Rescued Jewish Children
Mina Stein-Wolf and Mina Stein-Kotkes
Two Mina Steins
Mina Stein-Wulf
From: Smuggled in Potato Sacks
Fifty Stories of the Hidden Children of the Kaunas Ghetto
Editors
Solomon Abramovich
and Yakov Zilberg
Noa, my eldest granddaughter asked me in 2006, when she reached the age of 9, to give a talk in her school about what had happened to me during the Second World War. For years I had not spoken about it, I had not wanted to remember. My late mother, Raya Stein, who died in 1983, hardly ever talked about that past so full of horrors. Almost everything I have put down on paper I know from my sister Izana Levit. When I read through what is written down I cannot stop my eyes filling with tears.
My mother had nine brothers and sisters. Her father, Hirsh Stein, had been a businessman. He and five of my mother’s brothers and sisters perished during the war. Mother had obtained a place to study at the chemistry faculty of Vienna University, but when my father proposed to her, she abandoned those plans. Many years later, I followed in my mother’s footsteps and graduated in chemistry from the Technion in Haifa. In 1925 my mother married Max Stein.
Father was a very erudite man: he knew many languages, including Hebrew and Esperanto. He worked as an economist for various trading companies. In 1929 Izana was born and I, Mina, in 1937. I was called Mina in remembrance of my grandmother. My official name was Manuela, which my father had chosen, because he was a supporter of the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War.
The atmosphere in our home prior to the war was happy and life was very comfortable. We lived at 3 Zamenhof Street on the bank of the River Neman. Izana was sent to study in the Schwabe Gymnasium.
Before we had to move into the ghetto, my sister Izana used to stand in a queue at a food shop ‘for Jews only’. Despite being little more than a child, Izana was made responsible for the family’s ‘queuing’. One day the Lithuanians suddenly started seizing people standing in those queues. Everyone started running off in all directions and Izana ran off too till she found where to hide in a wooden toilet in someone’s back yard. She waited there until things went quiet and she was able to make her way home.
Even before the family was moved into the ghetto, our father, with Vulia (Wolf) Peper, the husband of my aunt Vera, was arrested by Lithuanian collaborators (‘Baltaraisciai’) wearing white armbands: Father came home again, but Vulia did not. My aunt said to our mother, ‘Of the two who were destined to die, it’s good that Max has survived, because he has children who need looking after.’
In the ghetto our family was allocated a room in a four-storey brick house referred to as the ‘Red House’. There were five of us living in that room: my parents, Izana, my favourite aunt Adela and me. One day, Izana and I set off with our mother to visit Grandfather Hirsh in the ‘Small Ghetto’. We were stopped on the way by guards and they would not let us pass. It turned out that people were being rounded up that day: our grandfather and Aunt Vera were taken off to the Ninth Fort and shot there. It is terrible to think that, if we had been allowed to continue our journey, we would no longer be among the living.
In 1943 rumours were spreading in the ghetto about an imminent round-up of children. My uncle David asked his close friend from pre-war days, Zaborsky, to help rescue my cousin Mina, born in 1938. Zaborsky was given some valuables and a large sum of money to look after till end of the war. He was offered a part of the money in return for rescuing me. Zaborsky, who had been only too happy to be a friend of a rich Jewish family during the good times, refused, adding cynically, ‘In any case she would die.’
Mina’s father, Liolya Stein, another of my mother’s brothers, was asked to save a small girl called Anya Levinson. Liolya arranged for Anya to live with Antosia, the maid who had worked for Max (mother’s favourite brother) and Lea Stein before the war. Max and Lea had been arrested as ‘bourgeois elements’ by the Soviets and deported to Siberia a few days before the German invasion. Max had left his son Arie in the care of his brothers. Antosia was asked to hide Arie, but she had refused, saying she was afraid to take in a ‘circumcised boy’. Efforts to save Arie failed and he was killed during the ‘Children’s Action’.
Antosia was prepared to take in a little girl though. Later someone informed on Antosia. She had not known Anya’s surname and had used Liolya’s surname while being interrogated. Little Anya had started begging people to leave her alone. She cried out to Antosia, ‘Mochute gelbek!’, which means ‘Mama, save me!’, but the Gestapo men took her off and she perished.
