Ruth Ben David Alperin — Association of Jews of Vilna and vicinity in Israel

Ruth Ben-David – Ruth Alperin, age 6 in the Kovno Ghetto and in hiding in a Lithuanian village

Main points from a 2005 interview conducted by Hannah Ezer-Olitzki with Ruth Ben-David

Ruth was born in 1936 in Tel Aviv, before the establishment of the State of Israel. Her parents, facing financial difficulties, traveled with their young daughter to visit family in Lithuania. The war broke out, and they were unable to return to Palestine. They were forced to remain there — and perished in the Holocaust. The cruel hand of fate…

Memories from the Kovno Ghetto:

“My mother’s parents were killed early on. We were in the ghetto for over three years. My parents went out to work during the day. There was no schooling for the children.”

“When the aktions began in the ghetto, I had to hide. I remember being in a hiding place with my mother while dogs sniffed above us… There were many people in the hideout, there were screams and the crying of children… They were put to sleep with chloroform on their noses.”

“After the children’s aktion in the Kovno Ghetto, of course it was forbidden for me to remain there as a child, and there were no food rations for children. So it was necessary to find a way to get me out. With many layers of clothing they made me look older, and that’s how I managed to sneak out with the adult women who worked outside the ghetto. My parents found someone willing to take me in a Lithuanian village. I don’t remember who they took me to or where I arrived.”

Note by interviewer Hannah Ezer-Olitzki:

In 1994, while visiting Lithuania, Ruth tried to find out to whom she had been taken, but received no answers. Upon returning to Israel, she located Mrs. Klara Gelman, who had helped take her out of the ghetto and handed her over to a Lithuanian woman—but Ruth does not know that woman’s name or address.

Interviewer’s question:

Emotionally, what do you remember about the separation from your parents, from your family?

“They prepared me for the separation. They stored my identity in my memory, with details about relatives in Eretz Israel. I remembered everything.”

Interviewer:
You repressed the trauma but remembered the essential details.

“Exactly! How did they manage to program a little girl with the message ‘you must never forget’, but also ‘you must never speak’? And that’s exactly how it was. I remember the preparations for leaving. I remember us sitting on the floor. I didn’t know why. Only later I understood — the windows were low, and the Lithuanians, if they saw us, would shoot into the houses. I remember it because my father drew me sitting on a potty, holding a doll… Why? I didn’t understand.”

Interviewer:

We return now to 1944, when Ruth was taken out of the ghetto.

“I don’t remember details. I don’t know with whom or where I was. For some reason I think I was taken out and brought back several times. I remember an isolated house in a village, with a Lithuanian family. There was nothing around, only fields. You could see from afar anyone approaching from the forest or fields. If someone was seen coming, I had to hide. Most of the time I hid in a baking oven — apparently one not used much. When it was hot, I had to hide in the attic.

Most of the time I was in the yard with the geese, watching over them. There was a blond boy, younger than me — the son of a Russian officer who apparently had fled when the Germans arrived. There was also an old grandmother, and we used to churn butter together, each with a wooden spoon. I’m not sure, but I feel I was in several places, not just one family.”

Interviewer:

Did the little girl ever ask herself where her parents were? Did she cry?

“There were no questions. It was total repression. I don’t cry, but that little girl doesn’t exist in me at all… I simply don’t have her. I remember my sleeping place was next to the oven — considered a good, warm spot, next to the grandmother most of the time. There was a curtain that hid me somewhat, and many quilts.”

Interviewer:

From when do you remember yourself? Where were you at the end of the war?

“I found myself in an orphanage. A kind woman brought me there with a bundle of belongings and a piece of pork wrapped up. But life in the orphanage was very hard — beatings, shouting, noise, confusion, crying children… They had to turn the children back into human beings. There was an older boy who looked after me. He taught me how to brush my teeth. I don’t understand why that needed to be taught… I also remember a flood of water, and we had to go up to the upper floor.”

“While in the orphanage I waited for my parents to return. Some parents did come back. I lived in expectation. I don’t remember crying. Later people said and wrote about me that I was a sad child.”

Interviewer:

What happened when you realized your parents weren’t coming back?

