rescued jewish children
Sara Gillman-Plamm
A Red Dress with White Polka Dots’
Sara Gillman-Plamm
From: Smuggled in Potato Sacks
Fifty Stories of the Hidden Children of the Kaunas Ghetto
Editors
Solomon Abramovich
and Yakov Zilberg
My parents, Moshe Gillman and Sheina, née Codikovaite, a young couple, lived happily in Kaunas. Father worked as a leather lathe operator and my mother was working in a shop called Rosemarin. Mother was pregnant when the war began. I was born in the ghetto on 3 September 1941. Mother does not recall who delivered her, but she was able to tell me that I was born in a secret place where Jewish women were taken to give birth.
Mother’s family lived in Petrashunai, a Kaunas suburb; many members of her family were killed there during the first days of the war. My grandmother, Nessia Gilman, was living in the region designated for the ghetto, and when Jews were forced out of their homes and sent to the ghetto, many of our relatives came to live at my grandma’s home. The house eventually became full of people and was very crowded; there I spent first few years of my life. My grandfather, Berl Gillman, was shot by the Germans during the very first days of the occupation.
One day my parents heard a rumour that the Germans would soon take all children from their parents. Father’s youngest brother, Lebale Gillman, was only 18 at the time. He was my hero and a hero to many others as well. He was a courageous and resourceful young man who knew many people outside the ghetto, and he would help fellow Jews in the ghetto. He arranged for my rescue by finding a Polish family who would be willing to hide me.
I was nearly two and a half years old at the time. My parents gave me a sleeping pill, and somehow succeeded in bringing me to the gate of the ghetto where the Polish man was waiting with his horse and carriage to take me away. Suddenly I found myself in a family of strangers; I do remember crying a lot.
I called the man ‘Papa Leivus’ and the woman ‘Mama Genia’; they named me Christina and spoke to me in Polish. They were good to me; ‘Papa Leivus’ would bring me candies and play with me. I also remember three visits while I was there. The first was from a woman. I remember being locked in a room with a frosted glass door; through it I saw a white shawl. My instincts told me that the woman had come to see me. Later my mother told me that I was crying hysterically and banging on the door and begging to be let out to see the woman, who was in fact my grandmother. I was very close to her because she was the one who mostly looked after me when we all lived together in her house in the ghetto.
The second visit was from someone else. Again I was crying and banging on the door to be let out. The door was finally opened; I don’t remember the person’s face but I do remember grabbing him around the neck and holding very tightly, so much so that I tore his collar. This was a visit from my Lebale, whom I loved very much.
The third visit was from my mother. One day she felt compelled to see whether I was alive or not, and she didn’t care what might happen to her. She took off the Star of David and made the long trip on foot from Slobodka to the centre of Kaunas where I was being hidden. I remember very little, yet very dramatic details. I was lying with her in a bed in a dark room with all the blinds shut and the lights off, where we both cried incessantly. Finally I fell asleep and when I woke up she was gone; I became hysterical, and Leivus and Genia could not calm me down for a couple of days. So they brought me back to the ghetto where I was fortunate to be picked up by the Jewish police; they knew my uncle Lebale and took me back to my family. But I could not remain there for long and Lebale once more found another refuge for me.
Lebale knew a Lithuanian man who shared his interest in motorcycles; his name was Jonas Vaicekauskas. He had a wife and a young son roughly my own age. He also had an older daughter from a previous marriage. I was given the name Kristina Vaicekauskaite. I do remember that life there was a terrible horror. I remember crying so much that I would shake and eventually fall asleep. I started bedwetting and Jonas would threaten to beat me with a big belt for doing so. I would wake up terrified in the morning and would check my bed to see if I had wet it. His wife Ona, however, was a good woman, and would protect me. I don’t remember if he did ever beat me or if he just threatened to.
Sometimes they would hide me in a dark cellar or closet with their daughter when the Germans were nearby. One morning, when I was ill with chicken pox, I was sitting on the bed with Ona. She was cleaning my hair, which was full of lice, when a couple appeared. The man looked terrible, he was barefoot and his legs were bruised and bleeding. The woman was the stronger one of the two and she supported him. They both leaned against the wall and looked at me. The man fainted. I did not know who they were and did not go to them. The woman called to me to come to her, ‘Sarale come here’. I understood that they were Jewish. I had probably heard that Jews were bad and should be hated so I started to yell, ‘You’re Jews, I hate you. Go away, I don’t want to know you.’
