September 18, 2005
By Erika Eckstut
How do you describe a little town you loved when you were young? I never thought of it as a little town. It had everything. I lived with my father, mother, and sister. I went to school, played there, and had lots of friends. I also had my grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins nearby. My grandfather was special. My sister and I were the only grandchildren he had in Europe. My grandparents had five sons. One was killed in the First World War. Three lived in the United States—my grandmother went every day to the mailbox to see if there was anything from her sons there, but she very rarely received mail from them. My father was the only son left in Europe.
My grandfather spent all his time with my sister and me. However, he gave me most of his attention. My sister and I used to sit outside my grandparents’ house. We always had books to read. My grandfather would come out and stand behind my sister. As soon as she started to read, my grandfather would wink at me, and we would leave her while she was busy reading.
I loved to go with him to visit the cows and the chickens. He would always pick me up for me to see if there were any chicken eggs. I had a little basket and I always found some eggs. He also bought me a horse when I was six. We always rode horses together. He was on a big horse and I was on the little one. When I grew older and bad times came, I always remembered my wonderful times with my grandfather.
When I was six, I started public and Hebrew schools. I was very busy with both. My father was strict with both my sister and me. With my sister, my father had no problem. She was a good student. However, he had a few problems with me. I cut school quite a few times. I finished first grade with all A+’s. The teachers loved me and I loved them. When I was in second grade, I noticed that the school principal was visiting my father at home in his office. I knew exactly what was going on. I was in trouble again. I went to my nana and told her that I was leaving. She yelled at me not to forget to be home in time for dinner. I said thanks and left as fast as I could.
When I returned home for dinner, my father asked me to bring my schoolbook reader and read to him. I opened the book and read from it without a problem. He closed the book and opened it again. He put his hand over the picture on the page and asked me to read. I couldn’t—I knew the book by heart. In those days I had a photographic memory. I still have a photographic memory, but without film. My father was disappointed. He hired a tutor and I learned to read.
We had performances at the Hebrew school at the end of each school year. My assignment was to learn a poem in Hebrew. My father checked on my progress and was satisfied that I knew the whole poem by heart. However, my grandfather was not happy because he felt that he was being cheated out of spending time with me. Then came the moment when I was supposed to perform. My grandfather gave me a little bowl of the cherries that wine is made from. A little later I started to recite my poem to the audience. I started to recite it from the beginning and then from the end, and then I started over from the beginning and recited the whole poem correctly. I received a great deal of applause. Most people in the audience did not know Hebrew. However, my father, who had started the Hebrew school, knew Hebrew perfectly. When I walked off the stage, he met me and asked me to breathe on him. He asked me what I was drinking. Before I could answer, my grandfather said to my father, “If you have a question, address it to me.” They did not talk to each other for a week.
These were happy times. I have so many nice memories. Then came 1940 and the Soviets. We the children had to attend Soviet school and learn Russian. I learned Russian perfectly that year. It was not an easy life under the Soviets, who left in 1941.
A few days after the Soviets arrived, four men came to our house and said my family must go with them. My father asked the men where we had to go. One man responded in an unfriendly manner that we should just come and then we would see where they would take us. My father was a veteran from the First World War and he walked with a cane. My father was a lawyer and the mayor of our town. He knew all the people in town. However, he did not know these four people.
They took us to the end of the town. All Jews in the town were there—about 500 people. They selected the Rabbi and his two sons and shot and killed them in front of us. And then they proceeded to shoot the rest of the men. That day I lost my uncles and cousins. I asked my father why I had to die. My father always had an answer. But that day he had no answer. He just asked me to please not cry. Everybody was crying and praying. All of a sudden, they ran out of ammunition. They placed the rest of us in the courthouse. My father was standing outside smoking and a man came over and said he would take him home. My father said he was not leaving without his family. The man took all of us home. We heard one man say don’t worry, they would get us tomorrow. The next day they came for my father. My sister insisted on going with him. They did not want her, but after much argument they took her along. When they were almost back at the courthouse, a man in a suit came along and said they did not belong there, and my father and sister were returned to our house. An hour later the chief of police came by to tell us that he would help us escape. We escaped that night and we went to Czernowitsie. Czernowitsie was the capital of Bukovina and was in the northern part of Romania.
©2005, Erika Eckstut. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this website are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
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