When we heard what had happened, my father tried to persuade Liolya to go into hiding, but he did not take the advice and went off to work as usual. Jewish Polizei Arnstam arrested Liolya at work; Izana saw Arnstam lead him off. Bunya, Mina’s mother, was arrested at home. She was seen for the last time in the prison, when she sent greetings to her loved ones. After the war Arnstam was convicted and shot for his evil deeds.
Mr Jonas Januliavichius cooperated with the Gestapo, but still was our father’s loyal friend. He offered to rescue me and Izana. Januliavichius refused to accept any payment or presents. He suggested to our father that he should save him as well, but Father refused to leave the rest of the family alone.
It was decided that just I should go; I was six and a half at the time. Saying goodbye to my family was very hard. I remember, as if it was yesterday, how my father stood me on a chair and fastened my winter coat. It was made of sheepskin and had beautiful embroidery on the outside. Father taught me how to behave; I had to remember that I was a Russian girl called Manya.
On 7 January 1944 I was taken out of the ghetto. It was a very cold day and the main gate on Varniu Street was being guarded by Germans and Lithuanians, so there was no chance of taking me out while they were still around. Three times Jonas had come to the gate to collect me, but it had proved impossible. He was standing there bursting with impatience and my father went up to the German guard and said loudly, ‘You see what a pleasant and beautiful language German is. In German you would say, “Bitte, warten Sie”, while in Lithuanian it sounds so brash, “Wait, Jonas!”’, Jonas realized then that he had to go on waiting. When the next shift of guards came on duty and there were the ‘right’ people at the gate, my father led me through and put me into the cart in which Januliavichius took me to his house at 3 Daukanto Street in the centre of the city. There I spent the first two weeks. I behaved nicely and always helped with the housework. On only one occasion did my father manage to come and see me; I was dressed in a little blue suit specially made for me and given strict instructions not to call my father ‘Papa’, so that no-one would realize I was Jewish. As I dusted the furniture, I whispered into his ear, ‘When’s Mama coming?’ When my father went back into the ghetto, he wept like a baby. It was the first time that he had ever been seen crying, and that was the last time I ever saw him.
In the Januliavichius family they spoke German. There was a boy in the household, probably a Russian, whom they had taught to speak German and I used to answer him in Yiddish. This frightened Jonas and his wife, as they knew it would be disastrous if anyone should hear me. So Januliavichius decided to send me to the village of Mishkuchiai, where his mother and sisters lived.
Mina Stein-Wulf
From: Smuggled in Potato Sacks
Fifty Stories of the Hidden Children of the Kaunas Ghetto
Editors
Solomon Abramovich
and Yakov Zilberg
Noa, my eldest granddaughter asked me in 2006, when she reached the age of 9, to give a talk in her school about what had happened to me during the Second World War. For years I had not spoken about it, I had not wanted to remember. My late mother, Raya Stein, who died in 1983, hardly ever talked about that past so full of horrors. Almost everything I have put down on paper I know from my sister Izana Levit. When I read through what is written down I cannot stop my eyes filling with tears.
My mother had nine brothers and sisters. Her father, Hirsh Stein, had been a businessman. He and five of my mother’s brothers and sisters perished during the war. Mother had obtained a place to study at the chemistry faculty of Vienna University, but when my father proposed to her, she abandoned those plans. Many years later, I followed in my mother’s footsteps and graduated in chemistry from the Technion in Haifa. In 1925 my mother married Max Stein.
Father was a very erudite man: he knew many languages, including Hebrew and Esperanto. He worked as an economist for various trading companies. In 1929 Izana was born and I, Mina, in 1937. I was called Mina in remembrance of my grandmother. My official name was Manuela, which my father had chosen, because he was a supporter of the Republicans during the Spanish Civil War.
The atmosphere in our home prior to the war was happy and life was very comfortable. We lived at 3 Zamenhof Street on the bank of the River Neman. Izana was sent to study in the Schwabe Gymnasium.
Before we had to move into the ghetto, my sister Izana used to stand in a queue at a food shop ‘for Jews only’. Despite being little more than a child, Izana was made responsible for the family’s ‘queuing’. One day the Lithuanians suddenly started seizing people standing in those queues. Everyone started running off in all directions and Izana ran off too till she found where to hide in a wooden toilet in someone’s back yard. She waited there until things went quiet and she was able to make her way home.
