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

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 2: A Visit to Ponar/Panieri

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

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.