogs at a shop at the train station. Plus the train was about 10 minutes late. This started the ball rolling on misadventures and getting back to London was a mini epic with train delays and a mad dash to check in.

Suffice to say we're glad to be home safe and sound. Our luggage however still has not made it.

Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna at UCD Humanities Institute, LJCC, Spiro Ark and University of Sussex

2010-02-03T02:44:00.000-08:00

[NOTE: THIS IS AN OLD BLOG ENTRY WHICH I ONLY JUST DISCOVERED WAS SITTING IN MY DRAFT FOLDER - EEEK! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN POSTED IN JULY 09...]

I haven't updated this blog for so long now, I wouldn't know where to begin. But it is fair to say that we had a pretty busy period from late May to June, so perhaps an events wrap up is in order...

We were in Dublin for a few days between the 27-30 May at University College Dublin, in partnership with UCD Humanities Institute of Ireland (UCD HII) and Holocaust Educational Trust of Ireland HETI). We had two evenings of talks by Holocaust academics Dr Robert Gerwarth, Ruta Puisyte from the Vilnius Yiddish Institute, survivor Tomi Reichental, as well as Shivaun. On the opening evening, we had a few luminaries in the form of ambassadors, including the Lithuanian ambassador.

Now, I must admit that the run up to the event was quite a hectic one. There was a mad rush with the logistics, organising the exhibition display units... all the usual stuff associated with an event. But I must say it was well worth it.

In all, about 150 people attended the evening talks. There was a mixed bag of feelings and responses to the Surviving History documentary and the short educational clip we put together titled What Would You Do. Most of the comments we received bordered on shock horror as well as disbelief. There was also a palpable sense of sadness about man's inhumane treatment of others, and about persistent racism.

Ruta speaking to the Lithuanian ambassador to Ireland and her husband

Ruta, Dr Gerwarth and Shivaun

On one of the days we were there, a lady who happened to take her morning walks on the grounds of UCD, chanced upon the photo exhibition. She then watched the film. By the time the credits were rolling, she was in tears. She half-waved at us as she was leaving, she was so moved she couldn't even leave a comment. I felt kinda bad, almost as if we had spoilt her idyllic morning walk. But then again, these stories are very powerful and I have been rendered speechless though I have seen them over and over again. And then there were the few visitors, who couldn't make it to the evening talks, who had made a special trip from outside Dublin to come. It was gratifying to know that for some people, the historical past was worth revisiting.

Visitors looking at the photos on display

Me, Shivaun, Lynn Jackson from HETI and Valerie Norton from UCD HII

Shortly after Dublin, we were at the London Jewish Cultural Centre. The event had a larger turnout than expected - about 80 people attended the afternoon talks on 4 June and our hosts had to bring in extra chairs and open the partitions between the rooms. We had Rachel Kostanian from the Vilna Gaon Jewish State Museum, herself a survivor, speak, as well as Ruta and Shivaun.

Rachel speaking at LJCC

A close up of one section of the audience

LJCC's Stephanie Rose, Ruta, Shivaun and Rachel fielding questions

Not long after the event at LJCC, we held a photo exhibition and cultural event at Spiro Ark, where Nitza Spiro spoke, Rachel spoke, and Ruta and Rachel answered questions. It was very heartwarming as cantor Steven Leas sang El Malei Rachamim so beautifully there was scant a dry eye in the house. And then Polina Shepherd whipped up the crowd with Yiddish favourites. After the events, most of the visitors stayed back to chat with us and speak to Rachel and Ruta. It was a nice note to end on, as Rachel and Ruta would be returning to Vilnius the day after.

Nitza Spiro welcomes guests to Spiro Ark

Rachel speaks to the crowd

Steven Leas tells us about his Litvak connections

Polina Shepherd launches into a medley of Yiddish favourites

IWM Film Festival Awards Ceremony, Tuesday 2 February 2010

2010-02-03T02:26:00.000-08:00

Shivaun and I went off to the Imperial War Museum in London yesterday for the film festival awards as our film, Surviving History, had won the audience poll. The directors, Jesse and Daniel, were unable to make it, so we were representing the team. It was really cool to be in the museum after hours, though we had got there early. I went off to explore the Children's War exhibition and it was really really good. I actually felt teary looking at some of the mementoes a few children on the kindertransport had carried with them from Germany to the UK. Imagine if all you had to remind you of your family and of your previous life was a pen? One of the exhibits was a beautiful pen overlaid with mother of pearl and it had an inscription. It was beautiful, but still... ;(

Anyway, as the event was after hours (the museum closes at 6pm), we had time to wander about before we had to head back to the main entrance and wait there. At about 6.30pm we headed to the cinema where we watched other films that had been submitted to the festival.

Above: The evening's program. We were really surprised to see that 'Surviving History' had been scheduled as the first film to be screened, and in its entirety too - all 28 mins of it! We had expected to see short clips of all the films instead.

The cinema at IWM.

The Director General of the War Museum, Diane Lees, kicked off the night with a welcome speech...

Followed by Richard Melman, Channel Director for History and Bio channels, introducing 'Surviving History'...

After which he presented Shivaun with the award.

The award was a really nice (and heavy) crystal bowl with an inscription on it.

How cool is it to have a reception in a room like this?

Group photo for the three winning entries (from left): Annie Dodds Award for Best Documentary - 'The Things They Carried' , Audience Poll - 'Surviving History' , Best Imaginative Response to the Subject of War - 'Red Letter'; with Toby Haggith, of IWM's Film and Video Archive, and Martin Rogers, of Prime Focus.

Holocaust Memorial Day 2010

2010-02-01T11:02:00.000-08:00

Every year, Holocaust Memorial Day (HMD) falls on the 27th of January.

I remember this same time last year very clearly.

I was at the public commemoration events held at the University of Sussex, listening to discussions on the definition of genocide. We had caught up with Stephen Smith from Beth Shalom as he was one of the speakers that evening. It wasn't the first time we had met though; we had been in meetings with him from the earliest conception phase of the Surviving History project. I remember we had just prepared the first edited clips from our interviews with Gita and Isroel. We met a colleague's of his and I remember promising her that I would send on further film when ready.

How time flies.

Since then, the project has concluded. We've got the exhibition up and running. It was launched in Vilnius in August 2009 and been on show in several places. The short film we made in collaboration with Woolfcub Productions to accompany the project, Surviving History, has been picked up for distribution by Journeyman Pictures and Parallel Lines. We haven't been broadcast yet though. Until now. It was really great that the Community Channel was going to air our documentary as part of its programming for HMD. (See link)

And what's just as cool is that, as you can see above, they took a section of our film and also Shivaun's narrative and used it as a voiceover to their program filler throughout the day!

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As part of the HMD's nationwide events, the traveling multimedia exhibition we created was hosted by Shropshire Council at the Shirehall in Shrewsbury between the 25th - 29th January. The council had found us through the Holocaust Memorial Day Trust.

Shivaun and I went off to Shropshire the Friday before, on the 22nd January, to set up. We had to start off on our drive at 6 am. Why? Well, did you know it takes between 3 and a half hours to get there, or 4 hours if you stop for a coffee or fill up your tank? I guess what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't take Google Maps at its word, you have to exercise some precaution :) I checked weeks earlier prior to our recce trip to suss out the location and space. It was supposed to take about 3 hours - which obviously you can't take at face value; you have to always add 30 to 45 minutes extra to give yourself a comfortable margin.

Anyways, we set up at the Foyer on the 1st floor of the Shirehall. Because it is open to the public and the legislative chambers are there, meeting rooms, council offices etc, we soon had people milling about and casting curious glances at the displays. Some became engrossed in the exhibits and a few people came to speak to us to ask about the project. Below are some of the photos from that day.

We had an unusual configuration as it was a foyer as opposed to a hall or a large room, as you will soon see...

Spacing the visual bio installations out so we wouldn't block the meeting room doors...

This visitor said she really enjoyed Josef's 'memory cupboard'

The film and 'video diaries' were played on a continuous loop.

At one point, I looked over towards Margarita's display and saw that her images was simultaneously on the projector screen. It made me think of her daughter and of the emotional opening in Vilnius, and of how we wished she could have been there. I feel an almost reverential pride for these displays each time I set them up; they don't feel like mere displays to me, more like memorials in a way. Mobile memorials.

When we went to dismantle on the 29th, Jane - our contact at Shropshire Council - was kind enough to compile a list of some of the comments and feedback they had received towards the exhibition.

Below, I have selected a few of those comments:

"I'm very impressed with the exhibition and wish that more people could see it. Maybe it could be in the town centre next time? Well done for getting it in Shropshire."

"A very moving exhibition which really brings home man's own inhumanity to man. Such exhibitions bring the holocaust into sharper focus and we should never forget the horror Margarita Civuncik is quoted as saying 'God save us so it doesn't happen again.' Unfortunately, such genocide has happened in my own life time in places like Bosnia, Rwanda and Darfur, where the western world stood by and watched. What lessons have we learned?"

"Moving, thought provoking. How can one human being do this to another and yet it still goes on. This should be shown in schools and to those who perpetrate hate crimes. Thank you."

"A very poignant and moving exhibition. Real people, real horror, real terror. Do not forget!"

From such comments, I am even more convinced that HMD serves it purpose and is worth its weight in taxpayers' money. It makes us think about the crimes against humanity that we as a race of people are capable of, not just those that occurred in the past but those that are happening even now.

The Inner Life of History - Teachers Seminar, Vilnius, 11-12 September 2009

2009-09-15T05:36:00.000-07:00

In conjunction with the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition, we worked with the International Commission and the Vilnius Yiddish Institute to host a 1.5-day teachers seminar called "Everything Speaks: The Inner Life of History."

In total, there were 30 teachers who participated, 3 from Vilnius, and the rest from towns, cities and villages outside of the capital. They were a fantastic bunch and as you will see from the photos, had great fun sharing their ideas and creativity with us! On day 1, we held the seminar at the Tolerance Centre. It wasn't a classroom setting, so the setting was fairly informal and conducive to lots of sharing. Everyone was a real sport, and got stuck in, on the floors, on stage, and every nook and corner they could find to work on their group activities.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

The day began with a more serious activity which I led called "The Self in History." This explored the use of working with images and selected transcripts to promote deeper understanding and empathy while reconstructing life history biography. After this session, Shivaun led the rest of the more creative (and fun!) sessions; e.g. the teachers created their own visual biography with their own biographical objects and drawings. Since the sharing was quite personal, I won't elaborate here. Suffice to say that some comments received included - "it is amazing how much we can learn about a person just from a few images to the things they use to represent themselves." Some of the artwork was really innovative stuff - drawings that turned into 3D craftwork, narratives which revealed itself along with the artwork that was folded like an accordian...

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

The next day, we moved to the Vilnius Yiddish Institute, and despite the small space, everyone again let their hair down and shared. Some of the ideas for classroom activities were truly innovative. We had great fun and thank all the teachers for participating and for sharing, and of course to Ingrida Vilkiene, from the International Commission, who also actively participated, and Ruta Puisyte of the Vilnius Yiddish Institute. How she does simultaneous translations remains a mystery to me! A true gift and talent :)

To view these photos on Flickr, click on the links below
Day 1 - Teachers Seminar
Day 2 - Teachers Seminar

H.E. Simon Butt's speeach

2009-09-15T05:15:00.000-07:00

Still on the subject of the opening launch of the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition in Vilnius...

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, the speech given by H.E. Simon Butt was really good. So I have reproduced it here:

“I am very pleased that the British Embassy is, with Ireland, one of the embassy co-hosts of this important exhibition opening.

Why important? Because the context of the exhibition is a uniquely horrible event in 20th century history, and indeed the whole of human history- the Holocaust (Shoah), and specifically, the Holocaust in Lithuania. It is an event which must never be forgotten and which must be remembered afresh for each generation.

Second, important because of the perspective, the exhibition and accompanying documentary bring to the narrative of that event, to the process of remembering. It is possible to read all the facts, the terrible lists of locations, numbers killed and on what dates.

But every human life is a collection of experience, of emotions and of individual characteristics. These are all snuffed out when that life is lost. And every community, however small, is a collective experience with its own features which are also lost when the community is destroyed or dispersed. And here, the story is told through an awareness of the importance of that individual and community experience.

This gives the story a greater sense of immediacy, and a more tragic and personal dimension. And so the images may remain with us for longer and add an element of emotion to the experience of learning, understanding and remembering.

Our sense of solidarity with those who survived is also enhanced, along with our respect for the dead.

So I congratulate the organisers of the exhibition and documentary film on their achievement. I hope we can dedicate this event to the contemplation and remembering of what has been lost, as well as to the courage and fortitude of those who survived.”

We Remember Them - Poem

2009-09-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

At the opening of the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition in Vilnius, we included the reading of a poem called "We Remember Them" by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer. Shivaun had the idea to have it translated, and Fania Brantsovsky was kind enough to translate it into Yiddish and to read it. Ruta Puisyte felt that it was imperative that it was read in all languages, and by the young, the generation after, and said movingly that this poem reflected how she felt, of the importance of remembering those who were lost and those who are still with us, and that it echoed how she felt within herself and of how those who were lost have become a part of us and of her. Her colleague Indra from the Vilnius Yiddish Institute read it in English. It was so moving to hear those words repeated in Lithuanian, English and Yiddish - we remember them.

Fania read the poem in Yiddish...

Ruta read it in Lithuanian...

Indra read it in English

"We Remember Them"

At the rising of the sun and at its going down
We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter
We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring
We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer
We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn
We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us
as we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength
We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart
We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share
We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make
We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us
as we remember them.

Surviving History Opens in Vilnius, 10 Sept 2009

2009-09-11T13:25:00.000-07:00

Wow, if I had to pick a word to describe the opening launch last night of the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition in Vilnius, I would choose the word "overwhelming"....

Guests began to arrive 40 minutes ahead of the opening, sending us into a mini state of flux. Ieva, the head of the Tolerance Centre, was - like me - totally surprised - "20 minutes maybe, but 40 minutes?" she said to me, and we scrambled to bring out exhibition booklets and give the exhibition a last minute look over. But I digress...

Why was I overwhelmed? It was like a meeting of old friends. The narrators who had shared their stories with us, who were featured in the documentary as well as the exhibition, and here I have to name them - Berl Glazer, Cholem Sapsai, Fania Brantsovsky, Gita Geseleva, Isroel Galperin, Josef Levinson and Rachel Kostanian - greeted us and all who came with warmth, with open arms, and open hearts.

Those who were not there were sorely missed. Margarita Civuncik, who had passed away on the 23 June. Her daughter Luda came and the moment she saw the visual biography exhibit, filled with her mother's handwriting and poems, and images, and old photos... she just broke down. As I hugged her, I could feel her sadness and her pride, all mingled in her loss and longing.

Dora Pilianskiene, who is too frail to attend the event but her daughter Frida and son came and avidly checked out her photos and her visual biography exhibits. They were beaming.

Chasia Spanerflig, who is away on her annual holiday trip with her daughter...

Gita, who looked like a vision from heaven, she was shining - I can't describe it otherwise. When I greeted her, she hugged me tight and squeezed my hand and I could feel the love, the longing, the... I don't know what else. But I know it was a tremendous surge of energy. She looked at me, her eyes began to glisten and I started tearing... I had no words for her, as I speak neither Russian nor Lithuanian, so all I could do was repeat what I knew, "aciu" (thank you) and she said, "danke" in return.

