rescued jewish children
Hasia Aronaite-Gitlin and Volodia Katz
I Always Celebrate My Birthdays
Hasia Aronaite-Gitlin and Volodia Katz
From: Solomon Abramovich and Yakov Zilberg “Smuggled in Potato Sacks”, 2011
My father, Chaim Aronas, moved to Kaunas from Ionava, a small Lithuanian town, and worked in the famous Kapulsky shop and café. There he met my mother Michle, née Katz, who was also originally from Jonava. Both my parents were Communists.
I was born in 1936 in Slobodka; two and a half years later my brother Motele was born. When the Germans invaded Lithuania, father's parents and three of his brothers were killed in Jonava. My parents tried to retreat to Russia, but were stopped by Lithuanians and forced to return to Kaunas. I remember very well the long and tiring journey we made on foot. Our cart turned over and German soldiers helped us to put all our belongings back in order.
When we reached Kaunas, we found our home occupied by our former housemaid; she did not let us in. It was a German officer who ordered her to leave our apartment. In the cart accident I had badly wounded my leg. It was bandaged, and whenever my parents left our apartment, they used to hide money and jewels beneath the plaster. Once, when my parents were not at home, several Lithuanians came in. They searched every corner of our house, but found nothing. Eventually they undressed me, tore my plaster and took the money and jewels. They beat me and then left me there naked and frightened.
Although our house was in Slobodka, it was not within the ghetto borders. We were forced to move to the ghetto. I was a very agile and mischievous child. At time of the 'selection' during the 'Great Action' I constantly moved from one column to another until a German soldier shouted, 'Stay still!' Eventually we were selected to join the 'good' line, but my Uncle Moshe Aronas, his wife and two children were sent to the Ninth Fort.
I can remember my birthday celebrations in the ghetto and even remember receiving a very special present from the neigh- bour's son: it was a bandage glued with pieces of coloured paper to wear as a crown on my head. These days I always celebrate my birthdays; if we could celebrate it in the most terrible conditions of the ghetto, it is a Mitzvah and duty to celebrate now when we are free and well.
From our house we could see Jews being led to the Ninth Fort. I also saw the escape of prisoners from this fortress; one of them, our relative, came to our room. My mother was terribly anxious: if he was found, we would all be punished by death. After maybe only a day my father led him somewhere else.
When my parents went to work, they always left us some food on the table. My father used to say, 'The food does not belong to the one who gets to it first, but to the one who waits patiently.' I always sent my younger brother first, and then reminded him what our father would say.
Though my mother protested, my father joined the anti-fascist underground organization. He would let me distribute proclamation leaflets in the ghetto. I was a naughty girl and would play snow fights with the neighbours' children, with the leaflets hidden under my dress. Motele was a much more responsible boy; he would pull me by the sleeves saying, 'Come on, we have chores to do.'
During the 'Children's Action' Motele was hidden in a bunker together with several other kids. They were discovered by the Germans, led to a laundry and there burnt alive, while the distraught parents were forced to watch their execution. My father told me, that when the fire caught Motele, he shouted, 'Mother, Mother, when I burnt my finger, you would blow on it so it would not hurt!'
My mother ran towards him to throw him out of fire. A Ukrainian policeman struck her with the handle of his rifle. She lost consciousness and suffered a bad backbone injury in her fall. My mother never recovered after this incident.
I was smuggled out of the ghetto twice; I think at that time I was already aware of what was going on. The first time there was an arrangement with a woman who lived in the central part of Kaunas. She was paid generously for hiding me.
I was told to crawl under the barbed wire of the ghetto fence at a strategic moment and to walk in a certain direction where a Lithuanian woman would be waiting for me. After successfully getting past the fence I walked in the darkness until suddenly a strange woman called to me. She brought me to another woman's apartment where I was hidden for some time. I remember that if there was a round-up, I would be locked in a basement. I was only 6 years old, but I sat there quietly talking to rats that wandered around me. I do not think I was afraid! Today I am afraid of spiders, insects, you name it!
I did not stay in that apartment for long. One day I heard that a Jewish girl had been discovered and killed together with a Lithuanian woman in this neighbourhood. I ran to my 6-year-old cousin Cilia Katz who was being hidden nearby with another Lithuanian family. I told her, 'We are going back to the ghetto.' We walked a long way through the Kaunas streets, and it was evening when we reached the ghetto. I stood close to the fence and saw my mother come out of our house. I called to her. She looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. She entered the house and told my father that she thought she had heard me call- ing. My father thought this was nonsense, but Mother insisted that he should go check outside. I called him and he saw us. I chose the right moment to slip under the wire fence; Cilia crawled next. She was a little bit clumsy and tore her new coat on the barbed wire and cried bitterly.