“I remember that I started to talk and tell about myself — something forbidden until then. Apparently, I said that I had relatives in Eretz Israel. Contact was made, and I began moving from place to place toward immigration to Palestine. I joined the ‘Coordination’ organization for children with the help of the Bricha movement.”

“In 1947 I arrived in the Land of Israel with a certificate sent by my relatives. From that point on I remember everything clearly.”

“At my uncle’s house I met a woman who told me that my mother had died in her arms… and I didn’t want to hear.”

How old were you?

“Eleven.”

Interviewer:

When you arrived in Israel, did you have expectations?

“Yes, definitely. Misha, my mother’s uncle, came with his family to meet me as I got off the ship. Throughout the period before my arrival they wrote to me, sent packages, waited for me. They had a daughter two years older than me. I looked forward to meeting her.

I didn’t stay long with my uncle. I think they hadn’t imagined what they were taking on. I was a difficult child, full of anger. They were a proper, clean, polite family. Their daughter studied at the Reali School. They weren’t wealthy — lived in a small apartment, with their grandmother. There was love and goodwill from their side, and I loved Aunt Rosa and all of them, but it couldn’t work — the gap was too great.”

“At that stage, as a child who so longed for a family, I wanted to stay with them. I probably had unrealistic expectations…”

“After less than a year with my uncle Misha and Aunt Rosa, I found myself at the Ahava children’s home in Kiryat Bialik. It was a good and pleasant institution. There I met my friends from the ‘Coordination’ group. During the preparations for Aliyah I had wanted to travel with them and not be alone, but nothing helped — my uncles insisted I go with the certificate they had arranged. I arrived — supposedly I had a family — and suddenly I didn’t. I arrived at the children’s home, and all the kids were already veterans there, a close-knit group.”

Interviewer:

And you had to start over again.

“Yes, start from the beginning.”

Was there anger toward your uncles?

“Yes, of course — as a child, definitely I was angry… though sometimes I think that anger wasn’t justified.”

“At the Ahava home I studied for three years. I finished eighth grade and then went on to a youth group at Kibbutz Netzer Sireni. The founders were Holocaust survivors who treated us like their own children. I was happy there! But after the split in the Kibbutz Movement, families from Kibbutz Givat Brenner arrived with children our age, and suddenly the situation became terrible. If I ever broke down, it was there. Suddenly I felt second-class… The new children brought a different atmosphere and attitude. The problem was the mix of veterans and newcomers. The feeling of being second-class showed in the clothes we got from Youth Aliyah, in who could take part in dance, music, or sports classes. Another example — the ‘sabras’ studied subjects we, the Youth Aliyah kids, were weak in, so they sent us to work in the nursery while they studied, and the gap grew.”

“In that new reality, veteran members of the kibbutz became adoptive families for the survivor children. I fondly remember the Simcha family — my adoptive family — who understood me and treated me gently and lovingly, as much as I allowed them.”

Interviewer:

What did you know then about your parents’ fate? What did you tell yourself?

“I didn’t tell myself anything. I didn’t talk to myself. I knew they were gone — that’s all. A closed matter. If they hadn’t looked for me, it meant they were gone. At that time a friend of my father’s came and told me they had been together in Dachau. His family, good people from Holon, wanted to adopt me — but I no longer wanted to belong to anyone. I couldn’t. I didn’t want connections or disappointments. Only in 2003 did I receive documents belonging to my father. It turned out he had survived almost until the end of the war and was murdered only then. I have an official document with dates confirming this.”

Marriage and Work

“During my army service I would come to Netzer Sireni for vacations by default, and I was accepted as a kibbutz member. I had nowhere else to go — my uncle had passed away, and that home was gone.

After my military service I met my husband, Gabi. In 1957 I left the kibbutz and we got married. Gabi served in the permanent army, and I studied at a teachers’ college. For many years I worked as a teacher. We had two sons, and today we have two granddaughters.”

Interviewer:

Did your family or friends hear from you about your childhood?

“Not really. Even today, there are things Gabi hears only when I tell others. My children are very close to me. They watched the video recording, but never asked questions. My friends knew nothing about my past.”

Source and credit:
Hannah Ezer-Olitzki, Children in the Holocaust – Documentation Project

Read more on Ruth Ben-David’s blog