Erhalten Sie Zugang zu diesem und mehr als 300000 Büchern ab EUR 5,99 monatlich.
- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018
'At the age of six I began to fear for the future. … By the age of nine I was on the run for my life. … By the time I was ten I had seen all there was to see.' An accessible and honest account of the Holocaust that reminds us of the dangers of racism and intolerance, providing lessons that are relevant today. A true story of heroism during this painful horrific time in history. Tomi Reichental grew up in a small village, with friendly neighbours and a big, happy family. But things began to change, and Tomi was told he couldn't play with some of the local children any more. Then the police started to take away friends and family. Life changed completely when he was sent a thousand kilometres away, with all the other local Jews, to the terrifying Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. The Nazis killed millions of people, simply because of their race or religion. Tomi tells his story so that such a horrific thing won't happen again.
Sie lesen das E-Book in den Legimi-Apps auf:
Seitenzahl: 181
Das E-Book (TTS) können Sie hören im Abo „Legimi Premium” in Legimi-Apps auf:
Ähnliche
Contents
Foreword
This story is based on what happened to me, Tomi Reichental, and my family and millions of other people like me in the years 1939–45.
Once upon a time, I lived in a little paradise. It was called Merašice. It was the place I grew up in. My father, Arnold, was a farmer. My grandparents had the village shop. We were at the heart of everything that happened in our little corner of Slovakia.
My older brother Miki and I had the run of the place. I recall endless days of fun and games, winter and summer. My mother, Judith, smothered us with affection and spoiled us with treats. My favourite was her delicious home-made ice cream.
Life was good. We were lucky boys who wanted for nothing, surrounded by the love of a big family.
Then one day it all changed.
After living in Merašice for hundreds of years, we were told, ‘You people are strangers in this land. Jews are no longer welcome here.’ Then our nightmare began.
Life would never be the same again. The paradise that was Merašice was lost for ever. At the age of six, I began to fear for the future. One day, we said goodbye to our cousins, aunts and uncles. We never saw them again.
By the age of nine, I was on the run for my life and later ended up in Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. By the time I was ten, I had seen all there was to see.
Tomi Reichental
Part I
The Farm
1
Summer
‘Tomi!’ The voices were full of laughter. It was Chava and Miki, coming nearer and nearer to his perch high in the tree. Tomi had gone higher than he ever had before, hoping the green leaves would hide him.
‘Tomi! We are coming! We can see you!’
That was Laco’s voice, deeper than the others. So he was there too. Laco was the oldest cousin, the leader of the group of eight who met every summer at Tomi’s house. He was sure they could not possibly see him, up so high with the green branches below. Not one of them had looked up.
Then Miki called out, ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are! You can’t hide from us!’ His older brother’s voice was mocking.
But if I stay very still, thought Tomi, if I don’t even allow myself to breathe, maybe they will go by and I will not be caught. The breeze swayed the branches gently, bringing with it the scent of hay. Through the branches he could see the wheat fields, just turning gold, and the black and white cows in the distance, their tails flicking lazily to keep off the flies. All part of his father’s farm.
Earlier that summer, Omama, his grandmother, had told him a story about a hidden treasure, buried deep in the earth. Afterwards, he had spent hours hunting for treasure in the fields. His father had come upon him digging beside the stream and asked him what he was up to. He smiled when Tomi told him. ‘Look around you, my son. The land is all the treasure we need. The harvest fields are our gold. And there are diamonds in the wet grass when the sun lights it up in the morning!’
Tomi laughed and said, ‘I see what you mean, Apuko! And the cows eat up the diamonds, and they come out in the milk!’
‘I’m not sure our milk has diamonds in it, especially when you see the price we get for it. But we have enough to live on. And that’s all we need.’ His father held out his hand for Tomi to take. They had walked home through the wheat fields with the dogs racing beside them.
Soon the wheat and barley would be harvested and milled. Later again, the tiny green apples all around him would turn red and be picked, stored over the winter in the apple-loft. Tomi loved that time of year.
He loved every time of the year, because each time brought new, good things, but his favourite time was spring-time, when the trees in the orchard were covered in blossom. He would lie in the new grass under the trees during the first long evenings and watch the white petals drift down like snow. Sometimes he could see the storks flying home across the sky to their nest in the old church tower.
‘We know where you are, Tomi, and we’re coming to get you!’ Chava had joined in with her older cousins, her voice high-pitched and excited. Chava got excited very easily. She lived in the city and was sometimes frightened by the animals on the farm. It made Tomi feel big and brave to explain to her that the cows were just curious when they came running across the fields to see her.
Tomi stayed as still as he could, hoping no one would look up. Now he could see Laco’s, Miki’s and Chava’s heads beneath his perch – Laco’s dark, the tallest of the group, Chava’s and Miki’s lighter, like Tomi’s own blond hair.
Chava’s long hair was braided up every morning by Aunt Margo, but today, after a morning spent climbing trees and crawling through haystacks, the braids had come down and were unravelling around her shoulders.
Now there was another voice calling – it was Tomi’s mother, his anuka.
‘Children! Come to the summer house! Ice cream!’
