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Before the war
I was born on the 26th January 1934 and was named after my grandmother Růžena. My father came from a large Jewish family that had lived in Prague for several generations and was fully integrated into society. My grandfather was still traditionally dressed, he commanded respect with his big full beard and he kept old customs. But at the same time, he kept up with times. He had seven children – six sons and one daughter – who had their own families and children so I grew up surrounded by tender love. I can still remember how we visited each other and we children played together (mostly we broke something or played pranks).
My earliest childhood years were full of peace: I had kind parents, toys and everything that a small child could wish for. I attended the closest kindergarten together with the children of our neighbours and no distinctions were made between us. I had a lot of friends and was looking forward to a “big” school very much – because I would learn to read and I would not have to wait for when the adults had time to read to me. I intended to read everything and to read all the time.
The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, “flat schools”
But everything was different. In 1940 the attendance of state schools was banned for Jewish children and only one option remained: to attend the Jewish school in Prague 1, Jáchymova street. Until that moment I did not actually perceive the oppressive atmosphere which was growing since the adoption of the Nuremberg Laws. And even then (i.e. in 1940), with my six-year-old mind I could not understand why I couldn’t go to the first grade with the other children I knew from the kindergarten and why I had to go to another school. But nothing could be done about it and so I enrolled in the first grade and finished with very good results. Despite the fact that the school was unimaginably overcrowded and the work for the teachers was very hard, I felt quite satisfied.
In 1941 Jewish children were banned from any education, from elementary schools to universities. From this moment on everything was totally different from my dreams and wishes. We were learning in circles and meeting in flats (so-called flat schools).
Our teachers were risking arrest and deportation (transport) to concentration camps because Jews were prohibited to meet in numbers larger than two and one informer could destroy our lives as well as teacher’s. It had never happened in my case but we were all afraid of detection. We carried the text books and aids in various small bags and until today I remember how much I desired to have a real school bag. The lessons were interesting, plus it had other advantages like being able to meet other children and it was a change for us. We could not do physical training – Jews were not allowed to enter play grounds or other sport facilities. Sooner or later we came to a door that was sealed and no one opened it for us. That was the sign that the teacher (he or she) was taken into the transport. The students didn’t come in the full number either on such a day – some children went to a transport with their parents. I had changed several “flat schools” and the same situation repeated every time. My friends were gradually disappearing to never be seen again. It was difficult to understand (I was eight to ten years old then) and for my whole life after I could not give my friendship to anyone: I was still afraid that my friends could disappear again.
Terezín
At the very beginning of 1945 my father and I were put into one of the last transports and left for Terezín. All my relatives – aunts, uncles and cousins – were deported much earlier and from Terezín, they went on to other concentration camps and did not survive the war. We have never learned where they were tortured to death – maybe in Auschwitz in the gas chambers.
The time we arrived in Terezín, the Nazis could not transport prisoners as the armies of the anti-Hitler coalition advanced very quickly and liberated concentration camps. The Nazis concentrated on the liquidation of the prisoners or on their transport in the direction from the front. That is how it happened that wretched, hungry and exhausted participants in the so-called “death-marches” reached Terezín. All the “Terezín people” were searching for their relatives among them – so did my father. Whoever saw these prisoners, who recuperated for so long after the liberation, who learned to eat and walk and who very often even after the deliberation died, could not forget this scene for the rest of his life. My father did not find any one.
In Terezín I was first accommodated in the barracks together with women (the men were at another place), later in the so-called Home for Children. It was a former school and it was a big progress for us children: we were in a children’s group and we could sing or recite the poems we were able to remember. We could share our child-like opinions and wishes and we had excellent caretakers who understood us. When they succeeded in getting some paper we drew and we even once wrote a dictation. I remember we were not afraid of the dictation – it was a sign for us that the end of the war was approaching, that the regime slackened. We felt very important. What we were afraid of was whether the text of the dictation would fit on the small piece of poor quality wrapping paper. Therefore we drew narrow lines and we wrote our letters as small as possible. Our caretakers understood that we were not doing it to make their difficult work even harder and marked everything without any reproach. Up until now, the pleasant feeling of a nice exercise book and of a good writing pen has not lost it appeal. I also remember that my dictation (as well as the dictations of the others) was full of mistakes but no wonder. Our education was poor and unsystematic, a lot of children had not even attended the flat schools and so they only knew what their parents had imparted to them.
Finally back at home
When Terezín was liberated in May 1945 my father and I returned home. Though he was seriously ill we were happy that the war was over and I was sure that all the troubles were behind me, all the problems were solved and that only all the good, better and best was awaiting me. I was a tallish slim eleven year-old girl – not a child any more and not the adult yet.
I enrolled in fifth grade at the elementary school where I was supposed to be, according to my age, and realized that everything would not be simple. I was quite good at Czech lessons as I liked reading and read quite a lot but, for example, in mathematics I was for sure one of the weakest students (not speaking about geometry). What troubled me most was the physical training. In fact I had never had PT lessons and I had never gone in for sports – during the war I was prohibited to be a member of any sporting clubs – in short I could not even tumble. My schoolmates, who behaved nicely to me, were not able to comprehend this and were astonished how somebody could be so clumsy. I decided to change this situation and I tried to tumble for a long time until I succeeded. I was satisfied though I was a mass of bruises as I was training on the bare parquet floor in the flat.
When I was almost caught up with the delay at school and was a match for the other students, I learned that I was ill. I brought tuberculosis from Terezín and it broke in 1946. That meant I had to go to a sanatorium for many moths. After my arrival in Prague I did not find any of my several Jewish girl-friends who had survived the war as they all left for Israel with their parents.
At school I was of course again one of the weakest students but my classmates and teachers helped me a lot so I could go on to study at secondary school and finished it with a school-leaving examination.
Afterwards everything was the way it should be and as I wished. I got a job, got married and finished my extramural studies. I have three children, who are adults today, and two grandsons. I think I have gone through a good life – only the wartime childhood in vain, years of my life that were simply lost, and the terrible fate of the whole family remind me constantly and the memories have hurt me up until this day.
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