The woman was wearing a red dress with white polka dots. I don’t know why, but it suddenly struck me that I had seen that dress somewhere before. It appeared later that mother had worn that dress when she had come to visit me at my first hiding place: the dress made me feel drawn to the woman. It was a happy ending for me, the couple were my parents. Since then I have never left them and they have never left me.
Lebale was killed, but before that he told my parents the name of the man who was hiding me, and that he was going to move to a village along the River Neiman near Kulautuva, where people would not know him. When the war was over, my parents left their hiding place and went along the Neiman by boat and stopped in each village along the way to ask if Jewish children were being hidden there. Eventually, they reached our village and found me.
The three of us walked to Kaunas. The journey took us two days and we spent the night in a stranger’s barn where we slept in the hay. I wouldn’t leave my mother; I would even follow her to the washroom. I used to sleep with her and hold on to her hair so that she would not leave me. In my early years at school Frida Glazman and Yulia Meltz were among my friends, both survivors of the Kaunas Ghetto; we were all in first grade in the Jewish school, which the Soviets permitted for only two years.
I grew up in a very loving family with my sister Liuba and my brother David, both born after the war. My parents were very busy people, so when one kind Lithuanian woman offered her service to look after children, they accepted her. Onute Pechkyte was our nanny for year, and when I became a mother myself she took care of my eldest son. Onute became a member of our family. It appeared later that during the war Onute had helped to save the life of Shalom Eilati. We kept in close touch with this wonderful woman, supporting her in life and death by putting a stone on her grave.
I studied medicine in the same class with P. Tkatch and Y. Zilberg at the Kaunas Medical School. I was married, and have two children who are already doctors, daughter Naomy and son Lew, who is named after Lebale, my hero.
In 1972 we emigrated to Israel, and after several years moved to Canada, where I am a family physician.
Toronto, Canada, 2008
First published in 2011 by Vallentine Mitchell
London, Portland, OR
Sara Gillman-Plamm
From: Smuggled in Potato Sacks
Fifty Stories of the Hidden Children of the Kaunas Ghetto
Editors
Solomon Abramovich
and Yakov Zilberg
My parents, Moshe Gillman and Sheina, née Codikovaite, a young couple, lived happily in Kaunas. Father worked as a leather lathe operator and my mother was working in a shop called Rosemarin. Mother was pregnant when the war began. I was born in the ghetto on 3 September 1941. Mother does not recall who delivered her, but she was able to tell me that I was born in a secret place where Jewish women were taken to give birth.
Mother’s family lived in Petrashunai, a Kaunas suburb; many members of her family were killed there during the first days of the war. My grandmother, Nessia Gilman, was living in the region designated for the ghetto, and when Jews were forced out of their homes and sent to the ghetto, many of our relatives came to live at my grandma’s home. The house eventually became full of people and was very crowded; there I spent first few years of my life. My grandfather, Berl Gillman, was shot by the Germans during the very first days of the occupation.
One day my parents heard a rumour that the Germans would soon take all children from their parents. Father’s youngest brother, Lebale Gillman, was only 18 at the time. He was my hero and a hero to many others as well. He was a courageous and resourceful young man who knew many people outside the ghetto, and he would help fellow Jews in the ghetto. He arranged for my rescue by finding a Polish family who would be willing to hide me.
I was nearly two and a half years old at the time. My parents gave me a sleeping pill, and somehow succeeded in bringing me to the gate of the ghetto where the Polish man was waiting with his horse and carriage to take me away. Suddenly I found myself in a family of strangers; I do remember crying a lot.
I called the man ‘Papa Leivus’ and the woman ‘Mama Genia’; they named me Christina and spoke to me in Polish. They were good to me; ‘Papa Leivus’ would bring me candies and play with me. I also remember three visits while I was there. The first was from a woman. I remember being locked in a room with a frosted glass door; through it I saw a white shawl. My instincts told me that the woman had come to see me. Later my mother told me that I was crying hysterically and banging on the door and begging to be let out to see the woman, who was in fact my grandmother. I was very close to her because she was the one who mostly looked after me when we all lived together in her house in the ghetto.