Cholem, when he came through the door, gave us juicy kisses on the cheek and bear hugs. Who told me later, translated through Ruta of course, that he was pleased, that we had promised and had delivered. And who, of course, extracted from us the promise to drop by and visit when we next came.

Fania, with her ever-present smile, was as always, warm and enthusiastic and even played guide to the guests by showing them around the exhibits!

Rachel, who was effusive, and thanked us for the event, who has played such a big part in the project and who spoke at some events for us in the UK.

What can I say? But a very big and warm and grateful and sincere and loving 'thank you.' Thank you for your courage, thank you for your strength.

Because it certainly cannot be easy. To see your photos on the wall, to see your face adorning a piece of art, to see your life story interpreted subjectively by others, to see your face on screen, as we showed the Surviving History documentary. I think Isroel was a little overwhelmed by seeing himself on the screen of the auditorium. Perhaps he relived his pain; I watched out of the corner of my eye and felt really bad - he seemed a little distressed.

Josef was like a shining knight; he is a man of presence, nevermind his 90+ years. And you will see in the photos how he lit up the room.

Embassy officials were there to lend their support - from Poland, Russia, Japan, UK, Ireland, Germany, Hungary... Members of the Jewish community, some out of town visitors, and students who had trekked over from Vilnius University... H.E. Simon Butt, British ambassador to Lithuania, gave a lovely speech.

Polina Shepherd, who had flown in that day (she woke at 3am to get from Brighton to London Heathrow to catch her flight!) - God bless her! - put on a stirring and moving performance. I really loved the smile on Fania's face as she sang along and Isroel too.

Even Zara, the designer who has worked with us on this project, came too. And she was moved to tears and told me she was touched to be in the same place as the narrators whom she has come to know through the work - but until last night, from a distance.

Jesse covered the floor like a papparazzo, and caught the action from every angle - literally! Shivaun was beaming. What a night! What a night! A BIG thank you to all who came, about 150 in all, the students who filed in and filled the seats on the balcony, the ones who came early, the ones who came late, all who came and were a part of a special night. And especially to the wonderful people who made this project possible and the resulting exhibition and teachers seminar - the narrators, Ruta, Ieva, Ingrida, Jesse and Dan, and if I have missed out anyone, you know who you are :)

Below are slide shows of the photos from the event. Most of the photos are captioned but don't show up in the slideshow. So, if you wish to read the captions to these photos, you will have to go to our Flickr site to view these photo albums individually. (Links below)

Slide show 1

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Slide show 2

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

To view the photos individually (and with captions)

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Today was the first day of the Teachers Seminar. Shivaun is totally knocked out. For an insomniac, she has been asleep since 8.30pm! More on that in a future blog! (About the workshop, not Shivaun's insomnia :)

Surviving History Exhibition in Vilnius: Installation Completed :)

2009-09-09T12:19:00.000-07:00

Finally, we've completed the set up work for the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition, and we're all ready for tomorrow's opening launch. I must say I am feeling very satisfied after two days of effort.

If you'd followed my Facebook entries, you will know that I was hyperventilating three days ago when I was having trouble with the resolution of the video diaries file (Vilna Video Portraits segment of the exhibition). Today, we tested the video diaries and thankfully, it's looking a lot better than I had expected. I had had a mishap with converting the video file a few days ago and was a little worried about the results but it's holding up - phew!

Rachel dropped by too and Shivaun gave her a mini tour of the work in progress. Some tourists dropped in as well and didn't seem to mind that we were in the midst of setting up.

Here's me adjusting the lighting after setting up the first panel of the photo exhibit.

Yesterday, we had help from staff at the Tolerance Centre to set up most of the structures. So today was spent tidying up, checking over the finer details. I must say I spent most of today down on the floor, taping down wires, tucking them under carpet tiles, connecting cables and lights, and generally, just making the exhibits look as presentable as possible and of course making sure the wires would not be potential hazards. I must have used up to 45m of cloth tape securing wires to the floor!

But a picture tells a thousand words, so I'll let the pictures do the talking rather than describe the installation any further....

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Photo exhibition section

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Visual biography section

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Shoah memorial section - entrance

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Elevated view of Lithuanian map - centrepiece of the Shoah memorial installation

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Ieva Sadzeviciene and Shivaun

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Close up of bottles and map detailing massacre sites

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We caught up with Ruta later this evening to run through the details for the teachers workshop. However, both Shivaun and I were starving as we'd only had breakfast. So we ended up having a really nice Lithuanian meal, complete with pickled garlic and stewed cabbage for me - yummy! (and I don't want to hear any comments about gas :) Jesse had a dose of 'Zeppelins' - potato dumpling and minced meat - looked good.

Tomorrow, we start off early to do some final checks and prepare for the opening launch in the evening as well as the teachers workshop which follows the day after and ends on Saturday. It feels like a dream. It is almost exactly one year ago that we'd begun on this project. It feels like a dream. Can't wait to see the narrators tomorrow; Cholem, Fania, Isroel, Gita.... everyone :)

Just arrived in Vilnius

2009-09-07T14:54:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since we were last in Vilnius. I hadn’t realized that nine months had passed by just like that. If you follow Living Imprint’s Facebook page, you may have come across the status update where I was lamenting that FlyLAL, Lithuania’s main carrier, has gone bust. As a result, no direct flights into Vilnius. And this, when Vilnius is the European Capital of Culture for 2009. What a pity!

All flights to Vilnius have to route via another city, e.g. Prague or Riga. This trip, we're going via Riga.

The opening of the Surviving History full exhibition at the Tolerance Centre is this Thursday, 10th Sept. So we have decided to come in today so we can sort out installation over the next two days.

The day did not begin well at all. At the check-in counter at London Gatwick, I realized I’d brought the wrong passport. Shivaun was trying to console me, that I was obviously tired and frazzled. Plus, and I only realized this when I was at the airport, I hadn’t eaten for over 23 hours. Sleeping only at 3 and 4 am the last two nights didn't help. Obviously, I’d packed everything but my brains.

So instead of carrying my Irish passport, I had brought my Malaysian one. Yikes! Okay, so the check-in lady didn’t make any comments. All seemed okay, but yup, I was still feeling frazzled and annoyed with myself ‘cos re-entry to UK would be a grief. The complications of dual nationality! Thank God that Jesse is coming only tomorrow, so I can ask him to retrieve my other passport and bring it along. So far so good, I thought. Fingers crossed.

So, there I was, tucking into a Magnum dark chocolate at the boarding gate. If you know me, you'd know I normally don't have sweets. But for some reason, I'd gotten myself this ice cream at the vending machine. Maybe I needed a sugar rush.

The flight was leaving on time. But I was still feeling a little nervous. When it came time to board, Shivaun got past the check-in gates while I dawdled at the back of the queue, chomping on my Magnum and suffering severe brain freeze trying to wolf it down. Shivaun walked ahead and I could see her disappearing round the corner. The flight attendant looked at my boarding pass. No probs there. Then he looked at my passport. ‘I think you need a visa,’ he said. Damnit. My brain starts racing a mile a minute - what other EU ID do I have on me that I can use? What flight can I get on later? “Shiv! Shiv!” I yell but Shivaun has disappeared from view altogether. He makes a couple of calls, asks if I have a return ticket, then tells me it’s okay. Little did I know then that this was an omen - a hint of the possible unpleasantness ahead.

We arrived into Riga. Now, I know nothing much about Latvia or Riga but Katya had told me that it was quite beautiful. Not that we would have a chance to encounter its attractions as we were only transiting for an hour and a bit.

It was about 6.15pm local time. I was surprised that even though we were just transiting, we had to go through the rigmarole of passport checks and luggage scans again. The immigration officer takes away my bottle of water. Without a single Latvian lat to rub between us, I start feeling a bit annoyed about this - having some liquids at hand gives me a sense of security.

Another officer asks me if I have a laptop; I pull it out of my bag and put it into the plastic tray. I walk through the detector and it beeps though I have absolutely nothing on me that should set it off. Another immigration officer gives me a disapproving look and says to me, ‘Check, check’ and starts feeling me up and down grudgingly; she gives me a look that says I have created trouble/work for her.

On the other side of the scanner, another officer says to me that I need to take the electronic equipment I have in my laptop bag out so they can scan them – an external drive and a mpeg player. He says this with an accusatory look on his face; as if I tried to sneak one past him by putting them through the scanner inside my bag. I want to protest that no one asked me to take these out of my bag too, only the laptop, but decide against it. I take them out of my case and start putting my laptop back into my bag; I figure he wants to scan the drive and player, but no, he wants me to put it back into my bag and send my bag through to scan again, minus the laptop; he’s annoyed with me and raises his voice. I feel like saying to him, ‘Chill, bud, so I misunderstood…”

The unpleasantness continues. I am tired, grumpy and thirsty. I want to have a cigarette. I go up to a boarding gate counter. There are three officers there; they see me. They ignore me. I wait. They avert their eyes, hoping I'll go away. Instead I say, “Excuse me?” The lady sitting behind the counter goes, “Yah?” with the what-do-you-want look in her eyes. I ask, “Is there a smoking room in this airport?” She tells me about non-Schnengen or something like that. I have no clue what she’s saying but her face lets me know that I should not ask again.

I walk to the transfer desk instead and despite feeling a little upset at the rudeness I have just encountered, I smile and say, “Good afternoon, can you please tell me if there is somewhere I can smoke in this airport?”
She says, “Outside.”
I ask, “How do I go outside?”
She doesn’t answer me, instead she asks, “Where are you going?”
I say, “Vilnius.”
She says, “You smoke in Vilnius.”
I am a bit confused. I stare at her.
I ask again, “So there is no smoking room in the airport?”
She smirks. “You smoke in Vilnius,” she repeats.
I am, at this stage, staring at her incredulously. My brain isn’t computing this unwarranted sarcasm. I start to say, “That really wasn’t necessary, I was just asking if there was a…” and then I give up. This is such a bizarre encounter. I can’t make out why she’s gone out of the way to be mean to me.

I tell Shivaun this. She’s sitting and waiting by the boarding gate. “Maybe they’re racist,” she says. Somehow, I think not. I think this is just business as usual here. Customer service and courtesy are not part of the program. I am, at this stage, feeling antsy and upset. There's a bad taste in my mouth I can't get rid off.

Finally, we get into Vilnius. It almost feels like home; at least I am more familiar with it. We cab it to the hotel, check in, and are out on the streets in 10 minutes to look for somewhere to eat. It is now 9pm. We arbitrarily pick a place called Café Libre.

The food is quite good. The waitress is very nice. She says ‘thank you,’ and ‘please’ and she smiles! At the end of the meal, she even asks if we like the food. I feel like hugging her. I feel like telling her ‘thank you’ for ending this day of horridness with some kindness.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, we begin installing the exhibition. I can’t wait for the sun to rise and melt away the yuckiness that has clung to me since we set off this morning. They say bad stuff happens in threes. Okay, that's the quota up now. Tomorrow should be a great day.

All Roads Lead to Vilnius – 26 days and counting...

2009-08-15T01:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, things are really hotting up now. We are manically preparing last minute work for the opening of the exhibition in Vilnius on the 10 September 2009. I’m still tearing my hair out trying to get the packing list in order. We have different suppliers involved, from flight cases to actual exhibit items, and trying to amass the necessary information on weights, dimensions and packaging is driving me a little crazy. I am wary that we will need to put together a comprehensive list for custom purposes as it may be necessary to get an ATA Carnet (kinda like a passport) for the exhibits, so I am – I admit – being a little anal with the details. Virgo that I am, I relish and abhor the activity at the same time :)

So anyways, a few days ago, we realized we had run out of time on one activity. For one of the exhibition sections – there are five sections in all (you can read about what the exhibition consists of here) – the Shoah Memorial, we have 200+ bottles that need to be labeled. Quite early on, the intention was to have everyone who had participated – the artists, the designers, the team members spread across several countries (you can read about the team members here) – to write these labels by hand. But alas, it has taken a while to get the list of names and finalize this installation. So unfortunately, we’ve had to only involve the immediate team.

Trying to be as neat as I can

As I was writing my share of the labels – the name of the massacre sites and the numbers killed at each location – that while I was rushing this task, I couldn’t help but be mindful of the poignant and sad significance of what I was doing. Each location isn’t just a location – it is a burial site. And the numbers I was trying to print in as neat a hand as possible were people, lives… And then there are those places where no one even knows how many were lost. I cannot help but imagine what it is like be erased as if one had not lived at all.

Throughout this project, at various stages, I have often felt overwhelmed by the material. No matter how many times I have seen, read or heard it. It happens without me realizing it – I could be reading an interview transcript again, or watching a video clip, or looking at the narrators’ photos. The feeling passes over me like a shadow, often fleeting. It dissipates eventually but I feel something akin to a residual, lingering emptiness; it settles gently into the pit of my stomach and stays there. If someone asks me the impact of this project on me, I think I will tell them – it is like a gentle sadness that lodges somewhere in my gut. I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s how it feels.

Only 26 days to go now to the full exhibition opening in Vilnius. And about a week and half to have the items shipped. Again, as in the past, whenever we prepare to go to Vilnius, I am struck by mixed feelings of setting foot in that city once more.

Surviving History documentary – 13,478 views to date

2009-08-06T00:06:00.000-07:00

The other day, I decided to check out how many people had viewed the preview of our documentary on our distributor, Journeyman Pictures’ YouTube channel. I was really surprised to see that more than 13,000 views were registered. This does not of course include the trailer clips that have been viewed on our organisation Living Imprint’s YouTube channel, about 700+ views to date.

It’s great to see that quite a few people are interested in knowing about the Holocaust. But I must also say that it is really depressing too. It seems that most of the people who seek out documentaries like ours are fairly narrow-minded and have missed the point of Holocaust awareness altogether. They seem determined to find films like ours so they can deride the Jews and go on anti-Semitic rants for the world to see.

One comment even mentioned Madoff. But what has an American white collar criminal got to do with Holocaust survivors who survived World War II? Just because they are of the same race? By that irrational deduction, should we hate all Japanese for the crimes of their forefathers during the same war as well? Should we hate present-day Americans for the napalm bombing of the Vietnamese? Should we hate all Muslims for the murder of Daniel Pearl? The list could go on and on. It is mind boggling that such irrationality should exist and darn right frustrating!

A few comments were enlightened ones – thank God there are people who understand the point of Holocaust awareness tools like our documentary. What a great disappointment that those who missed the point altogether do not seem to understand that what happened during the Holocaust is a symptom, the tip of the ice berg if you will, of intolerance and misplaced hatred gone horribly wrong and warped. These are not just stories about the Jews. This is a reminder of what blind hatred can lead to. There is great injustice in the world, why are there so many people willing to join the mindless masses that perpetrate such conditions? Every time I bump up against such comments I am flabbergasted. Why are we so willfully blind?

If you’d like to see the short trailers, click here

If you’d like to see the Journeyman trailer, click here

If you’d like to watch the film for £1 on Journeyman’s website, click here

RIP: Margarita Civuncik, 23 June 2009

2009-08-04T05:39:00.000-07:00

We received the sad news in late July that one of the survivors we had interviewed for this project, Margarita Civuncik, had passed away on 23 June 2009. Our condolences and prayers are with her family.

Margarita's life is a testimony to the courage of those who did not give in nor give up but found the strength and determination to persevere despite the odds.

