ALONE IN WARTIME
January 15, 2013The ninth and final installment of R’ Zalman Levin’s memoirs.
The Germans had bombed all the bridges that connected Leningrad with the rest of the country and the city was under siege.
I found out that large groups of young people were organizing to leave Leningrad. The only way to leave the city was via Lake Ladoga. It was mid-winter and the lake was frozen and covered with a thick layer of ice.
Those involved with the plan, with the government’s help, convinced thousands of young people in schools that it was worthwhile trying this route. They guided the youth until the meeting point.
Crossing the lake was very dangerous. Although the lake was frozen, there were places where the ice wasn’t particularly thick and strong and there was a real danger that it could break and people would drown. What did we do? All along the path stood a long line of people whose job it was to warn about which areas were safe and which weren’t; which places to cross quickly so the ice wouldn’t have time to crack and where it was slippery and you had to cross slowly. All this was done while the German planes kept up the bombing. We all knew that this was the only way out of the city.
Before we set out, they gave each person a little bit of flour so there would be some way of sustaining ourselves in the harsh days to come. I had my t’fillin and a little zhamicha (animal food made of corn) and I still had the sunflower plates which helped me remain alive.
It took us an entire night to cross the lake. We were terrified since there was no light and there was the possibility of drowning, and so we walked along slowly to avoid falling. In the morning we arrived at the other side of the lake, the more secure part. Large trucks took us in groups to the train station and they put us on trains.
In times like these, everyone looked out for himself. Nevertheless, we tried very much not to offend one another and not to quarrel. There was a heightened sense of sensitivity because of the difficult situation.
After traveling, we arrived in Vologda. We slept there one night and from there we went by train in the direction of Siberia and Kazakhstan, to the cities of Karaganda, Alma Ata and Ufa. The trains were constantly bombed and some of the compartments were destroyed.
(R’ Zalman’s eyes are teary as he recalls what he went through): You are traveling by train and feel that you are in constant danger. At any second a bomb could fall and the compartment you’re sitting in could explode and you and the pieces would rise to heaven in one large flame. It is hard for me to talk about it and relive it. It doesn’t add any life to me (and that’s an understatement). I remember that I stood the entire time and asked Hashem to keep me alive as I was the sole survivor of my family. I asked, with all my heart, that at least I should remain alive as a descendant of my family.
The trip by train took two weeks. They were freight trains and every so often the train would stop and we would take care of our needs in the train stations. Of course, there was no opportunity to bathe because there was no hot water. In any case, in light of the great danger and the desire to flee the bombs nobody thought about luxuries and it sufficed that we had a way of escaping.
The train traveled mainly at night so that the Germans wouldn’t see us and bomb us. In the mornings they would stop the train and put us, hundreds of children and youth, into churches which had large, empty halls. We slept on the floor in our clothes, which were not made of soft down feathers. We would spend the rest of the time waiting until they would tell us we could continue traveling. This went on until we finally reached Karaganda in Kazakhstan.
While I was still in Leningrad, I heard that the family of R’ Avrohom Aharon Chein (the brother of R’ Berke) and R’ Dovid Leib Chein lived in Karaganda, where they had moved before the war for reasons of their own. Karaganda is a city located in an area where there is a lot of coal.
When I arrived in that area, I headed for Karaganda in the hopes that I would find shelter with them. I did not know where they lived so I began wandering about. It was nighttime and I was in a serious bind. It was the height of winter, freezing cold, and dark outside. I walked about like a blind man in a chimney without knowing where to go. I finally saw a house with a light on. I didn’t have much choice and I knocked on a window. I shouted that I needed a place to sleep until the morning and they did not have to worry about food for me since I had my own.
Not only didn’t they let me in, but the man of the house suddenly opened the door and gave me two powerful slaps on the face that propelled me into the snow. It was by a miracle that I remained alive as they were mighty blows.
I had no choice but to return to the train station. There was a bit of heat there and it was relatively pleasant to be there; far better than being outside. I sat there until morning with hundreds of people who were sleeping there.
In the morning I went to look for the Chein family and while looking for them, I discovered that there were more Jews living in the city. I also found out that there was a Lubavitcher Chassid in the city by the name of Yehuda Kulasher (he was the gaon, Rabbi Yehuda Dobrashvili). He was given this name for the city Kulashi in Georgia where he served as rav.
After searching, I arrived at the Kulasher home and they welcomed me warmly. They had a child or two. Their house was a sort of cellar dug out of the earth. I stayed in their home for a few weeks and then spent another few weeks in the home of R’ Leib, the tzaddik, and his wife Devorah Chein. The suffering that he endured is indescribable. I remember that R’ Leib had great compassion on me even though this entailed work on his part. He took care of me so I wouldn’t be bereft and so that I would feel like a member of his household.
I also spent a period of time with his brother, R’ Avrohom Aharon. I moved from house to house to avoid the spying eyes of the government.