Cilia Katz disappeared for ever during the 'Children's Action'. She was exactly my age, the daughter of Hanah and my Uncle Yosef Katz. Yosef was a very good carpenter. Before the war he built a wooden house in Slobodka. The house is still there, but Yosef, Chana and Cilia are not with us. Only Volodia Katz, the youngest son in this family, born in the ghetto on 21 September 1941, survived.
After receiving a shot of Luminal, Volodia was smuggled out of the ghetto in a suitcase. It was agreed that a Lithuanian carpenter whom his father had known for many years would transfer him to a priest. Volodia stayed with this priest for some time but fell ill and was transferred to Dr Baublys, who ran an orphanage and saved many Jewish children. Volodia stayed at the Baublys orphanage until the end of the war. Dr Baublys was able to keep him because he was not circumcised.
Hasia Aronaite-Gitlin and Volodia Katz
From: Solomon Abramovich and Yakov Zilberg “Smuggled in Potato Sacks”, 2011
My father, Chaim Aronas, moved to Kaunas from Ionava, a small Lithuanian town, and worked in the famous Kapulsky shop and café. There he met my mother Michle, née Katz, who was also originally from Jonava. Both my parents were Communists.
I was born in 1936 in Slobodka; two and a half years later my brother Motele was born. When the Germans invaded Lithuania, father's parents and three of his brothers were killed in Jonava. My parents tried to retreat to Russia, but were stopped by Lithuanians and forced to return to Kaunas. I remember very well the long and tiring journey we made on foot. Our cart turned over and German soldiers helped us to put all our belongings back in order.
When we reached Kaunas, we found our home occupied by our former housemaid; she did not let us in. It was a German officer who ordered her to leave our apartment. In the cart accident I had badly wounded my leg. It was bandaged, and whenever my parents left our apartment, they used to hide money and jewels beneath the plaster. Once, when my parents were not at home, several Lithuanians came in. They searched every corner of our house, but found nothing. Eventually they undressed me, tore my plaster and took the money and jewels. They beat me and then left me there naked and frightened.
Although our house was in Slobodka, it was not within the ghetto borders. We were forced to move to the ghetto. I was a very agile and mischievous child. At time of the 'selection' during the 'Great Action' I constantly moved from one column to another until a German soldier shouted, 'Stay still!' Eventually we were selected to join the 'good' line, but my Uncle Moshe Aronas, his wife and two children were sent to the Ninth Fort.
I can remember my birthday celebrations in the ghetto and even remember receiving a very special present from the neigh- bour's son: it was a bandage glued with pieces of coloured paper to wear as a crown on my head. These days I always celebrate my birthdays; if we could celebrate it in the most terrible conditions of the ghetto, it is a Mitzvah and duty to celebrate now when we are free and well.
From our house we could see Jews being led to the Ninth Fort. I also saw the escape of prisoners from this fortress; one of them, our relative, came to our room. My mother was terribly anxious: if he was found, we would all be punished by death. After maybe only a day my father led him somewhere else.
When my parents went to work, they always left us some food on the table. My father used to say, 'The food does not belong to the one who gets to it first, but to the one who waits patiently.' I always sent my younger brother first, and then reminded him what our father would say.
Though my mother protested, my father joined the anti-fascist underground organization. He would let me distribute proclamation leaflets in the ghetto. I was a naughty girl and would play snow fights with the neighbours' children, with the leaflets hidden under my dress. Motele was a much more responsible boy; he would pull me by the sleeves saying, 'Come on, we have chores to do.'
During the 'Children's Action' Motele was hidden in a bunker together with several other kids. They were discovered by the Germans, led to a laundry and there burnt alive, while the distraught parents were forced to watch their execution. My father told me, that when the fire caught Motele, he shouted, 'Mother, Mother, when I burnt my finger, you would blow on it so it would not hurt!'
My mother ran towards him to throw him out of fire. A Ukrainian policeman struck her with the handle of his rifle. She lost consciousness and suffered a bad backbone injury in her fall. My mother never recovered after this incident.
I was smuggled out of the ghetto twice; I think at that time I was already aware of what was going on. The first time there was an arrangement with a woman who lived in the central part of Kaunas. She was paid generously for hiding me.
