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From the interview of writer Y.Tseytlin with A.Shtromas
From the interview of writer Yevsey Tseytlin with Aleksandras Shtromas (this interview was published in the magazine Мосты No.9, 2006)
From the 4th book Hands Bringing Life and Bread
When thewar started I was 10. I was in a children’s pioneer camp in Palanga
Early in the morning I was woken up by a cannonade: it was artillery fire. I did not understand what was happening, I thought it was a storm. I was the first to wake up and went to wake the director. He said: “Sleep, it’s nothing. The storm will go away.” And at that very moment: bang! An artillery shell hit our two-storey house. A fire started. The director of the camp (a young Lithuanian) jumped out of bed and we began waking everybody up.
The stairs were already on fire. We tried tying blankets together so we could get down from the second floor, but we did not manage it. We ran down the burning stairs, some were injured and I, in my pyjamas, was lucky to reach the ground.
The house was on barren land and happened to be in the very centre of artillery fire: shrapnels were popping and whistling all around us. We ran towards the forest. A lot of children were already gathered there. My leg was injured by the shrapnel while I was running but once my wound was bandaged I could walk reasonably well. We were heading north.
I was calm. A very nice girl, Epšteinaitė, was walking next to me: I felt too uncomfortable to show fear (Ana Epšteinaitė never came back from the Palanga pioneer camp. On June 20 1941 she wrote a letter from the pioneer camp to her parents and sister Dalija. Her relatives received the letter the next day. Nobody has ever heard about Ana since then. The place of her death is unknown). I assumed the male role, took care of her, comforted her. This helped me as well.
Our leaders told us to lie down whenever we heard the whistle of a mine or bomb... We passed the wood and approached a beach. It was quiet here and we went on. We walked for a long time, two or three days, towards Darbėnai, near the border with Latvia. It is there that I first saw the Germans.
It was crystal clear to me: Germans meant death. I had no illusions. I was convinced that there would be no salvation for Jews: they will kill all of us. So I decided to avoid the Germans as much as possible. I walked in my pyjamas and blood was seeping through the bandage.
We walked together with a Russian boy, Ženia Medvedev. When I saw an unfamiliar uniform, I said: “Ženia, let’s get out of here: these are Germans!” Ženia thought differently: “Don‘t be afraid, they are Latvians.” But I knew who they were and said: “Ženia, sorry, but I will continue alone.” And I went into the forest hoping to link up with some of our group.
I walked a few kilometres through the bushes. When I got to a clearing I saw our pioneers marching towards me surrounded by German guards. I turned back into the wood but soon found myself in front of a barrier. “Listen, boy”, I was told in German, “Go back, your lot are over there” I understood that there was no escape, so I went back...
In the field kitchen we were fed by the Germans. One girl, who probably liked me, went and brought me and Ženia three or four portions of porridge. We had been walking for a long time without any food.
We rested a while. I was thinking: what should I do? I should act “denial”. We were taken back to Palanga where Lithuanian baltraiščiai (“wearing white armbands”) were already in charge. They started sorting us at once: separating the Jewish from Christians children. They lined us all up and said: “Those of you who are Jews: three steps forward.” All Jews, except for me, went those three steps. Nobody pointed a finger at me, this was better than I had hoped for. Maybe they did not know who I was. However, this girl, Vitkauskaitė, who fed me and Ženia, she surely did know who I was: we had attended the same school.
The Jewish children were taken and locked in the Palanga synagogue. They were given very little food, and taken to work. These kids had some amber, so children of our group used to bring them bread rolls in exchange for some amber.
Those of our leaders, who were members of the Communist Youth Party, were arrested at once and the other teachers were appointed as supervisors. One such respectable, stout teacher came up to me... “You are smart Shtromas, you did not admit that you were a Jew...”
Nobody turned me in. I was not even circumcised. My father was an opponent of Jewish traditions in principle. I heard rumours that there were only two of us not circumcised in the whole of Lithuania, myself and Dimka Kopelmanas...
A day for returning to our home cities (by bus) was scheduled; to Kaunas - in two or three weeks time. They started writing our names to report to our parents that we were alive and well and that they should meet us at an appointed time. I gave the address of our reliable friends and, of course, said my last name: Shtormas.
Obviously nobody came to meet me and I was very happy about this. Those who were not met by their relatives slept on the floor of the Red Cross Hospital. I had to wait till the end of the curfew. My friend Ženka also stayed.
By 4 a.m. one was allowed to be on the streets, I set off not home, but to my grandmother and grandfather’s, who lived on Smalininkų street: I thought that I wouldn’t find anyone at our house, that my father may have been killed or that my parents had escaped.
I got there at 5 a.m. and started ringing the doorbell. Nobody opened the door, they were afraid. I decided that grandfather along with grandmother were not there. Well, I must go to our flat, someone surely lives there and could tell me where the previous owners went, what happened. Ženka Medvedevas went with me, he lived close to where I lived, on Žemaitės street.