Margarita was born Rita Tsives. She was the sixth child in a family of seven siblings. Together with the rest of her family, she was interned at Minsk ghetto and later forced into the streets during a pogrom, where convinced they would be killed, she escaped with her small daughter. She changed her name, forged identity documents, and fled, moving from village to village for the duration of the war, sometimes working, sometimes hiding, sometimes depending on the kindness of strangers. She found herself in Vilnius when the war ended and made it her home.

Her incredible experiences were recorded in her unpublished memoirs and the many poems she wrote for her children and grandchildren. Her family were her pride; she especially pointed out to us how they were a multicultural, multinational family - she told us: "The most important thing is to respect each other. It doesn’t matter what nationality a person is. I am against genocide. It is terrible… people against people. In my family, we are a mixture. We have become an international family, Lithuanian, Russian, Polish..."

We salute the amazing person Margarita was and the life she led. We are thankful for her generosity in telling us her story. The memories she shared, the gifts she gave us, her photos... these will be presented in the Surviving History: Portraits from Vilna exhibition, opening in Vilnius on 10th September 2009. We are honoured to have met Margarita, to be entrusted with passing on her experiences and the lessons she shared with us.

We salute an incredible woman, survivor, mother, grandmother.

Limmud Day, Brighton, 29 March 2009

2009-04-14T01:40:00.000-07:00

Shivaun and I turned up at this year's Limmud Day. The event was sold out well in advance and the number and variety of presenters were formidable. We kinda squeaked in when Shivaun spoke to the organisers a few weeks before the event, and were, quite last minute, assigned a slot to show our 30-minute documentary Surviving History and for Shivaun to give a presentation. She spoke briefly about her research project and gave a short talk on the history of Jews in Lithuania, trying to squish hundreds of years of history into a 20-minute session. The room was packed and people drifted in well after the talk had started and there was only standing room available. It was very touching to hear afterwards that some had been moved to tears, another said, "I could have listened all day," as he had found it fascinating. Most of the audience, like those we had met at the talk at AJR in February this year, commented that much less is known about East European Jewish experience, on account of the Iron Curtain and decades of Soviet rule; so for them, this was quite revelatory. Which kinda sealed it for us, that despite the fact that much has been written and discussed about the Holocaust, there is room for much more, especially when it comes to personal experience and recollection, which are unique to the individual. Kinda like finding the particular within the universal; the human and the individual within the historical.

Then we squished in to hear Julie Birchell speak. I don't know anything about her, but she seemed very popular; the room was literally bursting at the seams. Her comments both shocked me as well as touched me. (You can read a bit about the session here.) Later I got the rundown and realised why she was so well known, she is, as she herself claims, to be a 'philo-semitic'. Which left me wondering whether one needs to take an extreme stand in order to be heard? If you are quite objective and empathetic, do you come across as a fence-sitter, and will others ride roughshod over your opinions? I still haven't come to a conclusion...

Why telling stories about genocide matters...

2009-02-20T01:33:00.000-08:00

Today, I read on The Economist, the obituary of Alison Des Forges. It is titled "a witness to genocide." About Rwanda. To me, her life is a testament to why telling stories about genocide, mass murder, even historical ones, matter. Recently, I was at the University of Sussex for Holocaust Memorial Day. The speakers spoke of genocide episodes that have taken place globally. The Holocaust is an epitaph, a monument, a symbolic reminder of democide, killings meted out as state policy. "We must never forget." That is the supreme message we must learn from the Holocaust, as so many of those who shared their stories with us have told us. However, we must have, we must be ignorant of the lessons, or it has not sunk deep enough. To read about Alison, click here.

If you think ignorance, blind hatred and narrowmindedness is a thing of the past, think again

2008-12-24T08:36:00.001-08:00

I haven't been surfing YouTube for a while, so after I had logged in, I was surprised to see that there was a comment left on one of the video clips I had posted. This was a short 3 minute segment of an interview with Gita, who had survived the liquidation of the Glubokoe ghetto.

The comment was "Bloody jews...." (see picture below; click to enlarge)

I'm not sure how I feel seeing this comment. A mixture of surprise, horror, shock, annoyance but mostly disappointment. I can appreciate that we live in a relatively free world where people can and should be allowed to express their views. But was it really necessary for this ignoramus to defile the site by leaving a comment on it? I guess I shouldn't have expected much from someone who chooses the username of Panzerfaust.

After much thought, I have decided to leave the comment as it is. As a warning to others and a confirmation that dangerous elements remain prevalent today. It also proves to me that this project's topic remains relevant, why Holocaust survivor testimonials deserve to be told and retold and retold again. Stupidity and ignorance transcends time. Surely genocide awareness and Holocaust memory should as well.

A visit to the US - USHMM and YIVO

2008-11-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

We have just returned from a short trip to the US. During our visit there, we spent several days at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) in Washington DC and also at YIVO Institute of Jewish Research in New York City.

Multiple uses for a jar: to paste a sign on, to collect tips in, and to show one's patriotism. Seen in a bar.

The US is of course in the grips of election fever. There are signs of Obamamania everywhere. Everytime we turn on the TV, it's one analysis or another about the possible outcome of the 2008 Elections. Some people have gone to extraordinary lengths to show their support - even in their Halloween decorations!

A creative Obama pumpkin in a window in NYC

At USHMM, Shiv got stuck into memorial books, literature, videos of survivor testimonies and the photo archives. As for me, I spent most of my time going through reel after reel of microfilm. One collection in particular stands out for me. It is a collection of documents from the office of the Vilnius City Commander and spans 20 microfilms containing hundreds of police reports, correspondence, lists of arrested people and instructions between 1941 and 1944. On one, I find a blurred stamp of the Nazi eagle encircled within a postmark "Wilna".

A partial sample of a report within the collection - note the blurred stamp and the Nazi insignia

A feeling creeps over me during those few days we spend at USHMM; it is not an unfamiliar sensation. It is a kind of lethargy. I experienced it when we were in Lithuania. I realise that my threshold for submerging myself in the Holocaust has become lower and lower. This is not to take away from the profundity of the archival documents we came across; they are truly enlightening, harrowing and the richness of the bounty that has survived is something I am truly grateful for. I think it's just that I have become so saturated that it takes very little information to wear me out on an emotional level. I am therefore glad that we have a few days break in between.

A pedicab ride through NYC streets

We arrive in NYC on Saturday. On Monday, Shiv heads straight for YIVO. I decide to take a break and go off to the Guggenheim instead. I join her on subsequent days. We both agree later on that perhaps we should spend more time at YIVO; the collection or archival materials they have there is truly amazing.

Shiv at the entrance to YIVO. Note the inscription on the board.

I am particularly touched by the contents of one of the folders I go through. In it are letters dating between 1939 and 1941. The first is from a gentleman in NYC who pleads with a Mr J, also from NYC, that he has received a letter from a woman in Vilnius to arrange passage out, that things have become untenable or difficult or something to that effect. There are letters back and forth between them, also letters to the immigration department, the US embassy in Kaunas and Moscow, and so on. The usual bureaucratic things - that permission will expire in such and such a time, that it is unlikely that permission will be extended, that a sworn affidavit is required to show that the woman and her children will be cared for financially when they come to the US.

The later letters refer only to passage for one of the children, a young girl. I think, did the family give up trying to leave because they wanted to increase their chances? Why did they choose to send only one daughter and how did they decide? Then I come across a letter from the benefactor to the said woman. It is postmarked 1941. The year that Lithuania was invaded by the Nazis. It has been returned, marked as opened by the authorities and undeliverable. Chillingly, the Nazi eagle motif is stamped all over the back of the envelope. Did the girl make it to the States? Did she, like the rest of her family, perish in Kovno ghetto or at one of the forts in Kaunas? The audacity!, I think, to open the letter and send it back. Was it to create a front of normalcy?

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Shiv has just booked the flights for Lithuania. We will be returning there in about 2 weeks. I am looking forward to seeing Ruta, Fania, Cholem... so many people we have become friends with, who have been so generous of spirit with us. I am not sure though about how I feel about revisiting Vilnius. Something inside me feels as if it has changed. I can't explain it. Maybe it will become clearer during my time there.

Ignorance and forgetfulness

2008-09-23T00:40:00.000-07:00

We have been back in London now for two days. I have been on a self-imposed moratorium of sorts, to not do anything and basically chill out for a few days. Today, I will start work again. The 'to do' list is fairly long, so I will need to devise an action plan and get a sense of my bearings. But before I do that, there is something weighing heavily on my mind and I need to write it down, lest I too forget and by my act of omission condone genocide.

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One of the things I have learnt most from this trip is the importance of not forgetting as a means of honouring those who have survived and those who have been murdered. No matter how many times we hear these stories, they must be retold again and again. At one point during this trip, Shiv and I felt we were 'holocaust-ed out' and we even asked if what we were doing would add further value to an event that has been analysed, revisited and commemorated before. But I am now convinced that yes, even if it is told a hundred thousand times, it must be told again.

I was reading The Guardian newspaper yesterday about the Labour government's perceived meltdown and the current economic crisis. It was titled "If a week is a long time in politics, it's an entire career in economics." It makes me think that when it comes to history, especially of the sordid kind, the timeframe for memory is just as short.

To hear Chasia, Cholem, Fania... all those people we spoke to on our recent trip to Lithuania, is to have the words "never again" etched in the back of our minds. As such, while this may not be the forum, and I must say upfront that I do not intend to dilute this blog journal with its main focus and objective on the Jewish Holocaust in Lithuania - something is niggling at me and as such, I am compelled nevertheless to put it down. The topic I wish to raise is that of the Asian Holocaust, as a sidebar and food for further thought for readers that may have chanced upon this blog and abhor the thought of genocide and mass murder in all its forms.

Why am I compelled to mention this tragedy? For two reasons. Please bear with me as I try to explain the complicated emotional response I feel.

1) When I visited The Green House, there was a room dedicated to Righteous Gentiles - those who had, at their own personal risk, saved Jews during the war in Lithuania. One of those given prominent space is Chiune Sugihara, the Japanese Deputy Consul in Lithuania, who issued visas to save the lives of Jews. (Read more here.)

My first response, to be honest, was surprise, then shock, and then, a sense of rising anger and cynicism within me. (Those of you who have read my earlier entries will know that I am Chinese, hence my involuntary response.) However, after I had time to consider my response, I realised that I had made the fatal error of feeling revulsion towards Sugihara for the simple fact that he is Japanese. I had to consciously bypass my emotional response and reason to myself - he may be Japanese, but he and those who committed murder in Asia are not one.

I look back now and realise what a supreme effort of reasoning and compassion survivors like Fania embody. As Fania kept reminding us, she cannot forgive those who perpetrated those horrible crimes but she does not hate nations. (If you want to read the previous entries on Fania, look under "Labels" on the right and click "Fania".)

So, why did Sugihara's display in the museum evoke this need in me to include a mention of the Asian Holocaust? Because when I mentioned to a few people in the museum that it was ironic that a Japanese official showed such compassion, all I got in return were blank stares. No one asked what I meant by that. Perhaps they were not interested, perhaps they felt it would detract from the memory of Jewish experience. Whatever the reason, I am convinced that there is a dearth of knowledge about Japanese war-time atrocities. Therefore, I feel I must at least make space to mention this.

2) Below you will see a picture of a chopstick sleeve I saved from my trip in Lithuania. I won't mention which restaurant I got it from. You will see that it is a photo of a Japanese pilot, probably a kamikaze pilot, who knows? The characters on the top left means "sushi". Now, I want to ask you a question. If you went to a German restaurant and they gave you a serviette or napkin with a photo of a Nazi SS officer printed on it, what would your response be?

When I showed this chopstick sleeve to my companions, they shook their heads in sympathy and said, "it must be ignorance." Yes, it is ignorance. Ignorance because revisionism is alive and well when it comes to Japanese atrocities in Asia. And so, for the record, I am compelled to do something, anything, rather than merely shake my head and say 'it is ignorance.' So please get educated and share with your friends that there is such a thing as an Asian Holocaust, where an estimated 3 to 10 million Asians were massacred by the Imperial Japanese forces. For further reading and to be informed, you will find a list of sites under the heading "Asian Holocaust" on the right. Share this information. We must not forget. There is no competition among victims. Only the need for equal acknowledgment and recognition.

Day 22: Countdown

2008-09-20T00:31:00.000-07:00

It's about 10.30am now. About one hour to go before we hand over the keys to the apartment and head off to Cholem's to say goodbye and then, it's the airport. (See previous blog entry - the last time we met Cholem, he told us he wanted to send us off at the airport.) Apparently, Cholem fell down the day before at the cemetery. However, when Ruta called him yesterday, he still insisted on coming. But we suggested that it would be better if we just dropped by at his place on the way to the airport. Shiv has her gear ready now; we'll pop to the local cafe for some breakfast before Vy, the landlord, comes.

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12.00 nn. We meet Cholem at his flat. He is excited to see us. He meets us on the landing one floor before his flat and ushers us upstairs. As soon as we get through the door, I can see that he has coffee cups and a plate of biscuits on the dining table. Ruta and I make eyes at each other - we are thinking the same thing; how do we tell him that this is a flying visit and that we can't stay for too long as we have a flight to catch?

He tells us that he called the airport to check the flights. He was afraid he had missed us and that we had already left. Shiv tells him that we promised to drop by and here we are. He seems satisfied and trundles to and fro from the kitchen, boiling water, bringing out honey and jam he made himself. He wants us to eat.

Ruta tells him about our plans for the items he has given us and how we will exhibit it. He gets all animated and wants to share more; he goes to his cupboard and pulls out papers, cards; he digs through tins and containers... 'This one?' he motions, and passes them round for us to see, 'that one? Take, take, take."

This one?

Maybe that one?

Huh? Cholem deliberates over his choices.

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We take a few more photos. I like these two in particular (see below), because I think they capture how playful he is. In one photo, he looks a little cheeky, in the other he has an austere dignified pose.

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We tell Cholem we have to go. He wants to go too. In the van, on the way to the airport, he points out buildings and landmarks to us. 'This is the bank I deposited the money the German government gave us.' 'There is the hill where bodies were buried.' 'This is where blood was taken from children before they were killed.' He tells us all this in an assured manner, that of a man who has confronted his past and made peace with it.

At the airport, we say goodbye. The queues are long, so we suggest that Cholem and Ruta leave us there instead of waiting with us while we check in. Cholem seems a little disappointed. He thinks they should wait for 15 minutes, just to make sure that all is okay. We assure him that everything is alright. We hug him and he gives me a long peck on the cheek. We promise we will see him again the next time we come back to Lithuania. I don't know when that will be. But I know for certain that when we do, we will keep that promise.

Day 20 and 21: Tying up loose ends

2008-09-18T22:04:00.000-07:00

We spend yesterday and today tying up loose ends and unfinished business. Yesterday, we visited Josef again and he was kind enough to give us a few pages of his notes he had worked on when he wrote his book Shoah. See previous entries (Sept 6 and Sept 13) He also let us look through his photo albums and scan a few pictures. There are some photos of his family - his wife and children and himself together; they are a beautiful family, happy and comfortable as a unit. In fact, they look like they could be perfect models for a breakfast cereal commercial. He tells us of how deeply affected he was when he read the documents he had researched and unearthed. How he used to do this at night; in a way, they kept him company as he wrote most of his book after his wife had passed.

We also drop by at The Green House. While waiting for an appointment, I look through some of the exhibits and information on the panels. There is one that catches my eye. It is a letter, written by a Jewish couple, and handed in by a Polish woman to the director of the pre-war Jewish Museum at the end of the war. It begins with the line "26, VI. A Request to Brother and Sister Jews." It goes on to describe in horrific and graphic detail scenes of rape, castration and murder, and an account of 'help' rendered by a woman to Jews by confiscating/extorting everything they owned. It ends with the demand that justice be meted out to those who committed these crimes and took advantage of the situation to plunder and enrich themselves.

