Day 20 and 21: Tying up loose ends

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 16: An author and a partisan

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 9: Leaving a legacy

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.