I was downstairs ringing the doorbell: no one answered. Someone should be there though. I kept ringing and ringing: suddenly I heard a voice from the balcony saying in Lithuanian: “Little boy, you must be in the wrong place, what do you want?” I lifted my head and there was my mum! I had never heard her speak Lithuanian. She knew a little bit of Lithuanian but spoke Lithuanian only with her maids. She did not recognise me, I had completely changed, Ženka gave me some of his clothes.
My mother exclaimed: “Alik..!” This is how I found myself back home: as though I had fallen out of the sky, like snow...
My father perished during the first days of the war whilst I was in Palanga. When I came back they were hiding this from me. They wanted to create an illusion that he may be somewhere in a concentration camp, alive. In the family everybody knew how close I was to my father and how dear he was to me. It was only after the war that I found out about his death.
Early in the morning after I returned from Palanga I went through all the rooms, no father. My grandmother Sofi (Sophie), my mother’s mother, who had come here in 1941 from Paris escaping from the Germans, spoke many European languages and said to my mum in French: “Thank goodness the boy is not asking about his father.” I pretended I did not hear, though I understood French...
Then came the ghetto. I escaped from there. When Kaunas was liberated on 1 August I rushed to look for the remains of my relatives in the former territory of the ghetto.
There I met Sniečkus . When he understood that I was the son of Jurgis Shtromas he said: “We know how your father died”. I did not know. I only knew that he was arrested when I was not in Kaunas. I asked Sniečkus to tell me how it all happened. He told me (they had intelligence reports) that my father was killed in the garage. This was a shock to me.
After a few years Sniečkus showed me the pictures published in Vorwärts .
Sniečkus told me the story: those Jews who did not manage to escape, had held important positions and went to their work place on 23 June 1941, were led away by partisans. All detained Jews were locked in the Lietūkis garage and all killed there. How, Sniečkus did not tell.
You are speaking about the tragic fate of my father, about the fact that this person, who was totally assimilated, died like a Jew. I think it was more complicated. For me, and for my mother, assimilation was a natural process which was ongoing from my very birth. It was much more complicated for my father. He was born into a traditional family of litvaks; later on he consciously chose his own path. His decision was to become a citizen of the world.
“What about your mother?” asked Sniečkus. I answered that I came to look for her amongst the thousands of charred, stinking corpses left in the ghetto. I searched around yet found nothing; looked everywhere, walked wherever it was possible to get through but still did not find anything...
It only became clear later that my mother was taken to Stutthof. The prisoners who came back told me that she had died there. From these inmates returning from Stutthof I also found out the circumstances of my mother‘s death.
That is how I lost my parents, became an orphan and moved in with Sniečkus. He took me into his family.
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum, 2009
From the 4th book Hands Bringing Life and Bread
When thewar started I was 10. I was in a children’s pioneer camp in Palanga
Early in the morning I was woken up by a cannonade: it was artillery fire. I did not understand what was happening, I thought it was a storm. I was the first to wake up and went to wake the director. He said: “Sleep, it’s nothing. The storm will go away.” And at that very moment: bang! An artillery shell hit our two-storey house. A fire started. The director of the camp (a young Lithuanian) jumped out of bed and we began waking everybody up.
The stairs were already on fire. We tried tying blankets together so we could get down from the second floor, but we did not manage it. We ran down the burning stairs, some were injured and I, in my pyjamas, was lucky to reach the ground.
The house was on barren land and happened to be in the very centre of artillery fire: shrapnels were popping and whistling all around us. We ran towards the forest. A lot of children were already gathered there. My leg was injured by the shrapnel while I was running but once my wound was bandaged I could walk reasonably well. We were heading north.
I was calm. A very nice girl, Epšteinaitė, was walking next to me: I felt too uncomfortable to show fear (Ana Epšteinaitė never came back from the Palanga pioneer camp. On June 20 1941 she wrote a letter from the pioneer camp to her parents and sister Dalija. Her relatives received the letter the next day. Nobody has ever heard about Ana since then. The place of her death is unknown). I assumed the male role, took care of her, comforted her. This helped me as well.
Our leaders told us to lie down whenever we heard the whistle of a mine or bomb... We passed the wood and approached a beach. It was quiet here and we went on. We walked for a long time, two or three days, towards Darbėnai, near the border with Latvia. It is there that I first saw the Germans.
It was crystal clear to me: Germans meant death. I had no illusions. I was convinced that there would be no salvation for Jews: they will kill all of us. So I decided to avoid the Germans as much as possible. I walked in my pyjamas and blood was seeping through the bandage.
We walked together with a Russian boy, Ženia Medvedev. When I saw an unfamiliar uniform, I said: “Ženia, let’s get out of here: these are Germans!” Ženia thought differently: “Don‘t be afraid, they are Latvians.” But I knew who they were and said: “Ženia, sorry, but I will continue alone.” And I went into the forest hoping to link up with some of our group.
I walked a few kilometres through the bushes. When I got to a clearing I saw our pioneers marching towards me surrounded by German guards. I turned back into the wood but soon found myself in front of a barrier. “Listen, boy”, I was told in German, “Go back, your lot are over there” I understood that there was no escape, so I went back...