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Last night, I dreamt of spirits. Ghosts. They were trying to talk to me all at the same time. For no apparent reason, I suddenly realised my forearm was over my forehead. For some reason, I thought, I shouldn't cover my third eye.

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Today, we drop by the synagogue before 9am to see if we can catch up with some of the people we interviewed like Berl and Isroel. We want to say goodbye. While Shiv joins the prayers, I sit in the waiting area and take photos of my surroundings, more for something to do than anything else. The man who locks and unlocks the gates whenever we visit tries to make small talk with me but since I don't speak Lithuanian or Russian, we are limited to talking about the weather and swapping photos. I take one of him and he returns the favour by taking one of me with my camera (see photos below). But my picture turns out to be too dark. Dissatisfied with the quality, he switches to using his mobile phone. We end up taking a photo of both of us together on his phone.

We catch sight of Isroel, who pulls out a wad of papers when he sees us. He has some documents he wants to show us. One of them is an English language translation of a civil judgement confirming that his mother was imprisoned in Minsk ghetto between July 1941 and October 1943. Shiv and I feel touched that Isroel is keen to share more information with us. As we did not tell him that we would be dropping by, he must have decided to carry these documents with him since after our last meeting (see previous entry) in the off-chance we would meet again. We say goodbye; he kisses Shiv's hand and mine.

We then drop in to the Vilnius Yiddish Institute to say goodbye to Fania and thank the team there for their assistance. I give Fania a big hug; she has been so warm and open, I feel that we can't thank her enough. After we grab some lunch, we head to The Green House to do likewise. We say goodbye to the team there and split up with Ruta near Traku Str. We will touch base again later in the evening. Shiv and I check out the post office en route to the apartment. We are thinking of sending some of our luggage back by post. We've accumulated quite some books, paper documents and other literature which weigh a fair bit.

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Back in the apartment. Over the last few hours, I have been scanning documents. It's almost 6.30pm now. Shiv decides to take a shower before we go out for dinner. I don't look forward to packing. I have, so far, only packed the exhibit items into a carry-on bag. They're all wrapped in bags and look like contraband.

Our last night in Vilnius. I am looking forward to London. Here's where the next stage of our journey begins...

Day 18: Strangers and forgiveness

2008-09-16T09:11:00.000-07:00

Today, we drop by the Vilnius Yiddish Institute to speak to Fania some more. (Click here to read previous entry on 12 Sept and 13 Sept.) She tells us more about her experiences of how she ended up with the partisans in the forest.

A bookend at the Vilnius Yiddish Institute library shelf

Hers is an amazing and remarkable life journey, full of unexpected twists, helped along by the kindness of strangers. A friend and her narrowly escape the Vilnius ghetto liquidation on the 23 September 1943. On that very same day, they meet with their units and the leaders decide that there is "something hanging in the air." Fania tells is that the Germans attempted to keep up the pretense of normalcy by trucking in piles of clothes and instructing these to be mended. But something did not feel right. The leaders decide that 6 pairs of women should be chosen to leave the ghetto and make contact with the partisans in the forest. It is too risky to form units of men to attempt this contact as it may raise suspicion.

Fania tells us how she waits for nightfall by returning to her family. Her mother gives her a purse and a bag of green peas. But her friend shows up not long after and suggests they try and leave now as one of the smaller gates has been left unattended. They leave and in the street, they see that there are militia policemen closing in on the perimeter of the ghetto. They avoid capture by walking in circles and when they look back, they see soldiers and trucks arriving at the gates of the ghetto. They are not German and have dark green uniform, Fania thinks they are Estonian...

They sleep in the forest at night, wander through the villages in the daytime trying to get their bearings. At one village, a woman gives them bread and milk. They lie about heading to their aunt's to help harvest potatoes. They cross themselves as they have been told to every time they see a cross. They come across German soldiers and do their best to act nonchalant as they go on their way. In another village, a Polish man warns them that German soldiers raped and killed a woman in their village; he leads them to a hut to stay the night for their safety. He susses out that they are escaping to join the partisan without being told. He returns the next morning and puts them on their way with more bread and milk and directions.

Fania says she has no idea why they trusted these strangers but when they find themselves in the thick of the partisan stronghold and are intercepted, they do not give the password but laugh hysterically out of relief; a release of pent-up fear. Throughout her retelling of the story, Fania recounts all these incidences with humour and a practised lightness. But there are moments, not so much in words, but in her facial expressions and in her eyes, I can feel the depth and weight of her emotions. I almost cry openly when she tells us about what happens after liberation. For example, how a woman tells her that her sister is alive. So Fania waits at the train station every day for a month in the hopes of seeing her. How when she meets the woman again and tells her she still has not seen her sister, the woman - perhaps deranged or unstable - says, "who told you she was still alive?" How when the concentration camp survivors returned, she hugged strangers in the street. Her learning about the fate of her father and mother. She tells us she cannot forgive the murderers but she does not blame nations for what happened.

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Later, we meet an official who advises on Jewish affairs at the Ministry of Culture. I contrast the policyspeak about national integration and tolerance with the survivor accounts I have heard. They feel remote and worlds apart. The question is, I ask myself, how can we merge the two, so that history stays relevant, so that survivors are not viewed as relics of a bygone era, but living reminders?

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I have been ribbing Shiv for being so hard working; when we get in each day, she's at the computer immediately. Last night, she acts silly. I ask her what's up and she starts giggling and then laughing hysterically - she has been reading up on the fate of some of the partisan members - "One hung himself, another killed herself, they all suicided!" It's not that she finds this funny; I think this project is finally getting to her. I feel the same. It's like an accumulation of feelings. Even I can't explain it... but it's an exhausting/sapping mix of feelings; of despair mingled with disbelief, compassion and anger, and... I don't even know what.

Day 17: Community centre visit

2008-09-15T08:20:00.000-07:00

This morning we met up with Ruta, the Lithuanian consultant on our project, to run through what information we still needed and what we would be able to gather from the archives here over the next few days before we leave. For some reason, I felt dead tired and my brain has gone on strike. So many names, so many places... It is hard to keep tabs of what we have experienced and learnt. Shiv asked me, "So what's your take?" and I said, "Persevere and get through this week." I know that this is only the start of the journey. When we get back, there will be much more to do.

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Persevere we must. We head off to the Central State Archives but it turns out that we arrive smack in the middle of lunch hour. Strike that off the list for today, we will have to come back another time. So we amble up Pylimo 4 to the Jewish Community Centre instead. I am carrying my laptop, audio recording gear, mic cords, spare batteries, and notebook in my backpack. I feel like a soldier on training; the only thing missing is a rifle slung over my shoulder :)

We meet the President of the Jewish Community. He has been dedicated to the centre's work for the last 25 years.

He shares with us the centre's plans for organising the next World Litvak Congress in 2009. We discuss current issues and recent events - like the community's response to the outstanding case of restitution, the recent decision by the prosecutor's office to question partisans, anti-semitic graffiti at community centres in Vilnius, Klaipedia and other locations throughout the country, as well as the debacle over the cemetery site in Shnipishok which gained international media attention. His answers are even-handed and he provides a well-rounded analysis of the various perspectives involved. Things are never as simple as they seem, I guess. But there is no mistaking his alarm at what he views as a rise in incidences involving anti-semitic overtones. He shares with us a reported anecdote of what a teacher supposedly said to a student in class; it is a crass joke which I shall not repeat here. It made me want to gag.

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We have also made an appointment with Chasia at the centre. (See previous blog entry here.) She volunteers at the Union of Second World War Veterans. This is located in a single room in the centre. We tread carefully; after our last interview, Chasia was not feeling well. It is very clear to us that the stress of retelling a painful past can take its toll; we don't want to cause anyone unnecessary pain. I console myself by thinking that it is an honour that those who have spoken to us agreed to do so, and we must treat their accounts with the respect and care they deserve.

So we had planned to make this meeting as stress-free and painless as possible; we ask her beforehand if she is okay to meet so that we can caption some of the photos she gave us to scan. Also to record her reason for choosing the gift she gave us the last time we met as an object to represent her. (It is an amber stone pendant shaped like a tear.) She welcomes us at the door of the office with much warmth.

The office is sparse and functional. There are posters of veterans on the walls. We find Josef's picture there too. Here, we meet a gentleman by the name of Mejeris. Like Chasia, he volunteers his time at the centre. His work is to compile and record the activities of the union, including photo albums of meetings, annual remembrance events etc. The work of this association is to keep the network and community of veterans alive, by staying in touch, by providing a place for them to meet or come to for help, and volunteers are dispatched to visit those who are ill or need assistance. All this work is funded through donations to the centre.

The office of the Union of Second World War Veterans

I ask Mejeris if his photo is on one of the posters on the walls. He asks me to guess which is him. I fail. He points to a picture of himself. He looked so very young then. But then again, he was only 19 when he was enlisted to the front. I take a photo of him next to this picture.

After feeding us chocolate centred biscuits and coffee, Chasia suddenly tells us that she would like to give a gift of a song to Shiv for coming all the way to Vilnius. She tells us she will sing a lullaby in Yiddish. It is about remembering home, mother, and all that is precious. I am surprised and think, is she going to burst out in song with all of us present? She does. She sings in a soft voice, heartfelt and full of longing. Ruta sways in her seat to the tune. I feel Chasia is singing of her own longing for her past; I don't know how to describe how tenderly she sings it. The air is heavy with emotion. Shiv cries. I retain my composure but can feel the hot tears welling up in my eyes. Shiv tells her she is truly moved and it means a lot, especially as she lost her mother only recently. Chasia nods and places her hand over her heart; I imagine she is telling Shiv, 'be brave.'

She walks us to the lift to send us on our way and say goodbye. She says, 'after you leave, we still have much work to do.' She says she hopes to continue to have the strength to keep doing what she does. She is 87 years old; may God grant her many more years.

Day 16: An author and a partisan

2008-09-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning. We drop by Josef's again. He has written two books on the holocaust in Lithuania and participated in erecting and restoring memorials to the victims throughout the country.(See earlier entry on previous meeting.) The last time we met him, we understood that he may have some notes or records at home. (He gave away the bulk of his materials and research notes to the museum archives.) We had hoped to have a chance to examine some of these, discuss his experiences and understand what drove him to undertake such a mammoth task.

Josef gives Shiv a warm hug - when he met her last week, he said to her, "You have a kind face"

So instead we have a little chat and he gives Shiv a copy of his book Shoa. (We have the English version, but this is in Lithuanian.) He wants to write a message to Shiv on a piece of paper and slip it in between the cover and first page. We protest and encourage him to write it on the inside of the book itself - he relents, smiles and writes in a slow, measured hand. I forget that he is 91; he looks so sprightly. His writing is neat, legible and strong, but there's no mistaking the slight tremor and unevenness in the lines.

Josef's son, Aleksandr, arrives and brings chocolate and cookies; we settle down to have a chat with him. He has been very kind to drop by and allow us to do so. Shiv wanted to get a deeper insight into Josef's story by learning about him through the eyes of his family. After the interview, Alex - he says to call him that - says he'll ask his daughter if she's up to meeting with us next time round. Apparently, she had read her grandfather's books and discussed much with him. It would be interesting to understand her perspective too. On Friday night, we had the opportunity to speak to Margarita's daughter and grandson, the one who helped her put down her memories into a book; it was very enlightening to understand the impact of the holocaust on successive generations through them. (I didn't include this session in the blog notes, but you can read about our visit with Margarita here).

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After lunch, we visit Fania at her home. (To see earlier entry on Fania, click here.) The moment we walk through the door, she says we must stay for a meal as she is making soup. At this point, I am still full and I am not sure I could eat a thing. However, one thing I do know is that it is rude to not at least eat something... I steel myself to have another lunch. Thankfully though, she is okay when we explain that we have just had lunch; so she's alright with us eating later.

I set up the audio recording gear. Fania continues where she left off from the previous interview and relates details of how her family moved from Kaunas to Vilnius, and later, as the war progressed, how she became involved in the partisan movement in the ghetto, the difference between active and passive sabotage.

She also tells her about her daily life. She currently works as a librarian at the Yiddish Institute and also as deputy chairman of the Committee of Former Concentration Camp and Ghetto Survivors. The number of survivors have dwindled to 107. (When we first arrived two weeks or so ago, we were told there were 108.) Fania tells us that one of the women passed away a few days ago.

It is obvious that this is a woman who is proud of her achievements and grateful for the ability to keep doing what she feels is meaningful and contributive. She has the certificates to prove it too! From the Irish Consulate, from the American Embassy and also from the Yiddish Institute, recognizing her services.

She lives alone but her home suggests to me that this is a woman who continues to feel vital, enjoys herself and looks forward to each brand new day. When she speaks of her memories, they are not tinged with regret but cast in the light of a purposeful present and dare I say it, an optimistic sense of the future. Hers is, if anything, a life of a woman who knows she has a part to play and revels in the role that history has assigned her.

For example, she shows us, with much pride and glee, her collection of corsages and brooches which her husband bought for her on his multiple trips abroad. (She has been a widow for 23 years now.) She also talks about her children and grandchildren with joy; in fact she gets a call in the middle of the interview (apparently, her daughter calls everyday). There are flowers in pots and vases on the windowsills, on the balcony, and on the coffee table; she tells me she prunes the orchid plant her daughter gave her - they have undergone a second pruning recently. Her bathroom is filled with the usual things you may expect to see in any woman's toiletries collection - facial cleansers, anti-ageing creams, moisturisers. Obviously,she enjoys treating herself.

There are printed materials on the walls, books and collections of collectibles in the cupboards. Of these, there are two things that strike me. One is that among her books, there is a substantial number of titles dedicated to the holocaust. She is obviously an avid reader. When she tells us her story, it is punctuated with historical facts - dates, places, names. It is as if she has contextualised her own story within the larger canvas of history.

The printed materials on the walls, the collectibles in the cupboards (figurines dressed in fancy and exotic national costumes from across the globe), and the fridge magnets; collectively, they represent an eclectic mix. There is a print of two Chinese women in ancient costumes hanging on the inside of the bathroom door. On another door, there is a disturbing drawing of what seems to be a man wailing and drowning in darkness; it is a poster for what appears to be an exhibition by Harry Kagan. There is a Vietnamese doll dressed in an ao dai standing on top of the cupboard in the living room. These make me think of what she said the other day about not letting history repeat itself, of the importance of people as individuals rather than the prioritisation of nationalities. Very similar sentiments to many of the survivors we have spoken to; there is a sense of needing to embrace all peoples and be colour blind.

It appears to me that those who have experienced what it means to be dehumanised are converted into ardent supporters of humanity. It is a pity, I think to myself, that such compassion was born from such dire tragedy. It also makes me ask myself if such genuine compassion can exist without having to undergo such lessons. The Chinese have a saying - "until the needle pierces your skin, you will not know pain." I think about people I know who take freedom for granted, who see rights and opportunities as entitlements. I think also of people I know for whom these are not automatic.. I believe that it is those who do not have, or have to struggle for it, that cherish more.

We soon break for lunch. Fania lays out a yummy spread of chopped herring with apples and hard-boiled eggs, salad, salmon and bread. I enjoy it so much I forget that she has also made soup - I am almost full. She tells us it is her mother's recipe, 'she is gone but this I still have'. In fact, this is the only time I see her appear a bit more wistful, when she tells us this.