Even before the family was moved into the ghetto, our father, with Vulia (Wolf) Peper, the husband of my aunt Vera, was arrested by Lithuanian collaborators (‘Baltaraisciai’) wearing white armbands: Father came home again, but Vulia did not. My aunt said to our mother, ‘Of the two who were destined to die, it’s good that Max has survived, because he has children who need looking after.’
In the ghetto our family was allocated a room in a four-storey brick house referred to as the ‘Red House’. There were five of us living in that room: my parents, Izana, my favourite aunt Adela and me. One day, Izana and I set off with our mother to visit Grandfather Hirsh in the ‘Small Ghetto’. We were stopped on the way by guards and they would not let us pass. It turned out that people were being rounded up that day: our grandfather and Aunt Vera were taken off to the Ninth Fort and shot there. It is terrible to think that, if we had been allowed to continue our journey, we would no longer be among the living.
In 1943 rumours were spreading in the ghetto about an imminent round-up of children. My uncle David asked his close friend from pre-war days, Zaborsky, to help rescue my cousin Mina, born in 1938. Zaborsky was given some valuables and a large sum of money to look after till end of the war. He was offered a part of the money in return for rescuing me. Zaborsky, who had been only too happy to be a friend of a rich Jewish family during the good times, refused, adding cynically, ‘In any case she would die.’
Mina’s father, Liolya Stein, another of my mother’s brothers, was asked to save a small girl called Anya Levinson. Liolya arranged for Anya to live with Antosia, the maid who had worked for Max (mother’s favourite brother) and Lea Stein before the war. Max and Lea had been arrested as ‘bourgeois elements’ by the Soviets and deported to Siberia a few days before the German invasion. Max had left his son Arie in the care of his brothers. Antosia was asked to hide Arie, but she had refused, saying she was afraid to take in a ‘circumcised boy’. Efforts to save Arie failed and he was killed during the ‘Children’s Action’.
Antosia was prepared to take in a little girl though. Later someone informed on Antosia. She had not known Anya’s surname and had used Liolya’s surname while being interrogated. Little Anya had started begging people to leave her alone. She cried out to Antosia, ‘Mochute gelbek!’, which means ‘Mama, save me!’, but the Gestapo men took her off and she perished.
When we heard what had happened, my father tried to persuade Liolya to go into hiding, but he did not take the advice and went off to work as usual. Jewish Polizei Arnstam arrested Liolya at work; Izana saw Arnstam lead him off. Bunya, Mina’s mother, was arrested at home. She was seen for the last time in the prison, when she sent greetings to her loved ones. After the war Arnstam was convicted and shot for his evil deeds.
Mr Jonas Januliavichius cooperated with the Gestapo, but still was our father’s loyal friend. He offered to rescue me and Izana. Januliavichius refused to accept any payment or presents. He suggested to our father that he should save him as well, but Father refused to leave the rest of the family alone.
It was decided that just I should go; I was six and a half at the time. Saying goodbye to my family was very hard. I remember, as if it was yesterday, how my father stood me on a chair and fastened my winter coat. It was made of sheepskin and had beautiful embroidery on the outside. Father taught me how to behave; I had to remember that I was a Russian girl called Manya.
On 7 January 1944 I was taken out of the ghetto. It was a very cold day and the main gate on Varniu Street was being guarded by Germans and Lithuanians, so there was no chance of taking me out while they were still around. Three times Jonas had come to the gate to collect me, but it had proved impossible. He was standing there bursting with impatience and my father went up to the German guard and said loudly, ‘You see what a pleasant and beautiful language German is. In German you would say, “Bitte, warten Sie”, while in Lithuanian it sounds so brash, “Wait, Jonas!”’, Jonas realized then that he had to go on waiting. When the next shift of guards came on duty and there were the ‘right’ people at the gate, my father led me through and put me into the cart in which Januliavichius took me to his house at 3 Daukanto Street in the centre of the city. There I spent the first two weeks. I behaved nicely and always helped with the housework. On only one occasion did my father manage to come and see me; I was dressed in a little blue suit specially made for me and given strict instructions not to call my father ‘Papa’, so that no-one would realize I was Jewish. As I dusted the furniture, I whispered into his ear, ‘When’s Mama coming?’ When my father went back into the ghetto, he wept like a baby. It was the first time that he had ever been seen crying, and that was the last time I ever saw him.