I was told to crawl under the barbed wire of the ghetto fence at a strategic moment and to walk in a certain direction where a Lithuanian woman would be waiting for me. After successfully getting past the fence I walked in the darkness until suddenly a strange woman called to me. She brought me to another woman's apartment where I was hidden for some time. I remember that if there was a round-up, I would be locked in a basement. I was only 6 years old, but I sat there quietly talking to rats that wandered around me. I do not think I was afraid! Today I am afraid of spiders, insects, you name it!
I did not stay in that apartment for long. One day I heard that a Jewish girl had been discovered and killed together with a Lithuanian woman in this neighbourhood. I ran to my 6-year-old cousin Cilia Katz who was being hidden nearby with another Lithuanian family. I told her, 'We are going back to the ghetto.' We walked a long way through the Kaunas streets, and it was evening when we reached the ghetto. I stood close to the fence and saw my mother come out of our house. I called to her. She looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. She entered the house and told my father that she thought she had heard me call- ing. My father thought this was nonsense, but Mother insisted that he should go check outside. I called him and he saw us. I chose the right moment to slip under the wire fence; Cilia crawled next. She was a little bit clumsy and tore her new coat on the barbed wire and cried bitterly.
Cilia Katz disappeared for ever during the 'Children's Action'. She was exactly my age, the daughter of Hanah and my Uncle Yosef Katz. Yosef was a very good carpenter. Before the war he built a wooden house in Slobodka. The house is still there, but Yosef, Chana and Cilia are not with us. Only Volodia Katz, the youngest son in this family, born in the ghetto on 21 September 1941, survived.
After receiving a shot of Luminal, Volodia was smuggled out of the ghetto in a suitcase. It was agreed that a Lithuanian carpenter whom his father had known for many years would transfer him to a priest. Volodia stayed with this priest for some time but fell ill and was transferred to Dr Baublys, who ran an orphanage and saved many Jewish children. Volodia stayed at the Baublys orphanage until the end of the war. Dr Baublys was able to keep him because he was not circumcised.
Before the liquidation of the ghetto, a group of about seventy Jewish men and women, including Volodia's parents, escaped to a forest, and hid there in a bunker which they had dug for them- selves. A man who was paid to take care of the food supply turned out to be a traitor. The group was surrounded by the Gestapo and burnt alive. There were only three survivors, who were not in the bunker when the incident occurred.
My father was asked by the underground leaders to stay in the ghetto and not to join the detachment. He passed his days in a workshop but at nights he would sew boots for the partisans. Once during a meeting of the underground group to which he belonged, Dr Kutorgiene told my father that he was lucky to have come that day: a shelter had been found for me.
Dr Kutorgiene was a most courageous and noble woman. Endangering her own life she would enter the ghetto to arrange contact between the underground members and the kind Gentiles who were willing to rescue Jewish children. This time they were talking about a monastery in Zemaitija. My father asked me if I was prepared to leave the family to go there and I agreed. My mother was against the arrangement, but my father persuaded her. When I think about it now, I am surprised at myself. How could a girl at that age agree to leave her parents and go to an unknown place with complete strangers? The realities of the ghetto presumably made us mature enough to understand these situations; we felt the dangers and behaved in a way not typical of normal children's behaviour.
This time, just a day before the 'Children's Action', I was carried out of the ghetto in a sack of potatoes and transferred to our contact. She led me to a location in Kaunas, from where orphan girls were taken to the Girenai nunnery, located near the town of Rietava. I remember how petrified I felt on this journey. I was warned not to speak in Yiddish. During the long journey by train to this orphanage I was afraid I'd get my languages mixed up, so I kept silent.
I was registered in the orphanage as Marite Radzevichiute. As far as I remember, I lived there for almost two years. I mostly worked in the kitchen, and because I worked well and very fast, the adults praised me and often gave me extra food; I was clever enough to share it with other girls. During my leisure time I would knit, a skill I had learnt at a very young age. I understood very well that I was different, and using wits beyond my years, I bribed other girls with extra food and knitted clothes. All the orphans in the nunnery were supposed to pray every evening. I would pretend to pray, but actually every evening I'd repeat to myself, 'I am Hasia Aronaite, my father is Chaim, my mother is Michle, my brother is Motele', and so on.