(While speaking with R’ Zalman about the mesirus nefesh that other Chassidim went through in Russia, especially during special times like Pesach when they fasted for eight days, he recalled:) Pesach was very hard for us. It was still in the winter and it was hard to obtain food. Every so often we received a little food but there were no matzos. Yet we survived and continued onward. It is hard for me to believe and hard for me to be reminded, hard for me to explain …
***
At a certain point, they were looking for laborers for a munitions factory. As I mentioned, when I lived in Leningrad I had worked in a factory while studying machining. Since I knew the profession I presented myself for the job. They paid only a token sum, but at least they gave us what to eat.
My expertise in machining was in cutting screw threads into metal. This suited me well because they manufactured large quantities of bombs in the shape of bottles and the “bottle” had to have a sort of screw top on which they screwed a sort of wing-shaped piece that served as a propeller that directed the bomb. The broad side of the bomb was filled with explosives and on the narrower end they attached a head that housed the mechanism that caused the bomb to explode when it hit the ground.
Our department had 150 workers. I and another worker were the best. On the wall was a chart that listed the names of workers who reached 100% of their productivity potential and I was listed there as a worker who produced at 150% – 200% of his capacity. Thanks to this, I received a number of premiums and bonuses, and they made a big deal out of me and my excellent work. It was a huge kiddush Hashem.
Unfortunately, there was a manager, the chief machine fitter, who was a big anti-Semite. When he found out that I am a Jew he began making my life miserable. Although there were no external signs that I was Jewish since I hadn’t yet grown a beard and I wore a cap, you could tell I was Jewish because of my nose.
There were other male and female Jews who worked very hard there.
We worked in three shifts throughout the day. Every morning, before I left for work, I would daven in the Chein’s home. Then, I would present myself at work at precisely 8:00.
Some time later, they moved me to a youth hostel where I worked and lived, but that did not last long since I did not feel comfortable there. Besides, there was great danger because they could take me to the army. In fact, every day they took young people from our factory to the army that was fighting on the front against the Germans.
I was all of 17, quite young, and I did not see myself going to the front so fast, from which hardly anyone found his way back alive.
***
I did not work on Shabbos at all. I made an arrangement with some gentile co-workers that when they replaced me on Shabbos I would pay them in food or other gifts. I would also fill in for them when they wanted to take off.
I managed for a while since my absence for a day wasn’t that noticeable, but when Rosh HaShana came and then Shabbos, three days in a row of absence from work, I did not know what to do.
R’ Avrohom Aharon suggested that I burn myself, like by putting my hand in boiling milk, and then I would go to the clinic and say boiling milk had spilled on me and I could not go to work. I did that, but they did not think it was serious enough to prevent me from working. My hand was very red but there was no blister or wound and they said I could work.
The anti-Semitic manager who realized what I had done, swore to take revenge on me. He made sure I was thrown out of the factory even though he knew I was an excellent worker. By not working on Shabbos I associated myself directly with religion and to the Jewish religion, no less, and this angered him exceedingly. He decided to take revenge cruelly. He gaily promised that I hadn’t seen the last of him.
Every so often, people from the military went to the manager and gave him five draft notices for five men who worked there, and he decided to whom to give it. This time, he put me on the list of draftees.
He also reported me to the Comsomol office and I had to register with this communist youth organization. They examined my file and thought I was a sworn communist, considering my work in the war against the enemy. Actually, my enthusiasm for my work was because I was seething inside for what the Germans did to my dear parents.
In general, there were many Jews in the Russian army who fought with bravery and courage against the Germans out a sense of revenge. On the one hand, the Russians loved the Jews’ diligence. There was a slogan at the time which translates into, “Death for death, blood for blood.” It meant that we Russians had to pay the Germans back for what they did. But the cursed Russians were themselves big anti-Semites, and they could not make peace with the fact that the Jews excelled in the army. They always diminished our contribution. They just couldn’t fargin us.
In any case, the Russian propaganda was very powerful and personally affected me. I was taken to the front and joined their ranks even though my heart wasn’t with them, just my body. Aside from this, I was very afraid because I was the sole survivor of my family and I knew that if I would be killed in war, there wouldn’t be anyone to say Kaddish for me.
EPILOGUE
This is what I heard from R’ Zalman. At this point, he did not feel well and he asked for a break. I honored his request but was unable to go back and sit with him on his porch in the warm summer nights and hear more of his memoirs.
These nine installments paint a rich portrait of his life, and yet, we only reached the point when he was 17! However, as I heard, his stormy life continued while he was in the army and afterward. Upon his release, he moved to Eretz Yisroel, married the daughter of R’ Avrohom Pariz, and was famous for putting on t’fillin with people at the Central Bus Station in Tel Aviv where he enabled thousands to perform this mitzva.
R’ Zalman finished his story with his fear that there would be nobody to say Kaddish for him. Hashgacha saw to it that he survived, whole in body, whole in spirit and whole in his religious observance. He merited to raise a chassidishe family which gave him much nachas.
Reader Comments (1)
The proper full spelling should be Rabbi Yehuda Botrashvilii ("ah Rov ah chochom, mit a fi-nif-ter Shulchunorer).
The sentence of interest:
"...I also found out that there was a Lubavitcher Chassid in the city by the name of Yehuda Kulasher (he was the gaon, Rabbi Yehuda Dobrashvili)...".