In the Januliavichius family they spoke German. There was a boy in the household, probably a Russian, whom they had taught to speak German and I used to answer him in Yiddish. This frightened Jonas and his wife, as they knew it would be disastrous if anyone should hear me. So Januliavichius decided to send me to the village of Mishkuchiai, where his mother and sisters lived.
Life was not easy for me in that village. Children had to grow up quickly and take on all sorts of duties on the farm; I used to feed the pigs, the cows and the geese. The cows would be taken out to graze in the meadows after haymaking. The only shoes I had were dark blue ones with laces: they were too small for me. When I went out into the fields I would put them on so that my heels were treading down the backs, which made me look like some sort of clown.
On one occasion one of the pigs went missing; I tried as hard as I could to find that pig but failed and returned home with one pig too few. I was beaten with a strap and sent back out barefoot to look for the lost pig. While I was looking for it, this time at the nearby bog, knowing that pigs liked mud, I suddenly bumped into it. The pig began to squeal very loudly, and in my fright I fell over into the mud. I can still remember that wild squealing and how frightful I looked, all covered in mud.
It is likely that my Jewish mind was still ticking over even in those hard times. My parents used to send me suitcases with clothes from time to time, and there were a few books as well. I could already read at that stage and loved reading: my father sent me to a teacher in the ghetto, mainly so that I should learn to read and write in Russian. I used to give away the clothes to other girls in the village so that in exchange for each garment they would look after the animals for me, while I lay at the edge of the field reading books.
A little later on, my cousin Mina joined us, once again with the help of Januliavichius. She was four and a half at the time. Father had carried her out of the ghetto in a sack of potatoes; the guards had been bribed, but for the sake of appearances they had stuck their bayonets through the sack taking care not to do Mina any harm. Mina’s parents were still alive at the time, but they did not live long enough to know that she had reached the village safely.
Mina was still wetting her bed at night and this made the couple who had taken us in very angry. We slept under the same blanket. Once I took the blame for the wet bedding, so as to spare Mina a thrashing. I was severely beaten with a stick. Mina was a very pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. German soldiers often used to drive into the village, but she never aroused their suspicions. I even remember one German soldier playing with Mina and putting her on his knee.
The food in the village was always the same, but at least we did not go hungry. For breakfast we were given a mug of milk and black bread and for dinner and supper we had dumplings. Sometimes we were given a piece of bread with pork fat. We never sat around idly though from morning till night. When the Russians were about to enter Lithuania, Mr Januliavichius disappeared. Long before that he had told my father not to look for him after the war.
The last of Januliavichius’ attempts was to rescue Izana. Izana had already been dressed up in a black coat with a fur collar, so that she would look more grown-up, and Januliavichius was preparing false papers for her in the name ‘Danute’. He was delayed, however, and, by the time he arrived, the ghetto gate was shut tight.
A few days before the ghetto was liquidated, Mother asked Uncle David to let Izana take shelter in his bunker, but he refused. He told her that there was not even room for a pin in there, as it was so crammed with people. It turned out that his refusal saved Izana’s life. The Germans blew up the bunker and none of the people, including Aunt Adela Stein, who had been hiding there, survived.
Father met his end in the Dachau crematorium; Mama and Izana were transferred to Stutthof. From museum documents we have since discovered that Mother succeeded in having herself registered seven years younger than she really was and Izana as two years older than her actual age; this move probably saved both their lives. From Stutthof, Mother and Izana were transferred to various work camps. Even when they could sense that defeat was round the corner, the Nazis went on forcing these women to cover long distances on foot, but one day the guards just abandoned them and ran off. The women managed to make their way to the deserted Turin camp, where Russian troops later found them.
Mother and Izana were liberated in January 1945, but they were held up in Poland for two weeks. There they learned of our father’s death. It was also the time when Izana fell ill with pneumonia and only just pulled through. They were then taken to Grodno in Belarussia, where they had to spend quite a long time. The only reason why my mother and Izana went back to Kaunas at the end of 1945 was to reclaim me.
In July 1944 artillery shelling of the village by the Russians began, and Mina and I had to sleep in the cellar on its damp floor. We used to lie on one half of a blue blanket and cover ourselves with the other. At the end of my stay with them, the Lithuanian family had sent me off without any help, without any directions or instructions. I had put on two sets of clothes: one of them had been the ‘sailor suit’ with the pleated skirt. I took with me my favourite brown teddy bear under one arm and under the other a live hen as I set off to Kaunas. When I told my granddaughter’s class about my experiences, one of the questions asked was, what had I done with the chicken?!
