Rescued Jewish Children

Я родом не из детcтва - из Шоа, Я выжила - подстреленная птица, Израненная детская душа До старости не в силах исцелиться. (I haven‘t come from childhood - from Shoa, / I survived – a wounded bird / My childish heart was wounded, / And it does not heal when I turn old This and other quoted poems are translated into Lithuanian by the author – Tamara Lazersonaitė-Rostovskaja.) My childhood ended on 22 June 1941. At dawn Kaunas was bombarded. The planes with yellow signs on the wings were flying above my head, and dropping the bombs somewhere far away. With each explosion it seemed like my head was being torn off. War! I had just finished primary school and was making plans for my holidays. There was a new gymnasium uniform in my wardrobe that I was about to wear on the 1st of September. I was particularly happy about the embroidered brown velvet uniform hat. I could not get over my joy for it; I would try it on several times a day... Unfortunately, I never needed either a gymnasium uniform or a hat... On 24 June the Germans occupied Kaunas. Motorcycles were driving in straight lines and the infantry was marching behind them. Many people were standing on both sides of the road throwing flowers, lots of flowers. They were happy to get rid of the much hated Soviet government which had carried out mass repressions and deportation of residents to Siberia during those days before the war. The Jews were not throwing flowers. They tried to avoid the streets and were watching with anxiety what would happen next... Nobody had to wait for long. One order after another followed at the speed of light: the Jews must wear a yellow sign: the star of David. One on the front of the chest and the other on their back. So that each passer-by would see from afar: a Jew was walking there... Jews were banned from walking on the sidewalk. Jews must go on the road like the cattle... Soon I heard for the first time the word ghetto which I hated so much afterwards... Let me introduce you to my family. My father Vladimiras Lazersonas, a doctor psychologist, professor, an associate professor of Vytautas Magnus University, from 1940–1941 he was Head of Psychology Department at Vilnius University. He had lectures, treated patients, used to contribute articles to scientific magazines. He had nothing to do with politics. He was born in Moscow. My mother – Regina Lazersonienė, paediatrician. She was born in Poland, in Plonsk. My parents met each other in Frankfurt while studying medicine. We were three children: the eldest, Rudolfas, we used to call him Rudikas, the middle one, Viktoras and the youngest and the only daughter, – me, Tamara. Rudolfas was a very gifted child. He was fifteen and before the war he passed all basic school exams. During the first day of the war he wanted to escape to the East, became lost, and could not find a place for himself. My father persuaded him to stay. When the Germans had occupied the city, the phone rang. Rudikas’ teacher phoned and asked him to come to discuss the procedure of the basic school graduation. Rudolfas put on his new suit, left the house and... never came back. What happened, how and when I will never find out... If one is to believe rumours, he was shot in the 6th Fort. What for? Nobody asked then. Rudikas wanted to become an astronomer. In the evenings he used to watch the stars. I talk to him now while looking at those same stars... Where are you, my star that faded away so soon? I dedicated my poem “Крик” to him.
Ты для себя копал могилу. Фашисты пьяные устали, А ты, мальчишка, полон силы, Но, Боже, руки как дрожали! Копал ты долго, неумело Ту землю, что любил когда-то, И дрожь пронизывала тело, И уходила вкось лопата. О чем ты думал, мальчик бедный... Зловеще каркали вороны, В обойму вставлены патроны, И колокольный звон к обедне – В тот день воскресный. День последний. Ты поседел, родной, в единный миг И закричал пронзительно и дико ... Потряс мне душу твой предсмертный крик. Но мир глухой... Он не услышал крика. (“Cry”. In the Memory of Rudikas You were digging the hole to yourself. / The drunken fascists got tired, / And you were full of energy, / But, God, your hands were shaking! // You dug for long, unhandy / The land so beloved, / And shivering penetrated your body / The spade did not go well. // What were you thinking about, poor child... // The crows were cawing ghastly. / The slip filled with cartridges, / The bell tolled, inviting one the mass – / On Sunday. This last day. // You got grey, my brother, in a minute / And screamed wildly... / My soul was pierced / with your pre-mortal cry. / The world remained deaf... / It never heard your cry.) Viktoras was a dreamer, a naughty boy. He wrote poems. When his poem was published in the children‘s magazine we decided: he will become a poet. Our prediction did not come true. While in the ghetto, Viktoras wrote poems, essays and kept a diary. The diary, unfortunately, did not survive. I incorporated Viktoras’ essays and poems into the book “Тетрадь из сожженного гетто”. To my huge disappointment, he did not see this book. The Lithuanian version of the book is “Tamaros dienoraštis” (“Tamara‘s Diary”). I was the youngest in the family. During childhood I was not a special child. I was an average pupil, played with dolls, and liked poems, fairytales and flowers. In the ghetto I used to keep a diary, poems and... feed the entire family. When I was 13 I went to work in the brigade so I would have an opportunity to bring home food and so we would not die of starvation. I undertook this duty with willingness and pride, as I was the youngest and provided food to the entire family.


Tamara Lazersonaitė-Rostovskaja “Three Mothers”
From the 4th book Hands Bringing Life and Bread The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum