rescuers of jews
Anužienė (Malein) Elena
Chasia Geselewitz remembers:
I, Grinaitė-Geselevicienė (Geselewitz) Chasia, was born and lived in Širvintos (Ukmergė district). In 1941, I graduated from the Ukmergė Antanas Smetona Gymnasium.
A couple of weeks before the war, the communists deported my parents and brother to Siberia. They came to Ukmergė to take me, but I was already hiding with my cousin in Kaunas. The war began a day later, and I, along with relatives and all the Jews, were confined to the Ghetto in Vilijampolė.
About life in the ghetto, I think everyone knows, we were exhausted, humiliated, hungry, and so on. After the Great Action on October 29, I remained alone in the ghetto. I lost all my relatives and most of my acquaintances (about 10,000 Jews, including Kaunas Ghetto prisoners, were shot on that day; editor’s note). We worked very hard. After some time, I started thinking about escaping from the ghetto (I didn't look very Jewish). But where to run? And so, one day while I was at work, I mentioned to a supervisor that if I had somewhere to escape, I would leave the ghetto. And he (A.D.) suggested that I come to his home. He lived with his wife in a great apartment on Laisvė Avenue. I asked people about A.D., and they didn't have a good opinion of him. But there was no other option, and I decided to go to him. After a couple of weeks, he came home drunk and started shouting that he would take me to the Gestapo. I managed to grab a coat from the hallway and started running; he chased me, but I hid between buildings. Not finding me, he went back, and I escaped to Ona Buzelytė, who lived in Žaliakalnis. I knew Ona Buzelytė from being at A.D.'s. She promised to temporarily take me in. Ona lived with her friend Bronė, had a small room where she hid two clerics who had escaped from the Vilnius seminary, and a little kitchen where the three of us slept on straw. She was a wonderful woman, very concerned about the cruelties happening. But staying with her was very dangerous (the toilet was in the courtyard), and people around started to inquire about me.
After a couple of weeks, Ona got a birth certificate for a deceased girl of my age from some priest. I got the address of the St. Kazimieras Monastery in Vilnius and set off on a journey. Ona escorted me to the train station, and we said goodbye with tears in our eyes. What if they don't accept me? And so, after 5-6 days, I arrived in Vilnius, at the St. Kazimieras Monastery. The head of the monastery was busy, asked me to wait and offered me food. Nuns brought me food, brought snow, and started rubbing my feet and hands (they were frostbitten). After an hour, the head invited me to her place. I told her about myself, that I escaped from the ghetto, and a known priest gave me their address.
The head invited a nun and told her to prepare a place for me. I felt happy to have a place to stay and maybe find acquaintances who could help me (after all, I had so many and lost them all). But, as I thought, the happiness of living in the monastery did not last long. They started arresting Polish monks. It became very dangerous. It was dangerous for the nuns, but death threatened me, so I didn't know what to do. And so, one evening, they took me to the Anužis family. The Anužis accepted me as a sister, hugged me, kissed me, reassured me that I should not cry, and everything would be fine. Mr. Anužis took off my worn-out shoes, sewed several pieces of leather, and started fixing my shoes. Mrs. Anužienė, a beautiful woman, intelligent, aristocratic. And both, like sent angels, circled around me, comforting me. And I thought, what a blessing to meet such people. This is when Ignas came to introduce himself. The Anužis family lived in Vilnius, all three of them in a small room without a kitchen. There was a table in the hallway where they prepared food. The Anužis lived in Kaunas before the Communist occupation, escaped from Kaunas, leaving a well-furnished apartment on Putvinskis Street. They only managed to take the piano, which was important to Mrs. Anužienė, who had graduated from the conservatory.
So, living as three in a small apartment, they accepted me as the fourth. My bed was set up at night between the beds of the Anužis, and Ignas had a bed near the piano. When a stranger came, I would squeeze into the small cabinet that was there.
I had to be very careful not to be seen and therefore betrayed to Gestapo. The Anužis shared their food with me (I didn't have food cards). What they received for three people, they divided into four parts. I was very worried about the situation, not for myself, but for them, as they were in danger. I often cried. The Anužis reassured me, Mrs. Anužienė kissed me, saying, “Don't cry, dear, everything will end soon, God will punish all cruel people for the innocent blood shed.” It's hard to describe everything about these wonderful people and their children (Ignas, Česlovas with his wife Elenutė, and Gabi Anužytė – they were like brothers and sisters to me). I worried about them because if they caught me, they could shoot them too. We started thinking about how to make a passport based on the birth certificates I had. And so, with a passport in hand, I, as a Lithuanian, left Lithuania. For a long time (until 1944), I corresponded with the Anužis, and I visited Kaunas in 1943 for ten days, staying with Česlovas and Elenutė Anužis. I returned to Vilnius in late 1944 when the Germans were no longer there, but I didn't find the Anužis. For a long time, we knew nothing about each other. Only by chance, while in America, I met the Anužis's children: Česlovas, Ignas, and Gabi. The parents were no longer alive. So, every year, in Nazareth, I order holy masses for the souls of those people.