We end up spending close to 5 hours at Fania's but her story is so eventful we can't possibly absorb all at one or two interview sessions. We agree to set a third date.

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Below, Fania's collection of knick-knacks and collectibles. A common wish we have heard from many of the holocaust survivors we have interviewed is that people should get along, love one another and see beyond colour, nationalities or race... At Fania's, this expressed itself, I feel, in the beautiful things she collected and displayed, indeed surrounded herself with; almost like a shrine. I would like to think that this is her way of affirming her belief in the goodness of humanity.

Day 15: The Vilnius Yiddish Institute and The Green House (Vilna Gaon Jewish State Museum)

2008-09-12T07:06:00.000-07:00

This morning, we meet with Fania at the Vilnius Yiddish Institute. She was a partisan during the war and now works as a librarian at the institute. We ask her about her life before the war. She shares this photo with us:

She has a very sharp memory and tells us of about her family - her dad was an electrical engineer who ran a workshop/store and also taught at a college; her mum was a stay-at-home mother who took on odd jobs to supplement the family income. When she tells her story, she paints a picture that is full of details, texture and colour. Of her mum and her bob-sledding; of the people who lived in their block of apartments; the workshops in the complex which made candy, cotton and tobacco... I can almost see, hear and smell the scene - children playing in the courtyard, mums and dads concerned with ordinary daily life; of making a living, making sure their kids did their homework, and families around dinner tables.

And then, one day, the German soldiers came. The children were playing as usual when the Nazis showed up in their idyllic world. They take our their guns and order the children to sing. Fania says her younger sister started to 'sing, scream, anything.' I imagine how petrified the children must have been, and for what? Perhaps just to humour the soldiers, on a whim. One theme that keeps recurring when I hear these stories are the attempts to humiliate and to remove free will. For some reason, I think of Viktor Frankl's book, Man's Search for Meaning, and of Cholem's identity number in Dachau. It is easier to humiliate when you have rendered someone persona non grata; or removed degrees of their human-ness.

Despite the conditions, she gives an example of how defiant she was. For example, speaking Yiddish in the street with her husband. It is understandable, I think, why she became an active partisan during the war years. Even now, she has a twinkle in her eye. I can well believe her wilfulness; to not allow her spirit to be crushed, even in those desperate times. We are running short of time today but we want to hear more about her experience, so we make another appointment with her for the weekend. I am looking forward to hearing more of her story.

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We head to the museum known as the Green House again. (See previous entry). We interview Rachel there, who tells us about her work at the museum.

Her story is one of struggle and keeping the past alive. She talks about the Soviet times, about the fate of Jewish artifacts, culture and people following those times to the present day; of how she rediscovered her roots and the importance of perpetuating the memory of those lost. We look around the museum exhibits and take a few photos, with her permission.

I found this poem by Mark Dvorzhetski, hanging at the entrance of the museum, to be particularly apt. The line that stands out for me is: "...may the memory of this catastrophe be the salt of your bread, may it become a part of your own being..." Another theme that has struck me most of all speaking to the interviewees so far is that the holocaust isn't just a crime against one group of people; it is a crime against humanity. The phrase "a part of your own being" reminds me that collectively, we are all a part of a larger body.

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Coming back to the apartment, I decide to chill out for a half hour and just read the newspaper I bought yesterday. The only English language paper I can get my hands from the nearest kiosk to our apartment is the International Herald Tribune. I read about the anniversary of 9-11, the US military interventions in Pakistan, the European Union at logger heads with Russia over the situation in Georgia. It reminds me that once upon a time, those who named World War I the 'Great War' believed it to be 'the war to end all wars.' So why do wars and genocide keep occurring? I ask myself. Somehow, I don't think it's about the fading of memories. I think it is because people think of these memories as belonging only to specific groups of people; the holocaust and the Jews, the Rape of Nanking and the Chinese, Darfur and the Sudanese. If we stopped thinking of memories and histories as being yours or mine or another's, would things be different? Can we embrace and embody the injustice perpetrated throughout history -- make it the salt in our bread, a part of our own being -- and be genuinely disgusted and digustingly disappointed that such crimes have been committed and continue to exist on our watch?

Day 14: Ziezmariai

2008-09-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

Today, we drop by Dobke's to pick up her daughter Frida for a visit to Ziezmariai. This is the village where Dobke is from, and where the events she described took place (see blog post)Since her stroke a few years ago, she hasn't been very mobile, so her daughter Frida will act as our guide. Dobke tells us that the last time she visited, things had of course changed but in her memory, 'the houses, the streets and the people - I see it all very clearly still.' Reportedly, she was very distressed when she last visited.

Dobke

Frida will show us where the massacre sites were outside Ziezmariai. Growing up with the legacy of her mother's memories, she is well aware of the events that occurred even though she was only a baby during the war. We expect it to be about an hour away, and Frida sits in the back of the van with the rest of us. However, as we near our destination, she suggests she sit in the front of the van as we do not want to miss the exit off the highway. Supposedly the sites are not clearly marked.

Site 1
We soon get lost. Frida isn't very sure but she thinks a dirt road off the highway is the route to the first site, where 1,800 women and children were murdered. We drive down this dusty road and soon come to a fork. The driver takes a left turn and we head across a field. It doesn't look right; so he reverses and we drive down the other road. We soon come to a dirt clearing with a sign that says no entry for vehicles on the left; sand is being mined from this land or something like that. On the right, we see a path ahead. Frida ventures on on foot and comes back to us - she has found the route. Here, I will let the photos tell the rest of the journey.

This sign points towards the site...

But it can be quite easy to miss... (can you see it? hint: left foreground)

This clearing marked by a fence is the site of the murders.

This incline opposite the site is where the Nazis situated the firing squad...

Because the memorial stone has faded somewhat; Frida traces her hand over it to read the inscription...

Site 2
Next we head for site 2, where 2,200 men from the town of Ziezmariai were killed. This proves even harder to find than the first site. It is off a small road that's off the highway. I am surprised that Frida finds it or remembers it from her last visit. I don't think I could have found this place or lead you back to it if my life depended on it...

We walk into the forest...

We walk some more...

Finally, some light as we turn the corner into a clearing...

The site. On the left, a stone marker which marks the site is broken.

The memorial stone.

These sites remind me of our visit to Ponar, in that it is deep, deep in the forest. I think, such cowards to try and hide their crimes. It makes no sense when I think about how the majority of the killing spree was conducted so wantonly and openly at the concentration camps.

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Ziezmariai

We head into Ziezmariai village proper. We find the church and the town square, just like Dobke had painted in her pictures. We also visit the wooden synagogue.

There is a plaque on the door - it reads:

It seems a little odd, I think to myself, to put this synagogue on the European Cultural Route but do so little to preserve it. The doors and windows are boarded shut - almost haphazardly, with nails sticking out here, rusty padlocks there and one edge of the structure seems to be floating haphazardly above a pile of exposed bricks. This is obviously a structural hazard. I wonder how long it will last? I would imagine if I were a tourist, this would annoy me, to come all the way and see a shell of a supposed cultural icon. I stick the camera lens between some gap in the planks and try to shoot what's inside.

After this visit, we ask Frida to bring us to the Jewish cemetery in the village. Dobke has about five relatives buried here. It is hardly surprising to see that it has been unattended to; there are no Jewish families in this village. But I am surprised to find that I can't even see tombstones - the grass and weeds have completely overtaken the plot. The only stone we can see is the one closest to the entrance.

Day 13: A slower pace today

2008-09-10T08:53:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, we decided to have a bit of a break. We caught up with Isroel in the morning just to round off our interview - verify some facts and so on. When we got back, Jesse and Dan were packing and getting ready to leave for London. So it was a bit of a slow day. Did some housekeeping - photocopying documents, scanning, archiving and some research.

I also tried to burn some of the audio records on to CDs but realised that most of them exceeded the 700MB space on the CDs. I have been kinda worried since the beginning of the trip when I realised that the external hard drive wasn't working. I have had to store things on the second internal drive on my laptop but felt we should have another external storage. Imagine if my laptop goes kaput for whatever reason? I have 1,291 files so far on this project - about 13 GB of information, from photos,audio files to index files on the interviews, things collected and so on. I dread to imagine what would happen if I lost these.

When Shiv got back from seeing the guys off at the airport, we decide to go watch a movie. We get ripped off by a cabby who charges us twice to get there compared to the fare we are charged to get back. We end up watching Get Smart 15 minutes after it'd started. I don't think Shiv cared about the movie at all; when we left the cinema, she pronounced that the popcorn was good.

Later, she called the guys. Apparently, the case holding the camera and videos appeared to have been opened, perhaps for inspection, somewhere between here and London. The latches on it were not re-secured properly. When it came off the conveyor belt and was picked up, it opened unexpectedly and the camera and videos fell onto the floor. We are hoping that they're all okay. We'll know later when the guys download them. Fingers crossed.

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Today, we go back to Cholem. He seems excited to see us and asks where Jesse and Dan are. He's such a social being and seems to enjoy company and larking about. He reminds us of how he choked while at lunch with us; how he thought it would be a disaster to spoil our lunch when he had visitors from abroad. (See blog entry)

We talk a bit more about his family; how prewar life was like. They weren't wealthy or anything but he says they were content; dad would try and get work daily - he was a casual labourer, while mum took great pride in making sure there was food on the table and that whatever earned was carefully spent. When Shiv asks him if he was happy and felt safe then, his answer reminds us how subjective those terms are and mean different things to different people. He says, 'Mum was there, and there was potato on the table,' and shrugs. For him, that his parents made sure that he and his brother were fed, had clothes, went to school, was proof of affection and love and a happy family; who can argue with that?

He tells us more about the events that led up to the 'Big Action' of October to November 1941, when about 13,000 Jews were killed at Kaunas Fort IX. He was there, with his family, during one of the 'selection processes.' They were assembled in the town square and the Nazis divided the people into groups and despatched them to the forts. By a stroke of luck, his father pleaded with a Jewish collaborator and his family was spared. (The activities at Fort IX is documented in the Jaeger Report (This link also provides a scanned copy of the original document created by SS-Standartenfuehrer Karl Jaeger, who commanded the murder spree of Einsatzkommando 3. It is a chilling document, where human lives are recorded like numbers on a spreadsheet.) He tells us of the many moments when it could have all ended for him; how he felt his life had hung by a thread. He believes that he was fated to survive, that for some reason, God had watched over him.

1995 Dachau commemorative badge.

Cholem wants to know when we are leaving. He says 'I may never see you again.' He says he would like to send us off at the airport. We promise to pick him up when we go, so we can say our goodbyes then. We feel honoured that he has taken us into his home and shared his memories; certainly, we hope the journey does not end at the conclusion of this research trip.

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We drop by at Berl's to ask a few more questions to verify some information from the first interview. He is in a blue ironed shirt and striped pajama bottoms.

Shiv and a box of matzo at Berl's

Berl seems in a good mood and is fairly chatty. He tells us about his medals, including receiving the Order of the Patriotic War First Class for his participation in the battle at Oryol with the Lithuanian 16th division of the Red Army. He tells us the snow was so deep it came up their armpits. They could barely move, let alone fight. So they stood and slept leaning against each other. How unlike the Germans, they had no tanks and no planes. They were 'like meat' he says; little more than cannon fodder. He concludes that he received that medal because he survived; he doesn't think they did much fighting or advancing. All they could do was stand their ground.

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A slower pace today but we got quite some done. Including get an external hard drive and some CDs with larger storage space - thank goodness! We also drive by Shnipishok.

Ruta points out to us that this used to be a shtetl and these were Jewish homes. Looking around, it's surprising to see how these wooden houses have survived. They look a little dilapidated but apart from that, seem sturdy still. Unfortunately, the weather isn't great for photos. But I take a few anyway...

Day 11: Recording a personal history

2008-09-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

This morning, we catch up with Isroel at the synagogue again. We tried to give him a call first but did not manage to get him, so we chance it by showing up at the synagogue at 9 am. We wanted to ask him to talk through some of the items he has given and/or lent us for the exhibition. I unwrap the items and place them in front of him one by one. When he gets to his wife's silver spoon, he tears up. I don't think he has gotten over the shock of her passing so suddenly. But he is in a hurry; we get to talk for only 20 minutes or so. He tells us to come back again the next day. Isroel has taken a shine to us, I think. He seems to enjoy talking to us, even if each time we meet, we get to speak for only a limited time. He is a gentle man and very soft spoken. I look forward to meeting him again. However, he only has an hour for us tomorrow at the most, as he has to go home and get dressed for a funeral. He works almost like a freelancer; at funerals, he recites and sings the prayers in Hebrew.

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It is just pass noon when we get to Margarita's. What an unusual name, I think to myself, doesn't sound very Jewish. Her daughter and granddaughter greet us at the flat and we settle down to the interview. Margarita was born in 1919. She is the sixth child among seven siblings. Her dad was a shoemaker and her mom, a seamstress. She was a teacher and got married two-and-a-half months before her husband was drafted to the war. The last letter she received from him was dated 16th June 1941; he was killed after that.

As I listen to Margarita's story, the words 'resourceful' and 'sharp wits' come to mind. Her story contains moments which highlight her chutzpah - how she brazenly denies being a Jew so she can escape from a convoy of captives being marched away; her attempts to doctor her identity documents; hitching a ride with a German; to her efforts to keep herself, her teenage brother and young daughter alive.

What's really cool though, I think, is that her family seems to have been involved in helping her preserve her memories - as if they have been on a quest together with her to create a personal archive of what she has lived through. Her grandson was involved in helping her write a book; this is neatly typed and bound. She shows this to us; the hard cover book is carefully preserved in a cardboard case. Also her photo album. I wonder how long it took them to retrieve or collect all those photos from neighbours and other sources? They are carefully documented with names and dates. Not just of family members but extended relatives and neighbours and so on. It is clear her family are intent on preserving her memory and the events of that time.

I am also glad to see that the photo album doesn't just contain photos of those who suffered or lost their lives in the war. They also include happy memories of celebrations and of her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. It seems befitting somehow; these items suggest to me that Margarita has not allowed the war or the holocaust to strip her of her personal sense of self or her belief in deserving happiness - she is not a victim, but a survivor.

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Jesse tells me today that a friend checked out this blog and was moved to find out the fate of his grandparents. It's good to know that our work here resonates with others and gives meaning. This reaffirms my faith in being part of this project. That telling personal stories is not only inspiring but also uplifting. It makes me think of what an official we spoke to last week said. He paraphrased Stalin (though I am not sure whether he meant to quote Stalin, which makes this all the more ironic considering Lithuania's history as a Soviet satellite): "the death of one is a tragedy while the death of many is a statistic." He of course was trying to illustrate a point - that the war claimed so many lives that it is difficult to bring the perpetrators to justice as much has been lost - mass graves do not lend themselves to easy answers. But it is the individual stories, like the ones we have heard here so far, that 're-humanises' and re-instates those who were numbers into people again. Well, at least I'd like to think so...

Day 10: Alone in the world

2008-09-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

Today, we meet with Gita. When we arrive, she greets us downstairs at the entrance to her block of flats. She is effusive with her hospitality and walks us upstairs to her flat. When we enter, I can see that she has laid out a spread on the dining table, with her best teacups and saucers. She starts apologising for the condition of her flat, saying how in the Soviet times, the flat was drab and without colour and how by the time she can redecorate, she doesn't have the energy to put in the necessary effort. It is a lovely, well-kept flat, sparse and clean. She is obviously quite house proud.

We go about setting up our equipment. Ruta starts to ask her a few questions for a biography brief; the name of her parents. Gita starts to sob as she tells Ruta the name of her parents. I don't know where to look. I busy myself plugging in the mics to the audio recording equipment. I am thinking that she may not be up to an interview. But I am wrong.

Gita tells her story with great simplicity and honesty, in a moving narrative enhanced with specific details and memories. I am thinking that she really wants to tell her story and maybe even thought about what she was going to tell us. She tells her story in a collection of vignettes. How Jews, Poles and Russian POWs are shot in Baruk forest. How the ghetto was liquidated; the German soldiers strafe the ghetto with machine gun fire, then go door to door searching for survivors. Her parents are killed. How she and 7 other survivors escaped through a hole in a fence as the ghetto was set alight. How they crawled through a potato field on their bellies. Gita sobs as she tells her story; I am finding it very hard to listen to her and not be caught up in her pain.

Gita

An hour into the interview, I am finding it increasingly painful to listen to her story. I look at her face and notice little things; like how thick her earlobes are. How to the Chinese this is considered a sign of good fortune, and I wonder if she had lived in a different time, would she have had a different life?

She tells us after the war, she went home but she "had nothing, no shoes." She wanders about the town, looking to see if she can recognise neighbours. She has on her feet socks made out of parachute fabric... On her back, she has her father's jacket, which she took down into the basement the day he died. She cries when she talks about how she felt she had no home to return to.

I cannot reconcile this story with the gracious hostess who tries to feed us coffee and cakes and biscuits and cold water. She is a proud woman and she insists we eat, eat, eat and when we leave, she stuffs apples into plastic bags and makes us take them with us.

"Eat, eat, eat!"

I take away with me her caution that differentiation is something to be wary of; she says she does not divide people into nationalities, only good and bad, and that "goodness is the best nationality." I don't think she has reconciled for herself why the holocaust befell her and her kind. She says she thinks it is important to tell her story - "I think people should know, what was done, and for what? To remember… children were thrown into pits, the earth was mourning, the forest had streams of blood...” Her faith in humanity has not been destroyed, I don't think; only that she has been disappointed and baffled. She recalls fondly how at the factory where she worked, people of all nationalities were kind to her. Again, I am awed by the ability to forgive and yet not forget.

Later that night, I scan photos that Gita has lent to us. I see the carefree joy of youth; it is hard to imagine the suffering in the smiles. I look at the photos of her I took today and see the contrast. Does age reveal what youth hides?

Day 9: Leaving a legacy

2008-09-06T23:29:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me today, while listening to Josef, that from those we have heard from, it is possible to characterize their life stories in a few words. (As you can imagine, my mind tends to wander as there's usually a gap between when the interviewee speaks and the translation; pockets of time to think about my response.) These words would be deceptively simplistic of course and won't do justice to their experiences. However, I suppose they may be useful to provide a sense of the main 'theme' of their lives. With Berl, I think of 'regret'; with Dobke, 'beauty'; Cholem, 'humour'; Isroel, 'loneliness and longing' and Chasia 'resigned.'

When we ask Josef to start wherever he likes in telling us about himself, his narration is peppered with his successes, at school, at work (where he was an engineer and rose to a prominent level in the Soviet administration) and so on. This makes me think of the words 'achievement' and also 'legacy.' This is because Josef, in his later years, has made it his life work to commemorate the holocaust in Lithuania. He has written and collaborated on 2 books, The Shoah (Holocaust) in Lithuania published in 2006, and Skausma Knyga: The Book of Sorrows in 1997. Of his books, he says, "memorials may be destroyed but this book will last for centuries." What drives him it appears is the fear that the suffering of those in the holocaust are forgotten because "what if evil returns?"

Josef is animated when he describes the history of his birthplace, Veiseijai (pronounced vee-see-yeh)

Josef was in the Lithuanian Division of the Red Army during the war. At the end of the war, he returned to find that his family had been killed; his father in Katkiske village. He says he was frozen in place when he heard of what took place in his village. He says he knew that horrible things were taking place when the Nazis occupied Lithuania but it did not prepare him for the scale of the tragedy. He made himself a solemn vow then, "I have to do something to make it known to others." He is doing what he can to honour that vow. On his first book; he spent about 6+ years researching massacre sites and working with local officials to erect or refurbish existing memorials. The 200+ sites are meticulously recorded in Skausma Knyga.

Today, he takes us back to his hometown, about 2 hours drive from Vilnius. He says much has changed but is able to point out the main square; the streets where Jewish families lived; the area beside the lake where his grandfather's home was (he remembers learning that the house was dismantled and the bricks distributed to build other homes); the synagogue building which is now a baptist church. How there was a fire in 1924 and it was burnt down but later rebuilt by funds from the Zimmerman family. His memory is very clear and sharp. As we drive into town, he anticipates what is ahead of us, "there is a church on the right; on the left is the square..." They are still there.

Main street in Veisiejai

The road leading to his grandfather's house, taken from our van

Town square

Heading towards what used to be the synagogue (green building at end of road)

I walk around and take photos of the town. An elderly gentleman smiles at me. A younger man in a tractor slows down and turns in his seat; I wave to him and he waves back with a smile. I look for the team.

Shiv waves excitedly at me and I join them. A woman whom they meet on the street has taken offense to us, strangers in her town. For some reason, she decides that Jesse and Dan are Jews and that we are there to record or suss out what used to be Jewish property. She says she had a bad experience with Jews before and she seems convinced that we are part of some project that involves restitution. She is afraid that if the Jews come back, they will take everything and they will be out on the streets. She says that Jews are bad people, cursed people. Josef is wearing a pinched smile; he shrugs off the comments by the woman but seems somewhat distressed. Her fellow town member is more compassionate; he tells Josef that as a child, he remembers playing with his Jewish friends and what happened was sad.

Different folks, different experiences and memories. Some townsfolk share their opinions with Josef.

We head away to the massacre site where Josef's father was among the 1535 people killed there. There is a sign on the main road which points out the exit. We enter a narrow road and there are fields all around. It is quite isolated, we aren't sure when we come to a fork in the road whether to keep going. We stop and ask a man for directions. We drive on and see a marker; we are on the right path. When we get there, I see that it is a small enclosure in the forest; maybe 25 feet by 20 feet. Without the two 3 feet high pillars and the monument in the centre of the field, it could be a lawn anywhere. He is surprised he says, positively surprised, to find it well tended; the grass has been cut and there are candles on the memorial there. Quite unlike the fate of some, he tells us.

It is late now; we have to head back to Vilnius. We should arrive about 8-ish. Josef may be 91 but he puts the rest of us to shame. I look behind me in the van; Ruta is resting with her eyes closed, Shiv has dozed off, Jess and Dan are quiet - I can't see if they have dozed off or not. But Josef stares straight ahead at the road in front of him; his eyes are bright and his face is set in a stoic, dignified pose. We drive back in silence.

Day 8: Festivities and Art

2008-09-05T08:02:00.000-07:00

The air is filled with festivities, the smell of grilled meat and smoke from barbecue pits. It is Vilniaus Festivalia time; the signs along the Gedimino promenade says "Sostines dienos." I have absolutely no clue what it means. For some reason, I guess it to mean 'summer dining' since most of the makeshift stalls serve food of some kind or another; however, of course I am totally making it up. When in France or Spain, I find that I can usually guess at what the words mean; however, here in Vilnius I find that I can't decipher much of anything.

For example, I spot the words "morbida convenienza" on a bag of toilet rolls. How can one guess what that means? I think 'morbid convenience'? Can't be. 'Mobile convenience' doesn't sound right either. So I give up. Anyways, it's humid here and very hot. Jesse says he didn't imagine a Eastern European country to be so humid, like Miami. My geography isn't very good and I am not sure if there is a distinction between the Baltic states and East Europe but I suggest maybe it has to do with Lithuania being near the Baltic Sea.

Since some streets in town are closed for the festival, the driver finds it hard to get to us. We end up being late so we ditch the idea of returning to Cholem to give him back his photos; we will do that next week instead. So we head to Dobke's instead.

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Dobke is 94 years old. She likes to draw and shows us her paintings. There are paintings of everyday scenes; people walking in the forecourt of the flats where she lives and cars parked in the bays next to the flats. There are also paintings from memory of past experiences. We find it quite hard to get specific answers from her as she tends to veer off on various tangents and disregards direct questions. But she is animated and seems to enjoy telling stories, so we listen attentively anyway. Of her family - she has seven brothers and two sisters - only she and one brother survived. In her village, one other boy survived. He was later killed after the war by their neighbours.

She tells us that before the war she was a seamstress, how she loved fashion, how beautiful she was. We look at her photos and there are a few of her looking very fashionable. I like the one of her posing in knee-high boots - she looks very dapper!

She tells us that when the war began, she had just gotten married; they'd bought an apartment, she'd spent all her money furnishing it. But by the grace of God, she felt compelled to "run, run, run" and she did, to Russia. When she narrates her paintings, it is almost as if she can't stop. Everything seems to be tumbling out of her; her stories are tripping over each other - one moment she is talking about massacres, next of her hometown, and suddenly, it is a vignette of a specific moment, like when she met a friend in a street and tried to get her to run away with her. We don't get a clear sense of chronology but it can't be helped.

Dobke, her daughter Frida and Shiv

We want to understand if painting is a catharsis for her, also a means of not forgetting. But I guess today is not the day to ask; she is too involved with telling us the stories of each picture. There are two from the 40+ paintings she shows us which stand out for me. The first is of a synagogue. It is unlike the rest. It has a black border around it. All of Dobke's paintings and sketches are drawn with little regard for perspective and framing. It is as if she starts from the middle and whatever spills over the edges are unrecorded; as if an A3 watercolour paper is insufficient to contain her memory. When she runs out of room - as in one drawing of her visiting her son in the hospital - she draws on another piece of paper and tacks it on to the original picture.

Back to the drawing of the synagogue... I like this one particularly because it has a mix of symbols and metaphors in it. The synagogue is plonked in the middle of the drawing. From two of its windows, there are streams of red. On the roof, two birds stand; she draws them disproportionately big - at first glance I thought they were gargoyles. They are shedding tears. Dobke tells us that this picture is of women and children massacred in a synagogue; the streams of red is their blood pouring out into the street. The birds? Because there is no one to cry for them, only the birds.

The second picture which makes an indelible impact on me is of a flatbed truck in what looks like a street with a field behind it. A soldier is standing to the left of the drawing, in front of the truck; I cannot tell from the uniform if he is meant to be a Nazi or a Russian or a Lithuanian partisan. Another man is poised over the back of the truck, throwing a child into the back. The flatbed is already full of children. Dobke points to this area of the painting, and her finger rubs against the gaping mouths, and says "look, they are all crying." She tells us of how children were "tossed into trucks like old cabbage" and when they were brought to the pits, they were thrown in. Women were thrown in after them. They were buried alive.

We ask her to please look straight into the camera and observe a moment of silence. She simply can't do it. She keeps talking and motioning to things. She admonishes Shiv for not teaching her sons Yiddish. She comes from a religious family and despite the "unfortunate incidents" she is proud of being Jewish and will be till "the end of days."

She is very unusual. She is obviously proud of her heritage yet there are few signs in the house. I don't see the customary menorah on a shelf or any other Jewish artifacts. I do find a Santa Claus figurine in the top shelf of one of the cabinets though. We almost can't leave, because she holds on to my hand and starts squeezing it and saying something. Ruta tells us we have to go. I wish I could understand what she was saying. i don't know what to say back to her so I use the only Russian word I know - "dosvidanya" ('goodbye'). I think she is giving us advice but I don't know what. I look around to make sure I have everything with me. I say goodbye to the pets - a cat, a kitten and a dog. We will be back again.

Santa tucked away on a top shelf

Kitty emerging from under the TV cabinet, while its mum hides in the background

I forgot the name of this dog but she was really friendly

Day 7: Photos and Prayers

2008-09-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

Today, for no apparent reason, I decide to look at the Tarot card application installed in my Facebook profile. Today's card is The High Priestess and reads: "The High Priestess is the mysterious one and counterpart to the Magician. She symbolizes all that we are unable to perceive or comprehend, as she travels in dimensions that we can only imagine exist. She is able to uncover the infinite potential that exists within all humans. Her patience is perhaps her greatest virtue." How befitting, I think to myself, for the more I learn about the interviewees, the less I comprehend. The two words which keep occurring to me are 'incomprehensible' and 'inexplicable.'

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We visit Cholem again in the morning. He is a jolly and sociable man. He has photo albums and documents ready for us. He shows us the letter from Stutthof which confirms his mother's death. He has a card confirming he was at Dachau; his number was 81679. No names when he was in the concentration camp; people were numbers only. I ask him if he has a number tattooed on him. He says no, only those at Auschwitz.

He thumbs through the photo albums and narrates them. Here he is, at Zwingereck while visiting Dachau, with other fellow survivors. Here is a photo of his father's grave covered in snow. That one, that's him at Jerusalem. This one, with a lady from South Africa, also a survivor. And so on. Between all these, old photos, of his brother (he was shot in the street before the family was moved to the ghetto); his uncles playing in a band in Kaunas... Also, more recent ones, of him with his wood sculptures. I can see Cholem ageing before my eyes; a young man, an older man, a son, a tourist. I think, photo albums shouldn't be like this. They shouldn't be 70 percent full of graves and tombstones and visits to concentration camp memorials. Where are the happy holiday photos; the ones at a beach, of birthday celebrations and weddings? I wonder when I am dead and someone looks at my photo albums, what will they say of me, of the life I have led?

Yesterday, when we asked him if he would lend us one of his wood sculptures for the exhibition, he was relunctant. Today, he presses into our hands a number of sculptures. This one? he asks, or this one? We say, oh no, just one. But we end up with two. We ask him if he wants to give us something personal to him, it doesn't have to be precious; just representative of him. He gives us a button. He lifts his shirt up and we see breeches underneath holding up his pants. He jokes he will give us the breeches and motions that his pants will fall down. He goes to his room and brings out two other breeches - one is striped, the other an austere black. He gives us the black one.

We go for lunch and almost have an emergency. He is eating steak, and chokes on a piece. He turns blue and gags. I was smoking and away from the table. When I get back, the team says they didn't know whether to thump him on his back, and debated for a moment to get me as I know the Heimlich manoeuvre. But he is okay, thankfully; his nose is red and he coughs, but he is okay. He jokes about it afterwards, indicating with his thumb and index finger how big the piece was. How horrible if he were to expire on a piece of meat, after all he has gone through. We joke that it would be terrible to have this inscription on the grave - "survived Dachau, died from choking at a restaurant."

We drop Cholem off at the entrance to his flat and take some photos together. A neighbour is at the door too and she looks at me curiously. In these parts, I don't imagine they see many Asians. I smile at her and ask her to take a photo with me. She seems pleased. She stands around and we take photos of her and Cholem together.

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Isroel, whom we had interviewed at Choral Synagogue days ago, has invited us to film him when he goes to the cemetery. He wants to say prayers at his wife's grave. We meet him there. He has thoughtfully brought two umbrellas as it has begun to rain. He tells us about how his wife died, how she did not get treatment for her cancer until it was too late, how she did not listen to his advice to go to the doctor sooner. Suddenly, his frame is racked with sobs. He cries for a few minutes. Then, he stops, wipes his nose and eyes, and narrates again. I feel his loneliness. It is so palpable, it hangs in the air.