When the front approached our nunnery, all the nuns escaped, leaving us without any supervision or food. We would wander through the buildings and garden, abandoned, cold, hungry and dirty. At the end of 1944 a young Jewish man in Soviet Army uniform appeared in the orphanage; he had heard there might be a Jewish girl being hidden in Girenai. He talked to a priest and then met me, asking me who I was. I told him the words I had repeated so many times in my 'prayers'. He wanted to take me to his relatives in Rietava, but I refused to go. He also posted a notice to the Kaunas synagogue notifying my whereabouts. This man was later killed by Lithuanian bandits, called 'Zhaliukai', the so-called 'forest brothers'. According to the descriptions I heard later, this young man was probably Shmuel Peipert.
My mother died in Stutthof from disease and starvation. My father was released from Dachau, mobilized into the Soviet Army and came back to Lithuania only in 1946. He found the notice in the synagogue and went to collect me from Rietava. By then I was living with Peipert's relatives, who had eventually persuaded me to leave the orphanage. I remember I was lying in bed and saw my father's reflection in a mirror. I jumped on him with joy, asking, 'Where are Mom and Motele?' 'We will talk about it later at home' was his reply.
Father took me to his home, where he was living with a woman called Malka. Once we went to Vilnius to see my aunts Sonia and Riva. I saw a woman in the window and was sure it was my mother. I ran towards her shouting, 'Mama!' However, when I got closer I saw it was Aunt Sonia, who resembled my mother. My father married Malka and adopted her two daugh- ters. They had another daughter together. To this day we all maintain a very warm and close relationship. However I never called Malka 'Mother'.
My father was the most kind and generous person. Despite Mother's reservations, many people would stay with us for couple of days in our crowded room in the ghetto. After the war friends and even strangers could find shelter and a meal in our house; my father helped others as much as he could. He used to give pocket money for sweets to the small children from the Jewish orphanage and money for cigarettes to the older ones. He especially supported those who wanted to study and helped others find employment.
I went to a Jewish school where I was the favourite pupil of Sheinale Gertneriene, our beloved teacher. I was married, very young, to Yakov Gitlin and we had two children. We emigrated to Israel in 1972. Yakov passed away comparatively young; he neglected his health, would not complain and by the time he went to see doctors it was too late, he had advanced cancer.
I am not lonely. My children and five grandchildren are with me through the hard times. I am very close to Volodia Katz, whom I regard as my brother. When Kaunas was liberated, Volodia was taken from the orphanage to Vilnius by his aunt Ida Shapiriene. She had returned to Lithuania from Russia. A journey to Vilnius by train was the first event Volodia remembers in his life. They travelled to the sound of shelling and bombardment, the war was still going on.
Ida had a son, Folia. Tragically, he found a grenade that exploded and killed him. Ida was completely broken by this event and was not able to bring up Volodia: she gave him to the Jewish Orphanage. Later he was transferred to the Lithuanian Orphanage, where he lived till he graduated from high school.
Volodia regards the time spent in the orphanage as the worst period in his life. He ran away several times, but was brought back. He was beaten by the older boys until he had to learn to fight and defend myself. Eventually he became one of the strongest boys there and often defended the weak ones. He became a carpenter, like his father. His first son was named Yosef after his late father, and the second, Chanan, in memory of his mother.
On 21 September 1972, his birthday, Volodia's family came to Israel, where he immediately started to work as a carpenter. Eventually Volodia's family settled in quite well. His sons served in the Israeli Army and both graduated from university, one in electronics and the other in civil engineering.
Ashdod, Israel, 2008
My father was asked by the underground leaders to stay in the ghetto and not to join the detachment. He passed his days in a workshop but at nights he would sew boots for the partisans. Once during a meeting of the underground group to which he belonged, Dr Kutorgiene told my father that he was lucky to have come that day: a shelter had been found for me.
Dr Kutorgiene was a most courageous and noble woman. Endangering her own life she would enter the ghetto to arrange contact between the underground members and the kind Gentiles who were willing to rescue Jewish children. This time they were talking about a monastery in Zemaitija. My father asked me if I was prepared to leave the family to go there and I agreed. My mother was against the arrangement, but my father persuaded her. When I think about it now, I am surprised at myself. How could a girl at that age agree to leave her parents and go to an unknown place with complete strangers? The realities of the ghetto presumably made us mature enough to understand these situations; we felt the dangers and behaved in a way not typical of normal children's behaviour.
