rescued jewish children
Gita Judelevich
Gita Judelevich (Gita Judelevičiūtė)
“Aren’t you afraid of the punishment for keeping me in your house?”
“Who is going to punish me for sheltering a child?” she said quietly.
/.../ A small and beautiful house with a balcony and wide clear windows is shining white on Vydūno Avenue. We go up the stairs. The doorbell rings. The doors close behind us and the silent guide leaves me at the doorstep of my new life. I stand very small in the dark corridor with my coat covered in snow, slightly confused. I am greeted by a slim woman of medium height, wearing a modest grey dress and a white scarf on her shoulders. Her fair curly hair covers her shoulders, her deep blue eyes look at me very kindly and attentively. For some reason she is laughing and invites me, happily and encouraging, to a big, cosy room, plants me on the sofa and keeps telling me something. A group of youngsters run into the room. A tall girl, smiling at me so kindly, comes up to me to get acquainted. She is the host’s daughter, Irena. Later a man with Eastern features comes in. He seemed to me quite old then, although he was merely twenty five. He looked at me kindly, with some kind of extraordinary compassion, but he says nothing. I learn that he is Binkienė’s son-in-law, Vladas Varčikas. A little while later a young girl comes, dressed in sweatpants. I think she is about thirteen, although she was much older at that time. She had the small, thin hands of a child, a smiling face with blonde curls around it. Her movements were spontaneous and lively. She was the embodiment of youth and unrestrained joy. “Why is this girl dying her eyebrows?“, came like a flash my mind but there was no time to ponder this question. She rushed to me like the wind and kisses me. Her name is Lialė, Lilijana, the youngest daughter.
Later I see Gerdas Binkis and the oldest daughter, Eleonora (In 1929, Sofija Kudrevičiūtė (Binkienė) married with poet Kazys Binkis, and lived in Kaunas, raising together four children: Irena and Lilijana from Sofija’s first marriage and Eleonora and Gerardas from Kazys Binkis’ first marriage): a serious, silent, girl resembling a scientist.
On that first day in the evening they offered me the choice of sleeping in the office room, near a huge shelf, full of books. I missed my home and parents so much that I burst into tears. Lialė dashed to me, asked me why I am so sad, put her head close to me and started to cry with compassion so heavily that I did not know how to console her. Finally all the family came to calm and comfort both of us.
That is how my life started in that house. They became very close to me. All the family members are so kind and sensitive, very sincere not only towards me but also towards each other. They are always lively, full of energy and harbour a strong belief in the future. They did not give up during the hardest days of war, they hated the invaders, they knew how to fight and they held a strong belief in victory. This family exuded life and humanity, which was so deep that even today, with many years of my life having passed, I am unable to find words that would fully express my feelings for this family. /.../
/.../ Once I approached my dear “aunt” (this is how I called Sofija Binkienė) and asked her:
“Aren’t you afraid of the punishment for keeping me in your house?”
“Who is going to punish me for sheltering a child?” she said quietly.
Yet the heap of troubles, the crowds of people at home and constant anxiety exhausted the entire Binkis family. I remember when my aunt walked on the streets, wearing an old coat, a dark headscarf and shrunk with cold and problems. She had to find a place for another person, to deal with or fix something, feed the huge crowd of people for another week… It was not easy for her, not easy at all.
Her daughter Lilijana was ill with pleurisy. She needed open air and nourishing food. Yet the opportunities were very limited, home conditions were hard, with very little space.
Little Iga (Sofija Ligija Varčikaitė, Sofija Binkienė’s granddaughter and Lilijana and Vladas Varčikas’ daughter) was growing up. A child from the ghetto, Kama Ginkas, lived with her in one room and who at the time had whooping cough. It would be very dangerous, even deadly, for Iga to catch the disease. Yet they were not afraid and continued fighting for the life of the persecuted.
The task of escorting a person to the unknown house, take along the document or carry out another urgent assignment fell to Irena. She had given her passport to a total stranger, a Jewish woman who was hiding in town. The Binkis family held discussions on various secret issues but I did not take part in them because I was still a child then. /.../
Unarmed Fighters (Ir be ginklo kariai) p. 64, 68.
/.../ I often remember you. Whenever I am confronted with some unpleasant trifles, or people destroying my belief in life, I always remember you, your fair and kind face, your fair, wonderful and almost grey hair. My dear, kind aunt, you are such a bright and lofty example to me of great human strength, sacrifice, femininity and kind-heartedness. I would love to see you and kiss you kindly for who you are and for the fact that I can remember you as a great comfort.
