Shoshana Reshef — Association of Jews of Vilna and vicinity in Israel

I was born in 1936 in Vilna, Lithuania, which, at the time, was in Poland. I came from a very affluent family. When World War Two broke out, Lithuania was annexed to the U.S.S.R. The Russians who took over the city confiscated the hardware shop that my parents owned, as well as our apartment which was in the city center. We were forced to move to my maternal grandparents' home, in the suburb of Shnipishok.

My father, a rabbi's son, who was a graduate of a technical college and also had a broad Torah education, found work at the local airport. The Jews and the Communists cooperated with the Russians and informed on us. On Saturday the 14^th of June, 1939 they knocked on our door at 5 a.m. Within half an hour, my mother, Rachel, my father, Baruch whom my mother had called home from work, my 8-year old sister, Rivka, my grandparents Ya'akov and Sara Popko, my uncle, Natan Popko and me, a 4½-year old had been arrested.

Each of us was allowed to pack 50 kilograms of whatever we could lay our hands on. They mounted us on trucks and we were taken to the railway station. At the station, my father and uncle were separated from us and, only years later, did we learn that they were sent to a gulag in the Ural Mountains in Russia to do forced labor. All the others were sent to Siberia.

Over the years we wandered from place to place, from city to city, in Russia; we had no permanent residence, no regular schooling, books or games, scant food and medical treatment. Unfortunately, I was very sickly. Eventually, we found a permanent place in Osh in Kyrgyzstan where I attended a Polish school for Jewish refugees.

We had not heard a word from my father for two years, but there was a rumor that Jews were wandering around Russia looking for family members. My mother, who was caring for two children and her elderly parents, left us and went from station to station looking for him. At one of the stations she met my uncle and, together, they went to fetch my father who was in a very bad state. They were released from the gulag because they had forged papers that said they were Polish citizens and because Poland had joined forces with the Russians against the Germans. My father returned, ill and disabled, but at least he was alive.

After we had been in Osh for about two years, we moved again. We reached Kherson in southern Ukraine, where my grandmother passed away eight days before the end of the war. When the war ended, we were allowed to return to Poland, again thanks to our "Polish citizenship".

We stayed in Lodz for a few months and planned to move on but the Soviet authorities would not allow us to leave Poland. The only way to get out was to bribe professional smugglers to take us across the border. We decided to split up: my mother and I hid behind contraband in a van and that was how we got to Berlin. My father and sister tried to do the same thing but they were caught in Szczecin and my father was imprisoned.  My sister, who was only 14, bribed someone and my father was released.

Eventually, we were reunited and settled in the American sector of Berlin. From there we went to a DP camp at Feldafing in Germany. We had family in America who sent us entry visas to America. I also had an uncle who had made aliyah in 1932 and he filled in an application for family reunification. We were undecided about where to go but, finally, decided to go to Israel. After two years in Germany, we made aliyah on the 13/9/48 on the first legal boat, the Pan York.

When we arrived in Israel, we were sent to an immigrant camp in Pardes Hannah. Once again, fate intervened and my mother's cousin, who was a soldier, was given an apartment in Jaffa which he gave us (he was unmarried).  My mother cleaned houses and offices and my father, who was highly educated but spoke Biblical Hebrew, found work repairing tractor chains, which was hard physical labor.           

Every day we walked from our home in Jaffa to school in Tel Aviv. I adapted socially and learnt Hebrew very quickly.

After my army service, I worked as a teacher and home-room teacher in junior high school for thirty years. I completed my B.A. in general history and Israeli history while I was working and bringing up my family. I am still active today and write for print and online newspapers.

I married my husband, Amos, in December, 1959 and we have two daughters, Elinoar and Netta and four grandchildren: Tal, Or, Omer and Daniel.

I was very young during the war and, perhaps, because of the nomadic life we led, I have forgotten (or repressed) almost all memories. It is worth mentioning that my memories until I was ten, are faint and most of what I know is from stories that I heard later on.