After walking a few kilometres, I came across a 14-year-old Jewish girl on a horse-drawn cart. She had gone into hiding of her own accord in a Lithuanian household in another village. She realized I was Jewish straightaway and she suggested we should make our way to Kaunas together. She took me directly to the Jewish Committee, which had been set up in the town immediately after the liberation. It was there that my aunt, Anya Koc (née Langleben), found me, and I lived with her for a year. Later on, my father’s brother, Mark Stein, took me to Moscow. He used to call me Ella: the name Mina sounded too Jewish to his ears, Manuela was too long and Manya seemed too Russian.
From there my mother fetched me home in 1947. She had been unable to do so before that, because she had not been able to obtain a permit from the authorities to travel to Moscow. I lived without my parents for three and a half years. We moved to Vilnius, where my mother worked first as a waitress and later as a bookkeeper.
The Lithuanian family had kept my cousin Mina on in their household; they thought that Mina would stay with them for always. Eventually someone appeared in the village in Red Army uniform. It was Nosen Levit, the husband of Mina’s aunt Musya. The couple adopted Mina and she came to live and grow up in the care of her aunt.
In 1958 we left for Poland and from there, Israel in 1959. My father’s sister, Rebecca, had been a Zionist. She had departed for Israel in 1919. Our father had visited her in 1935; he had liked Israel, but our mother had not been prepared to leave her family behind in Lithuania. Rebecca met us when we arrived. Settling down in Israel was not easy at first; our mother had to work very hard, but she always made sure that we did not go short.
Izana married in 1950, she has two children, five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. I married in 1964. For many years Mother helped us bring up our children, so that we were able to study (I studied chemistry) and acquire a profession. She was always cheerful, energetic, surrounded by friends and she never complained about anything. She died quietly and suddenly, not getting in anyone’s way or making things difficult for others.
I am retired now and have two children and five grandchildren. I work as a volunteer in an organization that provides advice and practical help for inexperienced people trying to cope with the maze of bureaucracy. Mina graduated from the Vilnius University and became a paediatrician. She married Filip Kotkes, and the Kotkes family emigrated to Israel in 1972. Mina worked as paediatrician till retirement several years ago. The Kotkes have three children and four grandchildren.
Raanana, Israel, 2009
First published in 2011 by Vallentine Mitchell
London, Portland, OR
On one occasion one of the pigs went missing; I tried as hard as I could to find that pig but failed and returned home with one pig too few. I was beaten with a strap and sent back out barefoot to look for the lost pig. While I was looking for it, this time at the nearby bog, knowing that pigs liked mud, I suddenly bumped into it. The pig began to squeal very loudly, and in my fright I fell over into the mud. I can still remember that wild squealing and how frightful I looked, all covered in mud.
It is likely that my Jewish mind was still ticking over even in those hard times. My parents used to send me suitcases with clothes from time to time, and there were a few books as well. I could already read at that stage and loved reading: my father sent me to a teacher in the ghetto, mainly so that I should learn to read and write in Russian. I used to give away the clothes to other girls in the village so that in exchange for each garment they would look after the animals for me, while I lay at the edge of the field reading books.
A little later on, my cousin Mina joined us, once again with the help of Januliavichius. She was four and a half at the time. Father had carried her out of the ghetto in a sack of potatoes; the guards had been bribed, but for the sake of appearances they had stuck their bayonets through the sack taking care not to do Mina any harm. Mina’s parents were still alive at the time, but they did not live long enough to know that she had reached the village safely.
Mina was still wetting her bed at night and this made the couple who had taken us in very angry. We slept under the same blanket. Once I took the blame for the wet bedding, so as to spare Mina a thrashing. I was severely beaten with a stick. Mina was a very pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. German soldiers often used to drive into the village, but she never aroused their suspicions. I even remember one German soldier playing with Mina and putting her on his knee.
The food in the village was always the same, but at least we did not go hungry. For breakfast we were given a mug of milk and black bread and for dinner and supper we had dumplings. Sometimes we were given a piece of bread with pork fat. We never sat around idly though from morning till night. When the Russians were about to enter Lithuania, Mr Januliavichius disappeared. Long before that he had told my father not to look for him after the war.