The last time we met Isroel, he did not want us to visit him at his home. We think he was embarrassed about it. But today, unexpectedly, as we are about to leave the cemetery, he invites us to his home.

His flat is a little more spacious than Cholem's but small nonetheless. There are bookshelves full of books. He shows us his photos, including one of him with his dad and his twin brother (see below).

Isroel and his books

Isroel, his dad and his twin brother. This photo makes me think of the cat song they sang to their dad, who was with the Soviet army, when he was hospitalised. (See blog entry)

We learn something new about Isroel today. He is a chess champion. He shows us photos of him at a chess board. When we ask him what he would like to lend or give us for an exhibition, he gives us a silver spoon which he says belonged to his wife. Also a pair of spectacles and accompanying leather case. Plus a chess piece. As he hands the white queen to me, he says, "very strong" - the most powerful piece on the board. We leave. Everyone else has headed down the stairs. I am packing up my bag. I I say "aciu" the only Lithuanian word I have learnt since we arrived here, which means 'thank you.' He points to a silver mezuzah on the door frame; he kisses his finger and touches it. I imagine he is telling me that he is blessed. I am glad for him. I remember his story that he told us, when he felt ashamed at one time to be a Jew. "Shalom," I say to him in lieu of good bye; I don't know why. It just seemed appropriate. Again, I feel the loneliness wafting in like a draft. He seems relunctant to see us go.

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I see how listening to Isroel, Chasia, Berl and Cholem speak about the past, no matter how horrible, is a way to honour their lives and their pain. I am overwhelmed by sadness as I suddenly think of my grandmother; cowering under her dining table, naked. She is in her 90s and dementia has overtaken her. I am sorry no one has asked her to tell her story - not like this. Her story is lost.

All I remember or can gather about her and what it was like to live through the war came by way of what seemed, at that time, to be inconsequential moments. Like when we were booked on a tour in Hong Kong. For some reason, everyone in that small group were elderly folk and survivors of the war. They swapped stories and I listened in. Like how they scavenged for food in the forest, stripping the bark off trees and boiling them for food. How their family members were carted off in trucks to no one knows where; most probably to Burma to build the railway there. I wonder why I did not ask more.

Another incident I remember occurred when I was studying in Australia. We were in my uncle's home in a Sydney suburb. Hirohito had just died and we were watching the news. I looked at my grandmother's face to see her reaction. There was none; her expression was stoic and unperturbed. She just said matter-of-factly, "The Japanese emperor is dead." She never spoke of her experiences during the war. Each time I visit her, she spoke only of the goings-on of Hong Kong film stars and updates of the latest Chinese soaps on TV. I wonder if she has lost her capability to engage in even such trivia now.

Day 6: PM

2008-09-03T11:24:00.000-07:00

It's odd, almost serendipitous. This morning, I wrote about waiting for time (see blog entry). Tick tock. Tick tock. When we visit Cholem's, he has clocks everywhere in his flat. I wonder why...? I tell Shiv we must ask him when we next visit. This time, we have a short interview. Later, we will return to conduct a more thorough session.

Cholem is 82 years old. He was born in Kaunas. His flat looks like it has received the treatment of a woman's touch. It is full of knick knacks displayed behind glass cupboards - china figurines, wood sculptures, teacups and teapots. There are lace curtains in the kitchen, a glass bowl of fruit on the table, a basket of medicine, plastic trays for more knick knacks... I figure he likes to be organised. Everything appears to have a place. And those clocks. There are 2 digital clocks and 4 quartz in the living room, a cuckoo clock in the corridor, and 3 plastic ones in the kitchen.

He used to be a carpenter, so he has many pieces of wood sculpture in his flat. He caresses them as he explains them to us. He tells us about the ghetto. The trip there in a cattle wagon. How people were "hunted like animals." He tells us about Dachau. About his father giving him his last piece of bread. About the march through fields and snow on the eve of liberation. About receiving a document recently from Poland confirming his mother's death; her number is on the list of those who died in a concentration camp but he doesn't know how. He points to a picture of himself in his younger days; he is a handsome man.

A younger Cholem watching over porcelain collectibles

He tells us he does not know how to explain the joy bursting through him when he learnt he was liberated. He expresses how he thought he was finished, how he was sure his heart would stop, when he realised he was trapped in the ghetto. He says he cannot understand why anti-semitism exists. How simple lives are turned upside down. He asks, why do neighbours turn against each other? Why do they deface public buildings with swastikas? Why do people steal tomb stones from cemeteries? Why do they strip bronze plaques from graves? I watch him tell his story and I don't know what to think. The only thought that goes through my head is this: because there is evil in the world; because there are cruel, cruel, cruel, selfish people... It is inexplicable otherwise and incomprehensible to me.

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Later on, we speak to a journalist. We ask him what his views are on the Jewish holocaust within the context of a contemporary Lithuania. He tells us that we have to remember the past and not forget it. However, that when one is reminded too often, it can grate on the nerves.

I think of Cholem, who continues to have nightmares; sometimes he even falls out of bed. Unfortunately, he does not have the luxury of not being reminded. He lives with these memories everyday.

Day 6: AM

2008-09-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

Candles from the Choral Synagogue

Tick tock. Tick tock. I am waiting for the time to pass. Very s-l-o-w-l-y. I busy myself tidying up the apartment and cleaning the coffee and dining table, wiping down the toilets, taking the garbage out... I take photos of the items we have collected for our archive, tag and record them, including some yamulke, candles and prayer book that Abraham gave us at the synagogue yesterday. I am waiting for 10am. This morning I did not go with the team to the synagogue to interview the Chief Rabbi. This is because I have to make an online payment to the landlord. He is not a happy man.

One of the yamulkes. The inscription reads: "Wedding of Arlene & Ronald. Dec 15, 1968. Kislev 24 5729. Ahayath Achim Synagogue. Atlanta Georgia." I wonder who is Arlene and Ronald, and I wonder if we will be able to trace them? I make a note to suggest this to Shiv.

Since Monday morning, we have been on the go till evening. I have not been able to do the online wire transfer to pay the balance on the apartment rent as there is only a window of time I can do it at between Monday to Friday. Our daily schedule is fluid and flexible. This is because our contact Ruta has a rough schedule of who we can meet and interview. We have a list of potentials we organised with her before we arrived. But because many of those we interview are frail and elderly, it is dependent on whether they are up to seeing us when we call. Also, we bump into people and new appointments are set up; or those we speak to are generous enough to suggest things to us or meet us again, and then, we reschedule and shift appointments around yet again.

Yesterday morning, I sent a text to Vy the landlord as we expected to finish earlier; so I kept him posted to let him know I expected to be able to get back on time to do the online payment. When we arrived back, I keyed in the payment details, but when I clicked 'pay', it sent me to a screen to say the service was unavailable. I looked at the time display on my laptop. It was 5.32pm UK time. I had missed the time by 2 minutes. At midnight, I turned on my mobile phone, which I had turned off for the day as it interferes with the audio recording. I had received 2 text from Vy asking about payment. I try to explain to him about the window of time but he sends me sarcastic texts back. He tells me the internet is 24 hours. Also asks me if I were in the UK, would I be allowed to stay in an apartment without paying. Shiv asks why he is so agitated; we paid a deposit didn't we? I tell her that I think J was just a broker. We paid the deposit to her.

This morning, I debate about enlisting Ruta's help to explain things to Vy. Also that we will be back by 3pm as we have an interview scheduled at the apartment for that time. So I should be able to effect payment then. However, after much deliberation, I decide against it. I tell Shiv that it is best I stay back and wait till the appropriate time to send payment and will join them at the second interview. I don't think Vy would care to hear about why he hasn't been paid.

It is now 9.34am local time. I have 26 minutes to go. I can't wait to pay Vy and strike this off my list of to-do's. I just want to focus on the job at hand and be a supportive team member in the process. That involves being on hand for the team, not waiting in an apartment for time to pass. But then again, I guess this is what a coordinator is supposed to do. Deal with irate landlords if need be.

Tick tock. Time passes slowly when you are waiting. I wonder if Berl feels this way each morning, waiting for his helper to arrive at the door and escort him to the synagogue?

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P/S: Below, photos I took at breakfast yesterday at Double Coffee. (I swear there are monopolies in this country where cafes and supermarkets are concerned. Double Coffee is a chain of cafes, kinda like Starbucks. They are everywhere. And Maxima is a chain of supermarkets. At every home we have gone to, I see Maxima plastic bags, no other brand...)

Jesse looking wistfully at his oatmeal porridge

Dan doesn't look impressed. He swears that his fruit salad had garlic in it.

Shiv listening intently to Ruta

Ruta on the phone, arranging yet another appointment

Dan took this photo of me. I am looking a little frazzled from wear. Plus puzzled as I keep forgetting which dials to adjust between aperture and exposure on the camera.

Day 5: A Packed Day

2008-09-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those quiet, reflective days. Feeling contemplative.

This morning, we visit Berl to film him on his daily morning walk to the synagogue. At the synagogue, I wait upstairs in the balcony during morning prayers. I don't want to intrude, so I decide to close my eyes and meditate. Everything sounds very melodious; the prayers sound like singing to me. Kinda like at a church, minus the choir or band. Am wondering if being tone deaf poses a problem to practising Judaism?

Filming Berl

After the synagogue, we stop for a quick bite. None of us had breakfast as we left at 7.40am this morning. I have semolina porridge. Reminds me of baby food - quick and easy. Then we head off for a chat with an official at the Genocide Center. Short and sweet; just to hear about what the Department of Investigation does. He tells us that genocide in Lithuania, including the Jewish holocaust, was the result of the Soviet and Nazi occupation. As the entrance to the Genocide Museum is just around the corner, we nick in to have a look. It is a very impressive museum. Lots of details and artefacts on the Soviet occupation. All these are based in the former KGB building. I wonder what it's like to work in a building that previously housed, tortured and executed civilians. I imagine in Asia, this wouldn't go down well at all. I can imagine potential job applicants declining to apply for fear that the place may be haunted or has bad karma attached to it. I wonder whether they cleansed the building before it became an office block? I can't imagine the qi in the place.

Genocide Center, note the names of Lithuanian victims inscribed on the stone wall

Speaking of hauntings and karma and qi... We join Berl again after a lunch break. He wants to show us the Vilna Gaon's mausoleum at the Jewish cemetery at Seskine. He used to come here and tend to the mausoleum, back in the 1970s onwards. He stopped when his eyesight deteriorated. He looks especially sad today when he relates how he had the gate to the mausoleum repaired; he still has the key that opens the lock. The mausoleum houses 7 graves, the Gaon's and his family. I peer inside and see notes left by visitors on the grave. I notice the stones and pebbles and remind myself to find out what is the significance of stones to the Jewish faith. I remember the last scene in Schindler's List when the survivors filed by and left a stone each on his grave.

The Vilna Gaon Mausoleum

Messages left by visitors inside the mausoleum

I decide to choose a stone from among the piles which line the walls of the mausoleum as an exhibit item.

Stones from the Vilna Gaon mausoleum. I picked the largest one on the left.

This a large cemetery and includes a mass grave. I wander about and take photos, practising my photography skills and trying to read the inscription on the headstones. It is quiet, the sun comes in and out from among the trees; I keep adjusting the settings on the camera to compensate. I think of silly things to lighten my mood; including if my sister were here, I imagine she would suggest I bathe in water scented with chrysanthemum petals. To 'cleanse' in the event I pick 'something' up on my way out of the cemetery.

But it's hard to shake. I guess it's just one of 'those' days; there's no escaping it. I suppose this is what ambling through someone else's memories and immersing in the past does to one. It's a day of quiet reflection.

Day 4: A Hard Day

2008-09-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

Today is the most difficult day of all since we arrived. We meet Ruta, an academic who will be our guide and translator for the following days we are here. We have a team meet at 9.30am to discuss the possible line-up of interviews and schedule for the next few days. We will meet two Holocaust survivors today, Berl and Chasia.

Today has turned out to be the most difficult day for me. I don't know whether fatigue has caught up with me or what, but I am exhausted. I think it has to do with trying to focus on what's being said without understanding what's being said, reading the expression on faces and trying to match it with what the translator is saying, or whether it's about taking notes and trying hard to catch as much as possible down on my notepad. It's also our schedule of course. Waking at 7 or 8am, getting ready for the day, and being on the move until evening. Today, we got back only at 10pm as we returned to the apartment, dropped off our equipment and went to dinner immediately.

After dinner, I spent the last hour scanning photos and recording items we have been given as exhibits. Such amazing gifts - Ben gave us a yamulke and a medal; Chasia an amber pendant. They gave it to us and don't expect it back, though we are happy to do so.

But I think what's worn me out most are the stories. I can't even watch a World Vision ad without feeling angry and sad and everything else in between. Today, when Berl and Chasia shared their stories, I was consumed by both.

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Berl is 84. He lives alone. He is blind on account of his diabetes and glaucoma. He proudly serves boiled eggs, matzo crackers and wine. He speaks about losing his family; his bike ride to his father's 30 kms away to warn him of the Nazi invasion. His dad didn't leave. He was killed. He talks about how he joined the Soviet army when he was 17; he unexpectedly unzips his trousers and shows us a deep long scar where he was wounded in the hip. He recalls that this was "good" because he was off duty for 6 months. He relates tales of moving from place to place, living on food rations dispensed to veterans, of his first wife and his second; also his children. He tells us, "I am 84 years old and close to God." He is waiting, waiting, it seems to me. What he hates most is his blindness because he can no longer work or drive a taxi; his time is spent with his mind. And it is turning against him.

Berl

Berl tells us he is sad; sad when he learnt that there was a Neo-Nazi march this year and it was escorted by the police. Sad that it dishonours those who died. He starts telling us about people being lied to; asked to dig a hole to store food, then buried alive. I think he has lost faith in people. We ask him if he will lend us something for our exhibition or something he can give us; anything representative of him. He gives us a medal he gets for being a model Soviet worker and a yamulke.

Berl's gift

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After lunch, we meet Chasia. She is sprightly and elegant; she has make up on to welcome us. I feel intrusive; her flat is small and we have taken up all the space. Her son has to move into the kitchen to make way for us. I park myself on the door frame between the living room and the balcony; there is no room for Chasia, the camera, Jess and Dan, Ruta, Shiv and I.

She tells us of her Zionist fervour in her younger days. Her first husband, her son, her in-laws, the ghetto. How they had 25 people in a room and one bottle of milk for her 6-month-old son when they first got to the ghetto; how they somehow adapted. How her husband joins the partisans in the forest. How they all die.

Chasia

She shares how she was shot in the arm by a comrade testing a weapon. How she later remarried after the war. She has two children now; she named her son the same name as her first. How she carries the burden of blood lost that she may live. Her story is too steeped with pain to relate much here, too rich in detail to give it justice in a short paragraph, and too harrowing to feel and absorb at one sitting. Her brother has moved to Israel but she has stayed because "this is where my children died."

I am at once awed when she speaks of the joy she has at work - in a community center which used to be the college she spent her youth in - and humbled. I don't know where she finds the strength to forgive and yet not forget.

I am not sure I am looking forward to hearing more of these stories. I am not sure if I feel inspired or angry or frustrated. It all seems so unfair.