I was born in 1936 in Vilna, Lithuania, which, at the time, was in Poland. I came from a very affluent family. When World War Two broke out, Lithuania was annexed to the U.S.S.R. The Russians who took over the city confiscated the hardware shop that my parents owned, as well as our apartment which was in the city center. We were forced to move to my maternal grandparents' home, in the suburb of Shnipishok.

My father, a rabbi's son, who was a graduate of a technical college and also had a broad Torah education, found work at the local airport. The Jews and the Communists cooperated with the Russians and informed on us. On Saturday the 14^th of June, 1939 they knocked on our door at 5 a.m. Within half an hour, my mother, Rachel, my father, Baruch whom my mother had called home from work, my 8-year old sister, Rivka, my grandparents Ya'akov and Sara Popko, my uncle, Natan Popko and me, a 4½-year old had been arrested.

Each of us was allowed to pack 50 kilograms of whatever we could lay our hands on. They mounted us on trucks and we were taken to the railway station. At the station, my father and uncle were separated from us and, only years later, did we learn that they were sent to a gulag in the Ural Mountains in Russia to do forced labor. All the others were sent to Siberia.

Over the years we wandered from place to place, from city to city, in Russia; we had no permanent residence, no regular schooling, books or games, scant food and medical treatment. Unfortunately, I was very sickly. Eventually, we found a permanent place in Osh in Kyrgyzstan where I attended a Polish school for Jewish refugees.

We had not heard a word from my father for two years, but there was a rumor that Jews were wandering around Russia looking for family members. My mother, who was caring for two children and her elderly parents, left us and went from station to station looking for him. At one of the stations she met my uncle and, together, they went to fetch my father who was in a very bad state. They were released from the gulag because they had forged papers that said they were Polish citizens and because Poland had joined forces with the Russians against the Germans. My father returned, ill and disabled, but at least he was alive.

After we had been in Osh for about two years, we moved again. We reached Kherson in southern Ukraine, where my grandmother passed away eight days before the end of the war. When the war ended, we were allowed to return to Poland, again thanks to our "Polish citizenship".

We stayed in Lodz for a few months and planned to move on but the Soviet authorities would not allow us to leave Poland. The only way to get out was to bribe professional smugglers to take us across the border. We decided to split up: my mother and I hid behind contraband in a van and that was how we got to Berlin. My father and sister tried to do the same thing but they were caught in Szczecin and my father was imprisoned.  My sister, who was only 14, bribed someone and my father was released.

Eventually, we were reunited and settled in the American sector of Berlin. From there we went to a DP camp at Feldafing in Germany. We had family in America who sent us entry visas to America. I also had an uncle who had made aliyah in 1932 and he filled in an application for family reunification. We were undecided about where to go but, finally, decided to go to Israel. After two years in Germany, we made aliyah on the 13/9/48 on the first legal boat, the Pan York.

When we arrived in Israel, we were sent to an immigrant camp in Pardes Hannah. Once again, fate intervened and my mother's cousin, who was a soldier, was given an apartment in Jaffa which he gave us (he was unmarried).  My mother cleaned houses and offices and my father, who was highly educated but spoke Biblical Hebrew, found work repairing tractor chains, which was hard physical labor.           

Every day we walked from our home in Jaffa to school in Tel Aviv. I adapted socially and learnt Hebrew very quickly.

After my army service, I worked as a teacher and home-room teacher in junior high school for thirty years. I completed my B.A. in general history and Israeli history while I was working and bringing up my family. I am still active today and write for print and online newspapers.

I married my husband, Amos, in December, 1959 and we have two daughters, Elinoar and Netta and four grandchildren: Tal, Or, Omer and Daniel.

I was very young during the war and, perhaps, because of the nomadic life we led, I have forgotten (or repressed) almost all memories. It is worth mentioning that my memories until I was ten, are faint and most of what I know is from stories that I heard later on.

Written by Shoshana Reshef