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.
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