I, Grinaitė-Geselevicienė (Geselewitz) Chasia, was born and lived in Širvintos (Ukmergė district). In 1941, I graduated from the Ukmergė Antanas Smetona Gymnasium.
A couple of weeks before the war, the communists deported my parents and brother to Siberia. They came to Ukmergė to take me, but I was already hiding with my cousin in Kaunas. The war began a day later, and I, along with relatives and all the Jews, were confined to the Ghetto in Vilijampolė.
About life in the ghetto, I think everyone knows, we were exhausted, humiliated, hungry, and so on. After the Great Action on October 29, I remained alone in the ghetto. I lost all my relatives and most of my acquaintances (about 10,000 Jews, including Kaunas Ghetto prisoners, were shot on that day; editor’s note). We worked very hard. After some time, I started thinking about escaping from the ghetto (I didn't look very Jewish). But where to run? And so, one day while I was at work, I mentioned to a supervisor that if I had somewhere to escape, I would leave the ghetto. And he (A.D.) suggested that I come to his home. He lived with his wife in a great apartment on Laisvė Avenue. I asked people about A.D., and they didn't have a good opinion of him. But there was no other option, and I decided to go to him. After a couple of weeks, he came home drunk and started shouting that he would take me to the Gestapo. I managed to grab a coat from the hallway and started running; he chased me, but I hid between buildings. Not finding me, he went back, and I escaped to Ona Buzelytė, who lived in Žaliakalnis. I knew Ona Buzelytė from being at A.D.'s. She promised to temporarily take me in. Ona lived with her friend Bronė, had a small room where she hid two clerics who had escaped from the Vilnius seminary, and a little kitchen where the three of us slept on straw. She was a wonderful woman, very concerned about the cruelties happening. But staying with her was very dangerous (the toilet was in the courtyard), and people around started to inquire about me.
After a couple of weeks, Ona got a birth certificate for a deceased girl of my age from some priest. I got the address of the St. Kazimieras Monastery in Vilnius and set off on a journey. Ona escorted me to the train station, and we said goodbye with tears in our eyes. What if they don't accept me? And so, after 5-6 days, I arrived in Vilnius, at the St. Kazimieras Monastery. The head of the monastery was busy, asked me to wait and offered me food. Nuns brought me food, brought snow, and started rubbing my feet and hands (they were frostbitten). After an hour, the head invited me to her place. I told her about myself, that I escaped from the ghetto, and a known priest gave me their address.
The head invited a nun and told her to prepare a place for me. I felt happy to have a place to stay and maybe find acquaintances who could help me (after all, I had so many and lost them all). But, as I thought, the happiness of living in the monastery did not last long. They started arresting Polish monks. It became very dangerous. It was dangerous for the nuns, but death threatened me, so I didn't know what to do. And so, one evening, they took me to the Anužis family. The Anužis accepted me as a sister, hugged me, kissed me, reassured me that I should not cry, and everything would be fine. Mr. Anužis took off my worn-out shoes, sewed several pieces of leather, and started fixing my shoes. Mrs. Anužienė, a beautiful woman, intelligent, aristocratic. And both, like sent angels, circled around me, comforting me. And I thought, what a blessing to meet such people. This is when Ignas came to introduce himself. The Anužis family lived in Vilnius, all three of them in a small room without a kitchen. There was a table in the hallway where they prepared food. The Anužis lived in Kaunas before the Communist occupation, escaped from Kaunas, leaving a well-furnished apartment on Putvinskis Street. They only managed to take the piano, which was important to Mrs. Anužienė, who had graduated from the conservatory.
So, living as three in a small apartment, they accepted me as the fourth. My bed was set up at night between the beds of the Anužis, and Ignas had a bed near the piano. When a stranger came, I would squeeze into the small cabinet that was there.
I had to be very careful not to be seen and therefore betrayed to Gestapo. The Anužis shared their food with me (I didn't have food cards). What they received for three people, they divided into four parts. I was very worried about the situation, not for myself, but for them, as they were in danger. I often cried. The Anužis reassured me, Mrs. Anužienė kissed me, saying, “Don't cry, dear, everything will end soon, God will punish all cruel people for the innocent blood shed.” It's hard to describe everything about these wonderful people and their children (Ignas, Česlovas with his wife Elenutė, and Gabi Anužytė – they were like brothers and sisters to me). I worried about them because if they caught me, they could shoot them too. We started thinking about how to make a passport based on the birth certificates I had. And so, with a passport in hand, I, as a Lithuanian, left Lithuania. For a long time (until 1944), I corresponded with the Anužis, and I visited Kaunas in 1943 for ten days, staying with Česlovas and Elenutė Anužis. I returned to Vilnius in late 1944 when the Germans were no longer there, but I didn't find the Anužis. For a long time, we knew nothing about each other. Only by chance, while in America, I met the Anužis's children: Česlovas, Ignas, and Gabi. The parents were no longer alive. So, every year, in Nazareth, I order holy masses for the souls of those people.