The last of Januliavichius’ attempts was to rescue Izana. Izana had already been dressed up in a black coat with a fur collar, so that she would look more grown-up, and Januliavichius was preparing false papers for her in the name ‘Danute’. He was delayed, however, and, by the time he arrived, the ghetto gate was shut tight.
A few days before the ghetto was liquidated, Mother asked Uncle David to let Izana take shelter in his bunker, but he refused. He told her that there was not even room for a pin in there, as it was so crammed with people. It turned out that his refusal saved Izana’s life. The Germans blew up the bunker and none of the people, including Aunt Adela Stein, who had been hiding there, survived.
Father met his end in the Dachau crematorium; Mama and Izana were transferred to Stutthof. From museum documents we have since discovered that Mother succeeded in having herself registered seven years younger than she really was and Izana as two years older than her actual age; this move probably saved both their lives. From Stutthof, Mother and Izana were transferred to various work camps. Even when they could sense that defeat was round the corner, the Nazis went on forcing these women to cover long distances on foot, but one day the guards just abandoned them and ran off. The women managed to make their way to the deserted Turin camp, where Russian troops later found them.
Mother and Izana were liberated in January 1945, but they were held up in Poland for two weeks. There they learned of our father’s death. It was also the time when Izana fell ill with pneumonia and only just pulled through. They were then taken to Grodno in Belarussia, where they had to spend quite a long time. The only reason why my mother and Izana went back to Kaunas at the end of 1945 was to reclaim me.
In July 1944 artillery shelling of the village by the Russians began, and Mina and I had to sleep in the cellar on its damp floor. We used to lie on one half of a blue blanket and cover ourselves with the other. At the end of my stay with them, the Lithuanian family had sent me off without any help, without any directions or instructions. I had put on two sets of clothes: one of them had been the ‘sailor suit’ with the pleated skirt. I took with me my favourite brown teddy bear under one arm and under the other a live hen as I set off to Kaunas. When I told my granddaughter’s class about my experiences, one of the questions asked was, what had I done with the chicken?!
After walking a few kilometres, I came across a 14-year-old Jewish girl on a horse-drawn cart. She had gone into hiding of her own accord in a Lithuanian household in another village. She realized I was Jewish straightaway and she suggested we should make our way to Kaunas together. She took me directly to the Jewish Committee, which had been set up in the town immediately after the liberation. It was there that my aunt, Anya Koc (née Langleben), found me, and I lived with her for a year. Later on, my father’s brother, Mark Stein, took me to Moscow. He used to call me Ella: the name Mina sounded too Jewish to his ears, Manuela was too long and Manya seemed too Russian.
From there my mother fetched me home in 1947. She had been unable to do so before that, because she had not been able to obtain a permit from the authorities to travel to Moscow. I lived without my parents for three and a half years. We moved to Vilnius, where my mother worked first as a waitress and later as a bookkeeper.
The Lithuanian family had kept my cousin Mina on in their household; they thought that Mina would stay with them for always. Eventually someone appeared in the village in Red Army uniform. It was Nosen Levit, the husband of Mina’s aunt Musya. The couple adopted Mina and she came to live and grow up in the care of her aunt.
In 1958 we left for Poland and from there, Israel in 1959. My father’s sister, Rebecca, had been a Zionist. She had departed for Israel in 1919. Our father had visited her in 1935; he had liked Israel, but our mother had not been prepared to leave her family behind in Lithuania. Rebecca met us when we arrived. Settling down in Israel was not easy at first; our mother had to work very hard, but she always made sure that we did not go short.
Izana married in 1950, she has two children, five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. I married in 1964. For many years Mother helped us bring up our children, so that we were able to study (I studied chemistry) and acquire a profession. She was always cheerful, energetic, surrounded by friends and she never complained about anything. She died quietly and suddenly, not getting in anyone’s way or making things difficult for others.
I am retired now and have two children and five grandchildren. I work as a volunteer in an organization that provides advice and practical help for inexperienced people trying to cope with the maze of bureaucracy. Mina graduated from the Vilnius University and became a paediatrician. She married Filip Kotkes, and the Kotkes family emigrated to Israel in 1972. Mina worked as paediatrician till retirement several years ago. The Kotkes have three children and four grandchildren.
Raanana, Israel, 2009
First published in 2011 by Vallentine Mitchell
London, Portland, OR