This time, just a day before the 'Children's Action', I was carried out of the ghetto in a sack of potatoes and transferred to our contact. She led me to a location in Kaunas, from where orphan girls were taken to the Girenai nunnery, located near the town of Rietava. I remember how petrified I felt on this journey. I was warned not to speak in Yiddish. During the long journey by train to this orphanage I was afraid I'd get my languages mixed up, so I kept silent.
I was registered in the orphanage as Marite Radzevichiute. As far as I remember, I lived there for almost two years. I mostly worked in the kitchen, and because I worked well and very fast, the adults praised me and often gave me extra food; I was clever enough to share it with other girls. During my leisure time I would knit, a skill I had learnt at a very young age. I understood very well that I was different, and using wits beyond my years, I bribed other girls with extra food and knitted clothes. All the orphans in the nunnery were supposed to pray every evening. I would pretend to pray, but actually every evening I'd repeat to myself, 'I am Hasia Aronaite, my father is Chaim, my mother is Michle, my brother is Motele', and so on.
When the front approached our nunnery, all the nuns escaped, leaving us without any supervision or food. We would wander through the buildings and garden, abandoned, cold, hungry and dirty. At the end of 1944 a young Jewish man in Soviet Army uniform appeared in the orphanage; he had heard there might be a Jewish girl being hidden in Girenai. He talked to a priest and then met me, asking me who I was. I told him the words I had repeated so many times in my 'prayers'. He wanted to take me to his relatives in Rietava, but I refused to go. He also posted a notice to the Kaunas synagogue notifying my whereabouts. This man was later killed by Lithuanian bandits, called 'Zhaliukai', the so-called 'forest brothers'. According to the descriptions I heard later, this young man was probably Shmuel Peipert.
My mother died in Stutthof from disease and starvation. My father was released from Dachau, mobilized into the Soviet Army and came back to Lithuania only in 1946. He found the notice in the synagogue and went to collect me from Rietava. By then I was living with Peipert's relatives, who had eventually persuaded me to leave the orphanage. I remember I was lying in bed and saw my father's reflection in a mirror. I jumped on him with joy, asking, 'Where are Mom and Motele?' 'We will talk about it later at home' was his reply.
Father took me to his home, where he was living with a woman called Malka. Once we went to Vilnius to see my aunts Sonia and Riva. I saw a woman in the window and was sure it was my mother. I ran towards her shouting, 'Mama!' However, when I got closer I saw it was Aunt Sonia, who resembled my mother. My father married Malka and adopted her two daugh- ters. They had another daughter together. To this day we all maintain a very warm and close relationship. However I never called Malka 'Mother'.
My father was the most kind and generous person. Despite Mother's reservations, many people would stay with us for couple of days in our crowded room in the ghetto. After the war friends and even strangers could find shelter and a meal in our house; my father helped others as much as he could. He used to give pocket money for sweets to the small children from the Jewish orphanage and money for cigarettes to the older ones. He especially supported those who wanted to study and helped others find employment.
I went to a Jewish school where I was the favourite pupil of Sheinale Gertneriene, our beloved teacher. I was married, very young, to Yakov Gitlin and we had two children. We emigrated to Israel in 1972. Yakov passed away comparatively young; he neglected his health, would not complain and by the time he went to see doctors it was too late, he had advanced cancer.
I am not lonely. My children and five grandchildren are with me through the hard times. I am very close to Volodia Katz, whom I regard as my brother. When Kaunas was liberated, Volodia was taken from the orphanage to Vilnius by his aunt Ida Shapiriene. She had returned to Lithuania from Russia. A journey to Vilnius by train was the first event Volodia remembers in his life. They travelled to the sound of shelling and bombardment, the war was still going on.
Ida had a son, Folia. Tragically, he found a grenade that exploded and killed him. Ida was completely broken by this event and was not able to bring up Volodia: she gave him to the Jewish Orphanage. Later he was transferred to the Lithuanian Orphanage, where he lived till he graduated from high school.
Volodia regards the time spent in the orphanage as the worst period in his life. He ran away several times, but was brought back. He was beaten by the older boys until he had to learn to fight and defend myself. Eventually he became one of the strongest boys there and often defended the weak ones. He became a carpenter, like his father. His first son was named Yosef after his late father, and the second, Chanan, in memory of his mother.
On 21 September 1972, his birthday, Volodia's family came to Israel, where he immediately started to work as a carpenter. Eventually Volodia's family settled in quite well. His sons served in the Israeli Army and both graduated from university, one in electronics and the other in civil engineering.
Ashdod, Israel, 2008