In the field kitchen we were fed by the Germans. One girl, who probably liked me, went and brought me and Ženia three or four portions of porridge. We had been walking for a long time without any food.
We rested a while. I was thinking: what should I do? I should act “denial”. We were taken back to Palanga where Lithuanian baltraiščiai (“wearing white armbands”) were already in charge. They started sorting us at once: separating the Jewish from Christians children. They lined us all up and said: “Those of you who are Jews: three steps forward.” All Jews, except for me, went those three steps. Nobody pointed a finger at me, this was better than I had hoped for. Maybe they did not know who I was. However, this girl, Vitkauskaitė, who fed me and Ženia, she surely did know who I was: we had attended the same school.
The Jewish children were taken and locked in the Palanga synagogue. They were given very little food, and taken to work. These kids had some amber, so children of our group used to bring them bread rolls in exchange for some amber.
Those of our leaders, who were members of the Communist Youth Party, were arrested at once and the other teachers were appointed as supervisors. One such respectable, stout teacher came up to me... “You are smart Shtromas, you did not admit that you were a Jew...”
Nobody turned me in. I was not even circumcised. My father was an opponent of Jewish traditions in principle. I heard rumours that there were only two of us not circumcised in the whole of Lithuania, myself and Dimka Kopelmanas...
A day for returning to our home cities (by bus) was scheduled; to Kaunas - in two or three weeks time. They started writing our names to report to our parents that we were alive and well and that they should meet us at an appointed time. I gave the address of our reliable friends and, of course, said my last name: Shtormas.
Obviously nobody came to meet me and I was very happy about this. Those who were not met by their relatives slept on the floor of the Red Cross Hospital. I had to wait till the end of the curfew. My friend Ženka also stayed.
By 4 a.m. one was allowed to be on the streets, I set off not home, but to my grandmother and grandfather’s, who lived on Smalininkų street: I thought that I wouldn’t find anyone at our house, that my father may have been killed or that my parents had escaped.
I got there at 5 a.m. and started ringing the doorbell. Nobody opened the door, they were afraid. I decided that grandfather along with grandmother were not there. Well, I must go to our flat, someone surely lives there and could tell me where the previous owners went, what happened. Ženka Medvedevas went with me, he lived close to where I lived, on Žemaitės street.
I was downstairs ringing the doorbell: no one answered. Someone should be there though. I kept ringing and ringing: suddenly I heard a voice from the balcony saying in Lithuanian: “Little boy, you must be in the wrong place, what do you want?” I lifted my head and there was my mum! I had never heard her speak Lithuanian. She knew a little bit of Lithuanian but spoke Lithuanian only with her maids. She did not recognise me, I had completely changed, Ženka gave me some of his clothes.
My mother exclaimed: “Alik..!” This is how I found myself back home: as though I had fallen out of the sky, like snow...
My father perished during the first days of the war whilst I was in Palanga. When I came back they were hiding this from me. They wanted to create an illusion that he may be somewhere in a concentration camp, alive. In the family everybody knew how close I was to my father and how dear he was to me. It was only after the war that I found out about his death.
Early in the morning after I returned from Palanga I went through all the rooms, no father. My grandmother Sofi (Sophie), my mother’s mother, who had come here in 1941 from Paris escaping from the Germans, spoke many European languages and said to my mum in French: “Thank goodness the boy is not asking about his father.” I pretended I did not hear, though I understood French...
Then came the ghetto. I escaped from there. When Kaunas was liberated on 1 August I rushed to look for the remains of my relatives in the former territory of the ghetto.
There I met Sniečkus . When he understood that I was the son of Jurgis Shtromas he said: “We know how your father died”. I did not know. I only knew that he was arrested when I was not in Kaunas. I asked Sniečkus to tell me how it all happened. He told me (they had intelligence reports) that my father was killed in the garage. This was a shock to me.
After a few years Sniečkus showed me the pictures published in Vorwärts .
Sniečkus told me the story: those Jews who did not manage to escape, had held important positions and went to their work place on 23 June 1941, were led away by partisans. All detained Jews were locked in the Lietūkis garage and all killed there. How, Sniečkus did not tell.
You are speaking about the tragic fate of my father, about the fact that this person, who was totally assimilated, died like a Jew. I think it was more complicated. For me, and for my mother, assimilation was a natural process which was ongoing from my very birth. It was much more complicated for my father. He was born into a traditional family of litvaks; later on he consciously chose his own path. His decision was to become a citizen of the world.
“What about your mother?” asked Sniečkus. I answered that I came to look for her amongst the thousands of charred, stinking corpses left in the ghetto. I searched around yet found nothing; looked everywhere, walked wherever it was possible to get through but still did not find anything...
It only became clear later that my mother was taken to Stutthof. The prisoners who came back told me that she had died there. From these inmates returning from Stutthof I also found out the circumstances of my mother‘s death.
That is how I lost my parents, became an orphan and moved in with Sniečkus. He took me into his family.
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum, 2009