From Gita Judelevich’s letter to Sofija Binkienė written on 8 October 1952
(Personal archive of Sofija Ligija Varčikaitė-Makutėnienė)
“Aren’t you afraid of the punishment for keeping me in your house?”
“Who is going to punish me for sheltering a child?” she said quietly.
/.../ A small and beautiful house with a balcony and wide clear windows is shining white on Vydūno Avenue. We go up the stairs. The doorbell rings. The doors close behind us and the silent guide leaves me at the doorstep of my new life. I stand very small in the dark corridor with my coat covered in snow, slightly confused. I am greeted by a slim woman of medium height, wearing a modest grey dress and a white scarf on her shoulders. Her fair curly hair covers her shoulders, her deep blue eyes look at me very kindly and attentively. For some reason she is laughing and invites me, happily and encouraging, to a big, cosy room, plants me on the sofa and keeps telling me something. A group of youngsters run into the room. A tall girl, smiling at me so kindly, comes up to me to get acquainted. She is the host’s daughter, Irena. Later a man with Eastern features comes in. He seemed to me quite old then, although he was merely twenty five. He looked at me kindly, with some kind of extraordinary compassion, but he says nothing. I learn that he is Binkienė’s son-in-law, Vladas Varčikas. A little while later a young girl comes, dressed in sweatpants. I think she is about thirteen, although she was much older at that time. She had the small, thin hands of a child, a smiling face with blonde curls around it. Her movements were spontaneous and lively. She was the embodiment of youth and unrestrained joy. “Why is this girl dying her eyebrows?“, came like a flash my mind but there was no time to ponder this question. She rushed to me like the wind and kisses me. Her name is Lialė, Lilijana, the youngest daughter.
Later I see Gerdas Binkis and the oldest daughter, Eleonora (In 1929, Sofija Kudrevičiūtė (Binkienė) married with poet Kazys Binkis, and lived in Kaunas, raising together four children: Irena and Lilijana from Sofija’s first marriage and Eleonora and Gerardas from Kazys Binkis’ first marriage): a serious, silent, girl resembling a scientist.
On that first day in the evening they offered me the choice of sleeping in the office room, near a huge shelf, full of books. I missed my home and parents so much that I burst into tears. Lialė dashed to me, asked me why I am so sad, put her head close to me and started to cry with compassion so heavily that I did not know how to console her. Finally all the family came to calm and comfort both of us.
That is how my life started in that house. They became very close to me. All the family members are so kind and sensitive, very sincere not only towards me but also towards each other. They are always lively, full of energy and harbour a strong belief in the future. They did not give up during the hardest days of war, they hated the invaders, they knew how to fight and they held a strong belief in victory. This family exuded life and humanity, which was so deep that even today, with many years of my life having passed, I am unable to find words that would fully express my feelings for this family. /.../
/.../ Once I approached my dear “aunt” (this is how I called Sofija Binkienė) and asked her:
“Aren’t you afraid of the punishment for keeping me in your house?”
“Who is going to punish me for sheltering a child?” she said quietly.
Yet the heap of troubles, the crowds of people at home and constant anxiety exhausted the entire Binkis family. I remember when my aunt walked on the streets, wearing an old coat, a dark headscarf and shrunk with cold and problems. She had to find a place for another person, to deal with or fix something, feed the huge crowd of people for another week… It was not easy for her, not easy at all.
Her daughter Lilijana was ill with pleurisy. She needed open air and nourishing food. Yet the opportunities were very limited, home conditions were hard, with very little space.
Little Iga (Sofija Ligija Varčikaitė, Sofija Binkienė’s granddaughter and Lilijana and Vladas Varčikas’ daughter) was growing up. A child from the ghetto, Kama Ginkas, lived with her in one room and who at the time had whooping cough. It would be very dangerous, even deadly, for Iga to catch the disease. Yet they were not afraid and continued fighting for the life of the persecuted.
The task of escorting a person to the unknown house, take along the document or carry out another urgent assignment fell to Irena. She had given her passport to a total stranger, a Jewish woman who was hiding in town. The Binkis family held discussions on various secret issues but I did not take part in them because I was still a child then. /.../
Unarmed Fighters (Ir be ginklo kariai) p. 64, 68.
/.../ I often remember you. Whenever I am confronted with some unpleasant trifles, or people destroying my belief in life, I always remember you, your fair and kind face, your fair, wonderful and almost grey hair. My dear, kind aunt, you are such a bright and lofty example to me of great human strength, sacrifice, femininity and kind-heartedness. I would love to see you and kiss you kindly for who you are and for the fact that I can remember you as a great comfort.
From Gita Judelevich’s letter to Sofija Binkienė written on 8 October 1952
(Personal archive of Sofija Ligija Varčikaitė-Makutėnienė)