Last Witnesses : An Oral History of the Children of World War II

From the center they transferred us to an orphanage. The orphanage was across the street from a medical institute, which housed a German hospital. I remember low windows, heavy shutters, which were closed at night. They fed us well there, and my health improved. The cleaning woman there loved me very much. She pitied everybody, but especially me. When they came to take our blood, everybody hid: “The doctors are coming…”—and she put me in some corner. She kept saying that I resembled her daughter. Other children hid under the beds. They got pulled out. Lured by something. By a piece of bread, or else they’d show some toy. I remember a red ball…

The “doctors” would go away, and I’d go back to the room…I remember a little boy lying there, his arm hanging from the bed, bleeding. And other children crying…Every two or three weeks new children came. Some were taken somewhere, they were already pale and weak, and others were brought. Fattened up.

German doctors thought that the blood of children under five years old contributed to the speedy recovery of the wounded. That it had a rejuvenating effect. I found this out later…of course, later…

And then…I wanted to get a pretty toy. A red ball.

When the Germans began to flee from Minsk…to retreat…that woman who tried to save me led us outside the gate: “Those of you who have somebody, search for them. Those who don’t, go to any village, people there will save you.”

And I went. I lived with some grandmother…I don’t remember her name or the name of the village. I do remember that her daughter had been arrested, and we were left just the two of us—the old one and the little one. We had a piece of bread for a week.

I was the last to find out that our troops were in the village. I was sick. When I heard about it, I got up and ran to school. I saw a soldier and clung to him. I remember that his army shirt was wet.

He had been embraced, and kissed, and wept over so much.

“AS IF SHE HAD SAVED HIS OWN DAUGHTER…”

Genia Zavoiner SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A RADIO TECHNICIAN.

What have I preserved most in my memory? From those days…

How they took my father away…He was in a quilted jacket, and I don’t remember his face, it has vanished completely from my memory. I remember his hands…They bound them with ropes. Papa’s hands…But no matter how I try, I can’t remember the faces of those who came for him either. There were several of them…

Mama didn’t cry. She stood at the window all day.

Father was taken away, and we were moved to the ghetto and began to live behind barbed wire. Our house stood by the road, and every day sticks came flying into our courtyard. I saw a fascist by our gate. When a group of people was being led out to be shot, he beat those people with sticks. The sticks would break, and he’d throw them over his shoulder. Into our courtyard. I wanted to have a better look at him, not just his back, and once I did see him: he was small, with a bald spot. He grunted and puffed. My child’s imagination was struck because he was so ordinary…

We found our grandmother killed in her apartment…We buried her ourselves…Our cheerful and wise grandmother, who loved German music. German literature.

Mama went to exchange things for food, and a pogrom began in the ghetto. Usually we hid in the cellar, but this time we went up to the attic. It was totally broken down on one side and that saved us. The Germans came into the house and poked the ceiling with their bayonets. They didn’t climb to the attic, because it was all broken down. But they threw grenades into the cellar.

The pogrom lasted for three days, and we sat for three days in the attic. Mama wasn’t with us. We thought only about her. When the pogrom was over, we stood at the gate waiting to see if she was alive or not. Suddenly our former neighbor came around the corner; he passed by without stopping, but we heard: “Your mama is alive.” When mama came back, the three of us stood and looked at her. No one cried, we had no tears, but some sense of peace came over us. We didn’t even feel hungry.

Mama and I stood by the barbed wire, and there was a beautiful woman passing by. She stopped next to us on the other side and said to mama, “I’m so sorry for you.” Mama replied, “If you’re sorry, take my daughter to live with you.” “All right”—and the woman began to think. The rest they said to each other in whispers.

The next day mama brought me to the gate of the ghetto.

“Genechka, take your doll carriage and go to Aunt Marussia” (our neighbor).

I remember what I was wearing then: a blue top and a sweater with white pompoms. My best fancy clothes.

Mama pushed me out the gate of the ghetto, and I pressed myself to her. She pushed me, and her face was flooded with tears. I remember how I went…I remember the gate, the sentry booth…

I went with my doll carriage where mama told me to go. They put a warm jacket on me there and sat me in a wagon. I wept all the way and kept saying, “Wherever you are, mama, I’m there, too. Wherever you are…”