rescuers of jews
Vokietaitienė Ona
Ona VOKIETAITIENĖ
Antanas VOKIETAITIS
Stanislava VOKIETAITYTĖ-PAŠKEVIČIENĖ
Through the gaps of a rough sackcloth Gita saw blackness – not a single light was on in the darkened town. She did not experience fear – maybe because the sack was carried by her daddy's warm hands, or possibly because fear, hiding and secrecy were typical for a ghetto child. Fear had already become a central part of Gita's existence.
In the spring of 1944, the Vokietaičiai brought the five-year-old Gita from Kaunas into their home. They found it unbearable to watch their neighbour Segalis attach the yellow patch to his clothes. Stasė Vokietaitytė will never forget Jewish men, women, and children being driven along the street, their eyes brimming with horror and sadness...
The new “relative” was very much intimidated. She would remain quiet in the daytime and cry at night. The fifteen-year-old daughter, Stasė, was entrusted with Gita's care. Stasė looked after the girl, dressed her, and slept next to her. The dangers lurked everywhere. The houses were very close to each other, so the neighbours could hear the girl's loud sobs during the night. Once a neighbour heard Gita utter the word “pyragas” (cake) with a pronounced Yiddish accent, and exclaimed, “Vokietaitiene, it's a Jew!” Vokietaitienė's face hardened, and she silently stared into the distance. Stasė was paralyzed with fear. The Vokietaičiai were also cautious around and petrified of another neighbour - he worked in a German office and wore an officer's uniform. The neighbour, however, did not ask any questions. Then as the Germans began retreating from Marijampolė, he came to bid farewell and said, “Well, the story with that girl should end happily for you now.” As the front line drew closer and closer to Marijampolė, more and more German soldiers would walk in the streets of town and drop by the yard of the Vokietaičiai. Seeing the children probably stirred memories of the soldiers' own families – they would show photos of their sons and daughters, and, unaware of her identity, they would put little Gita on their knees and pat her on her head. It was a horrible sight, but Stasė would not grab the girl from the soldiers' arms, in the fear of raising suspicion... Once, however, Gita's father, who was hiding close by, appeared at the Vokietaičiai, not to check whether his daughter was safe – he was certain of that – but because he missed her so very much...
From Hands Bringing Life and Bread, Volume 2,
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum. Vilnius, 1999
Antanas VOKIETAITIS
Stanislava VOKIETAITYTĖ-PAŠKEVIČIENĖ
Through the gaps of a rough sackcloth Gita saw blackness – not a single light was on in the darkened town. She did not experience fear – maybe because the sack was carried by her daddy's warm hands, or possibly because fear, hiding and secrecy were typical for a ghetto child. Fear had already become a central part of Gita's existence.
In the spring of 1944, the Vokietaičiai brought the five-year-old Gita from Kaunas into their home. They found it unbearable to watch their neighbour Segalis attach the yellow patch to his clothes. Stasė Vokietaitytė will never forget Jewish men, women, and children being driven along the street, their eyes brimming with horror and sadness...
The new “relative” was very much intimidated. She would remain quiet in the daytime and cry at night. The fifteen-year-old daughter, Stasė, was entrusted with Gita's care. Stasė looked after the girl, dressed her, and slept next to her. The dangers lurked everywhere. The houses were very close to each other, so the neighbours could hear the girl's loud sobs during the night. Once a neighbour heard Gita utter the word “pyragas” (cake) with a pronounced Yiddish accent, and exclaimed, “Vokietaitiene, it's a Jew!” Vokietaitienė's face hardened, and she silently stared into the distance. Stasė was paralyzed with fear. The Vokietaičiai were also cautious around and petrified of another neighbour - he worked in a German office and wore an officer's uniform. The neighbour, however, did not ask any questions. Then as the Germans began retreating from Marijampolė, he came to bid farewell and said, “Well, the story with that girl should end happily for you now.” As the front line drew closer and closer to Marijampolė, more and more German soldiers would walk in the streets of town and drop by the yard of the Vokietaičiai. Seeing the children probably stirred memories of the soldiers' own families – they would show photos of their sons and daughters, and, unaware of her identity, they would put little Gita on their knees and pat her on her head. It was a horrible sight, but Stasė would not grab the girl from the soldiers' arms, in the fear of raising suspicion... Once, however, Gita's father, who was hiding close by, appeared at the Vokietaičiai, not to check whether his daughter was safe – he was certain of that – but because he missed her so very much...
From Hands Bringing Life and Bread, Volume 2,
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum. Vilnius, 1999