The second visit was from someone else. Again I was crying and banging on the door to be let out. The door was finally opened; I don’t remember the person’s face but I do remember grabbing him around the neck and holding very tightly, so much so that I tore his collar. This was a visit from my Lebale, whom I loved very much.
The third visit was from my mother. One day she felt compelled to see whether I was alive or not, and she didn’t care what might happen to her. She took off the Star of David and made the long trip on foot from Slobodka to the centre of Kaunas where I was being hidden. I remember very little, yet very dramatic details. I was lying with her in a bed in a dark room with all the blinds shut and the lights off, where we both cried incessantly. Finally I fell asleep and when I woke up she was gone; I became hysterical, and Leivus and Genia could not calm me down for a couple of days. So they brought me back to the ghetto where I was fortunate to be picked up by the Jewish police; they knew my uncle Lebale and took me back to my family. But I could not remain there for long and Lebale once more found another refuge for me.
Lebale knew a Lithuanian man who shared his interest in motorcycles; his name was Jonas Vaicekauskas. He had a wife and a young son roughly my own age. He also had an older daughter from a previous marriage. I was given the name Kristina Vaicekauskaite. I do remember that life there was a terrible horror. I remember crying so much that I would shake and eventually fall asleep. I started bedwetting and Jonas would threaten to beat me with a big belt for doing so. I would wake up terrified in the morning and would check my bed to see if I had wet it. His wife Ona, however, was a good woman, and would protect me. I don’t remember if he did ever beat me or if he just threatened to.
Sometimes they would hide me in a dark cellar or closet with their daughter when the Germans were nearby. One morning, when I was ill with chicken pox, I was sitting on the bed with Ona. She was cleaning my hair, which was full of lice, when a couple appeared. The man looked terrible, he was barefoot and his legs were bruised and bleeding. The woman was the stronger one of the two and she supported him. They both leaned against the wall and looked at me. The man fainted. I did not know who they were and did not go to them. The woman called to me to come to her, ‘Sarale come here’. I understood that they were Jewish. I had probably heard that Jews were bad and should be hated so I started to yell, ‘You’re Jews, I hate you. Go away, I don’t want to know you.’
The woman was wearing a red dress with white polka dots. I don’t know why, but it suddenly struck me that I had seen that dress somewhere before. It appeared later that mother had worn that dress when she had come to visit me at my first hiding place: the dress made me feel drawn to the woman. It was a happy ending for me, the couple were my parents. Since then I have never left them and they have never left me.
Lebale was killed, but before that he told my parents the name of the man who was hiding me, and that he was going to move to a village along the River Neiman near Kulautuva, where people would not know him. When the war was over, my parents left their hiding place and went along the Neiman by boat and stopped in each village along the way to ask if Jewish children were being hidden there. Eventually, they reached our village and found me.
The three of us walked to Kaunas. The journey took us two days and we spent the night in a stranger’s barn where we slept in the hay. I wouldn’t leave my mother; I would even follow her to the washroom. I used to sleep with her and hold on to her hair so that she would not leave me. In my early years at school Frida Glazman and Yulia Meltz were among my friends, both survivors of the Kaunas Ghetto; we were all in first grade in the Jewish school, which the Soviets permitted for only two years.
I grew up in a very loving family with my sister Liuba and my brother David, both born after the war. My parents were very busy people, so when one kind Lithuanian woman offered her service to look after children, they accepted her. Onute Pechkyte was our nanny for year, and when I became a mother myself she took care of my eldest son. Onute became a member of our family. It appeared later that during the war Onute had helped to save the life of Shalom Eilati. We kept in close touch with this wonderful woman, supporting her in life and death by putting a stone on her grave.
I studied medicine in the same class with P. Tkatch and Y. Zilberg at the Kaunas Medical School. I was married, and have two children who are already doctors, daughter Naomy and son Lew, who is named after Lebale, my hero.
In 1972 we emigrated to Israel, and after several years moved to Canada, where I am a family physician.
Toronto, Canada, 2008
First published in 2011 by Vallentine Mitchell
London, Portland, OR