Day 3: An Interview and Returning to Ponar

2008-08-31T22:35:00.000-07:00

Last night, when we returned, I bagged some items taken at Ponar - some soil, some tealight, a flower. We had to go to a supermarket to find Ziploc bags but there was none, so we make do with freezer bags and masking tape. I am wondering how the flower will survive. I pressed it in my note book as a means of preserving and keeping it. Back at the apartment, I looked about and decided to tear a strip of carton box, and fold it over to use as a makeshift hard envelope. Shiv says it is a 'fighting flower.' She found it at the escape pit. It is scrawny and fragile looking. I hope it makes it to an exhibition. One of the ideas is to collect everyday items - things that speak to the Jewish experience - and host them as exhibits at an exhibition we hope to put together eventually at some point. I don't know if Fighting Flower will make it...

Soil from Ponar, pit # 1

We return to Choral Synagogue to speak to the caretaker, Isroel. It becomes an hour-long interview. He speaks articulately. About how he comes from Minsk, Belarus. How they dived flat on the ground when the Nazi bombs fell. How his dad enlisted in the Soviet army. How he went to the hospital to visit him. How they sang a song about soldiers in a convoy meeting a cat on the road. About his children, his wife, a friend who passed away 3 years ago. About the Jewish cemetery that keeps him in Vilnius. About how he would like to die in Israel. About learning to read Hebrew. About how he was ashamed to be a Jew when he was younger. How the swastikas on Jewish buildings makes him sad. When the interview concludes, he prays. I like his sing song voice; it is very melodious.

Isroel

We have lunch at a place call Belmonto. It is a resort of sorts; looks like a theme park with restaurants, cafes and bars and a watermill and waterfall and stream. I have the boiled cabbage stuffed with mince, in a light broth and a dollop of sour cream on the side. It is very good. My choices are paying off.

Cabbage and mince

It has occurred to me that some may find it incongruous or disrespectful that I am writing about food even as I speak of the holocaust. But I do not think these experiences are misplaced or out of sync. Living and dying are two sides of the same coin, are they not?

We return to Ponar to speak to people who live near there; to record their thoughts. Some young people tell us that they have heard of the word 'genocide' but they don't really know what it means. An elderly Polish gentlemen is lonely; he knows nothing about Ponar but would like to tell us about how lonely he feels, about how he lives everyday and how those he knows are "dropping like flies." He is 81.

Jess and Dan decide to take more footage in Ponar. The weather isn't cooperating. It starts to drizzle. We wait. Later, the sun comes out but it's only a brief respite. We speak to a postgrad student who is also a guide; she is visiting Ponar to brush up her knowledge about the place. We speak to a man who manages the museum; he asks for a lift to the station.

Jess and Dan in action.

Day 2: A Visit to Ponar/Panieri

2008-08-31T13:18:00.000-07:00

This morning, we meet our guide Chaim. We decide to plan our day over breakfast in the old Jewish quarter. Chaim tells me his name is pronounced "Ha-im" with a strong inflection on the "h" like a cross between "k" and "h". It makes me think of the "(k)hreme cheese" joke that Shiv told me once, about the Jewish pronunciation of "c" which sounds more like "(k)h". He points to the Hebrew lettering on his cap and sweatshirt. He tells me it means 'guide.' (Later, I am told by Jess that it also means 'the learned one.')

Chaim

We decide to visit Ponar, also known as Panieri. It is the site of the memorial to the largest killing field in Lithuania. At The Green House yesterday, we saw a video clip of a survivor describing one of the pits there. The narrator was choking back tears when she described how she tried to scramble 'under' the Nazi guards, hoping to escape. She said, 'On left grandmother, on right aunt, when we were there, we were no longer father, grandmother,' something to that effect. I took it to mean that it was everyone to themselves at that point, at the precipice, on the brink of death. Shiv thinks she meant that they were all just bodies, nameless, without identities; pieces of meat...

We exit the restaurant. Out on the street, Chaim walks us up and down and points out places of interest. A passerby overhears us and she and Chaim exchange a few words. Chaim translates. She takes offense at his use of the word "Vilna" instead of "Vilnius." Later Chaim explains to us that to Jews, he uses the name Vilna; to others, he uses the Lithuanian name, Vilnius.

Chaim narrating on Stickliu Street

We arrive at Ponar, also known as Palnieri. I am a bit confused. The stone carving marking the entrance to the site is Panieru Memorialas. I can't tell what is Lithuanian, what's in Russian, or Polish. There are also Hebrew letterings.

Entrance to Panieri Memorial

The landscape is dotted with stone monuments. One to Russian Jews. One to Polish Jews. One to Lithuanian Jews. There is a small museum but it wasn't open. I stick my camera lens through the grid of the gate to take a picture of the map on the wall. I can't see clearly what it is, but it looks like a map of Lithuania with icons to mark the killing fields.

We see a lady trundling by with a shopping bag on wheels. She looks like she's off to the market, as if she lives in the forests of Ponar and is off to the local Maxima supermarket. She looks incongruous with the landscape.

There is a lone grave. It is the only grave in this vast forest of pits and monuments and trees. One solitary grave to mark one person - Helinus Fegius (1888-1944). We are told that his family erected this tombstone in this doctor's honour. The rest, all 99,999 remain nameless and unmarked. They have to make do with stone monuments and wreaths to the collective.

Solitary gravesite

Dan and Jesse have the camera out and the boom pole and they are trailing beside, behind and around Shiv and Chaim. I am still waiting for Vy to confirm when he can come today evening to set up the modem, and also to see if Andreas, a volunteer at The Green House, can still meet us for an interview later. I have kept my mobile on and I don't want the signal to interfere with the audio taping so I stay a fair bit away from where the action is; going close every now and then to catch Chaim's narration.

Shiv looking pensive

I busy myself recording photos behind them. It will be a way for me to archive what we have seen and video-ed with the transcripts that will follow. I need visual cues. Besides, I know that Shiv eventually wants a record of places, things and people.

We follow along the paths and come to a circle of stones. It is the first pit. People were lined up around the rim and shot; their bodies falling into the pits and piled high on top of each other.

We walk along some more. The second and largest pit. I guess it is about 100 feet or so in diameter and about 15 feet deep. I imagine how many bodies can fit in here. I also wonder what it would be like to be alive and under 15 feet of bodies... I can't help but think these thoughts. And yet... when I look around me, it is strangely quiet and scenic. We walk further on, a third pit. Opposite, what resembles a pit, but we are told it is the escape pit, where prisoners created a tunnel using spoons...

The largest pit at Ponar

I can hear the sound of a train passing by. Apart from that, all is quiet. I don't see or hear any birds. I only feel the cool breeze brush past me and over me; the sound of gentle rustling of trees. The forest is deep. I imagine what it must have been like to walk here, before there were paths, when it was all woods. I wonder how many trees are in this area. I fancy that each tree is a life that was taken, rebirthed. I wonder if there are 100,000 trees in this forest.

How many trees are there?

The day passes quickly. We speed off to interview Andreas at The Green House. It is almost 4.30pm. We are tired. We return to the apartment. Dan downloads the day's footage and photos. I download the photos I have taken and start recording them. Still no internet. Vy sends me a text. He says he can only come at 10pm unless it is too late. I ask him to come. We all desperately want to check our emails. Besides, during the course of the day, it comes to me that it will be useful to journal my thoughts down. It will help me keep track of daily events. I have seen and heard so much in such a short space of time. If I don't record them, I will surely forget something. While waiting for Vy to arrive, I start archiving and scanning documents. I have taken 153 photos. I have to sort them to see what to keep, what to discard and how to keep track in a way that makes sense and will be easily retrievable. At 10pm, Vy shows up. By 10.30pm, we are able to get online. Thank goodness.

Day 1: Getting a Sense of the Place

2008-08-31T11:56:00.000-07:00

Today, we decide to venture off to The Green House, one of the museums operated by the Vilna Gaon Jewish State Museum of Lithuania. There is a Holocaust exhibition there. Shiv has spoken to the director there before. We decide to visit her to discuss a possible collaboration and to see if she is willing to set an appointment for an interview.

Shiv has been here, but the rest of us haven't. We decide to cab it as we aren't sure how far away it is. Turns out that it isn't too far. The cab drops us off on a nondescript street. I am surprised. I didn't imagine a museum to be housed here. It's hard to describe except that it looks like a suburban area with some shops nearby. There is a small sign mounted on one of the buildings which reads "Jewish Museum." (See picture below: can you spot it?)

The road leading up to The Green House

We walk up the hill and I see now why it is called The Green House. I imagined it was a glass building resembling a horticultural greenhouse. It is wooden and painted green.

The Green House

We spend a few hours there talking to the director and a volunteer from Austria. We get a tour and a history lesson. I learn some things about the Second World War and the holocaust in Lithuania I had never heard of before. Like how the war began for Lithuania on 22 June 1941. Where I come from (Malaysia), and as a Chinese descendant, the war began in 1939 (maybe even earlier, when I think about it, as the Japanese invasion of China began in 1937). How segregation of the Jews was swift - by 6 September 1941 the first ghetto was set up; and how, six weeks later, the first smaller ghetto was liquidated. Liquidated. That word; it has a fluid quality to it. It's not a word that was meant to apply to human lives. Makes me think of how water condenses and becomes air. Poof. A split second. The bat of an eyelid. Liquidated. 100,000 Jews were killed in Ponar alone. Of the 240,000 Jews in Lithuania, only 20,000 survived. The Jewish community today numbers 2,000. A far cry from the days when Vilnius was known as the Jerusalem of Lithuania or the Jerusalem of the North.

The director suggests we visit the Tolerance Center about 10-15 minutes walk away. She is busy and asks us to come back later. We head off. On the way, we decide to head for the Choral Synagogue, the only remaining synagogue in the city. We meet two caretakers; one of them, Isroel, agrees to be interviewed on Sunday. Saturday is off limits as it is the Shabbat.

Exterior of Choral Synagogue

Interior of Choral Synagogue

We head off, we are hungry now. We duck into a cafe. I order a Spanish sandwich. When it comes, I find I have the wrong one. Dan is eating my order. I get his cheese and tomato, melted in a panini roll. The food doesn't agree with us. Mine is odd. It has mayo in it. Globs. We eat a few bites and vow to look for 'real' food. I don't think we have gotten used to the flavours yet. Dinner last night was equally forgettable.

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At the Tolerance Center, we buzz a doorbell and are allowed in. I am not quite sure if the center is open to the public. I don't really understand about the need to be buzzed in. Did we come at the wrong time? The lady in attendance there is very nice. We tell her that we have been directed to the center by the director of The Green House. She unlocks the steel mesh on the upper floor so we can see the exhibit and allows us to take pictures. We take a few. Physical evidence of Jewish culture. Some are from the 18th century, salvaged from the remnants of the Vilnius Great Synagogue. [Below: Fragments of Reader's Table (Omed) and Prayer Shawl (Tallit) and Torah Ark's Doors]

It is almost time to head back to The Green House. We walk briskly and pass a park, where I can't resist taking this photo of a lady having a quiet lunch moment. The pigeon at her feet seems like a lunch companion.

Lunch for two

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The staff at The Green House are really nice. They welcome us warmly. We chat with Rachiel, the director. The conversation veers off to her personal story. She talks about the Nazi invasion and how she, like other children, were at a youth/children's resort by the sea when it happened. How among the children, there were Jewish kids too. How some went off to Sweden by sea, how some went off to Russia. Like her. To an orphanage. I am curious. Who told them to do so? How did they go without adults? Did their parents send money to them and organise passage? I guess we will hear more when we have a proper interview with her. We set a date and a time to do so.

It has only been day 2 but it has been very productive. We are all knackered and can't wait to get back, shower and have some dinner. I check my mobile. No news from Vy about the internet. I text him. I get a reply back that he is too busy and can't come. He suggests Saturday evening. I say okay and ask him to keep me posted. We will be meeting a historian and guide tomorrow. I know we will be out all day. I tell Vy that he needs to let me know sooner when he will come so we are in to let him into the apartment.

That night, we eat at an Irish place. Or at least a place owned by an Irish person. It is a mixed cuisine menu; there is pasta, there is Thai soup, there is fish. I order the Thai soup. It blows my socks off - all heat, no other flavour. I vow to myself to go with the safer option in the future.

Arrival: A Recap

2008-08-31T09:44:00.000-07:00

Today is already Day 4 in Vilnius, though technically speaking, it should be Day 3 seeing that we arrived late on Thursday, 28th August, at about 11pm.

The flight was delayed, leaving us stuck on board an Air Lithuania plane for about an hour before we finally taxied and took off. When we arrived, we are met by V, whom we had arranged our rental apartment with. He takes one look at our luggage - all 9 cases and a few hand luggage pieces and realises his car is not up to the task. We have 4 people in our team; Jesse and Dan, who will handle the camera and video; Shiv and I, who will deal with the interviews, archiving, collection of samples and audio transcripts. Really, it is my partner Shiv's project and part of her PhD research. I am playing the role of research coordinator. Jesse and Dan will be taking footage and shaping it into a documentary. We have 2 hard cases for the video and sound equipment, two long carrier bags for tripods and boom pole, plus a few other cases holding everything else including an audio recorder, laptops to a scanner, though we did decide to skip on the printer.

We decide to split up and grab a cab since V's car isn't big enough for us and our luggage. The cab driver doesn't look too pleased; he refuses to let us put one of our bags on the back seat. He motions with his hands; he doesn't want us to scratch the back of the seat. V comes over and shows his disapproval, helping the cab driver pile the bags high in the boot. It's all in. V tells the cabbie the address of the apartment we are going to. We get in; Dan and Jesse go with V. The cabbie veers off from the pavement and screeches away. For the first time in a very long time, I actually decide to put on my seatbelt, though I don't usually when I am in the back seat. His driving is nerve wracking to say the least. He doesn't smile and he doesn't seem to care for strangers. Similar to the people we passed at the airport; most don't smile and when they bumped into us, they didn't look up; they didn't make way either despite the overladen trolleys - I come to the conclusion that Lithuanians in general aren't particularly friendly. Then again, it's early days.

We are deposited in front of a building. It looks like an office block, with shops downstairs. Are we in the right place? There is no sign of V or the guys. A lady comes towards us and I realise it's J, whom we made the payment transfer to. We are joined by Vy, a skinny man with dusty blond hair. They ask us to follow them. Shiv and I drag 3 suitcases between us up to a heavy wooden door. Vy opens the door and I catch a glimpse of a long flight of wide stairs. I groan. Shiv's bag alone is 29 kgs. Thankfully, Vy helps lug one case up the stairs.

The apartment is sparsely furnished but clean. V and the guys join us 5 minutes later. They are huffing and puffing. They went up 3 flights of stairs, as did we. We give the apartment a once over to make sure we know where things are and what's in it - kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, washing machine, etc. But no internet. Why? Okay, it appears there's a mix up of sorts. V is talking. Vy is talking. J is talking. All deep in animated conversation. I don't understand a word they say but I do know we specifically asked if there was internet access when we booked. J, who we paid the deposit to, is apologetic. So is V, whom we corresponded with and answered all our queries before we booked. Vy is anything but. There is talk about payment to Vy. Apparently, he is the landlord. He says to me haughtily, "I, no money, no internet." I try and explain that we were expecting to do an online bank transfer to pay the rental, but no internet, no money. He tells me he is too busy tomorrow to come and put in a modem. He suggests I go to an internet cafe and pay him first. I decide that I am too tired to haggle. I get straight to the point and tell him that we agreed to take the apartment because we were informed there was internet access. No internet, no money, I say sternly. He tells me he'll come tomorrow to fix it. Fingers crossed.

That night, we hunker down to discuss the brief for the project...