‘Ice cream!’ Tomi dropped from his branch, landing right in front of Laco and Miki and Chava, making them jump. They shrieked with laughter and raced towards the tiny wooden hut, where they crowded in around the table. Mariška was there, dishing out home-made ice cream into their bowls, along with raspberries and strawberries and the first plums.
She had put a jar filled with wildflowers in the middle of the table. There were cornflowers and poppies, the bright blues and reds of her brightly coloured skirt and headscarf. Mariška helped his mother in the house, and she was one of the kindest people Tomi knew.
Then Tomi’s mother appeared with the small sweet cakes that he loved so much. Anuka was taller than Mariška, and her clothes were more quietly coloured and somehow different. But then his mother was a little different from the local women. Like Chava, she had been brought up in town and had only begun to live in the country after she married Tomi’s father, who had taken over the farm when his parents decided to set up a shop in the village.
Both Tomi’s parents were different in small ways from most of the villagers. They read more and were more interested in what went on in the world outside the village. They had a radio and listened to the news and to music almost every evening. Most people in the village did not have a radio, and no one else had a motorcycle. His father’s pride and joy, the cousins loved to have a go on it when they came to visit.
There were six of his cousins gathered around the table now: the boys, Laco, Bandy and Juraj, and the girls, Kati, Chava and Tikva. They came from the cities to visit. Every summer, the cousins came and ran wild on the farm, fishing in the little rivers, getting in the way of the harvesters when they decided to help and getting their feet so dirty that Mariška would scold Tomi and Miki as she scrubbed them clean before bedtime. ‘What children you are! I have never seen such dirt! You cannot be putting those feet in the clean sheets!’ Mariška did all the washing and was very proud of the whiteness of her sheets, sheets that had to be scrubbed as hard as their feet.
‘Any more ice cream, Teta Judith?’ asked Laco. Tomi’s mother smiled and scooped some more out. ‘You are all getting so tall! I don’t know if it’s a good idea to feed you any more. You won’t be able to fit on that bench the next time you come here.’ They all knew that Tomi’s mother was teasing; there was always plenty of good things in the farmhouse.
‘The next time we come it will be the winter holidays,’ replied Laco. ‘We won’t need ice cream – we will have snow!’
Scraping the last of the fruit and the melting ice cream from the bottom of his bowl, Tomi looked around at the smiling faces and hoped nothing would ever change. And, for some time, nothing did.
2
Winter
‘Tomi, I want you to pop around to the shop and get some sugar from Omama.’
‘Right now?’ Tomi asked. It was so warm and cosy in the house, and he knew that outside would be freezing.
‘Yes, right now. Father Harangozo is coming over later, and I want to make some cakes for him.’
Tomi groaned. ‘Can’t Miki go?’
Miki glared at his brother. Tomi glared back. He didn’t know why he was always the one who was asked to do errands. His mother said it was because Miki was four years older and had more schoolwork. But Tomi thought it was because Miki would always put up an argument about why he couldn’t do the chore just then. It sometimes took so long for him to do as he was asked that his mother would complain that she could have got it done herself in the time it took to get Miki to do it for her.
‘Miki is busy with his homework.’ She held out the canister for the sugar. ‘Now, Tomi, that’s enough. Just do as you have been asked, and go.’
Tomi had been sitting on the floor by the stove, the dog’s head against his lap. The dog stretched his long legs lazily towards the fire and yawned when Tomi pulled himself up.
Tomi didn’t really mind going to the shop, which was just around the corner. Having to pull on a heavy coat and hat and gloves and boots when the shop was so close, however, seemed ridiculous to him, but his mother always insisted that he did. It was bitterly cold outside, and she thought Tomi was delicate. She was always trying to force him to eat the vegetables that he hated, telling him that they would make him grow big and strong.
He muttered a little as he pulled on his boots and took his hat and scarf from the brightly painted dresser. His mother smiled at him. She knew that he quite liked going around to his grandparents’ shop. Omama would sometimes give him one of her wonderful cakes, Opapa a sweet or two. Just to get rid of him and Miki, he always said, but although his face was stern when he said that, his eyes would twinkle.
Outside, Tomi was glad of his boots, for the snow had been falling for some time and was piled high on the ground. It was dusk already, the sun a red ball in the west. In the east the first stars were showing.
Tomi loved the snow. He loved the way it changed the village into somewhere strange and magical. All the familiar things in the yard were now mysterious humps and bumps, and everything seemed so clean and pure. It made Merašice feel like a little world of its own.
Soon the Christmas holidays would be here, and he and Miki would be able to take their special toboggan – the best in the village – and ride for hours, up and down the hill by the church. Then, like every year, some of the cousins would arrive for a winter visit, and they would join in the fun. And then it would be Christmas, and even though the family did not celebrate the Christian feast, Tomi and Miki, like every other child in the village, would put their shoes on the windowsill on Christmas Eve for them to be filled with goodies.
Tomi loved their own Jewish festival of Hanukkah, the festival of lights, celebrating the Holy Temple of Jerusalem. Over the eight days of Hanukkah, a candle would be lit each evening until all the branches of the special candlestick, the Menorah, were alight. Their Jewish friends from the neighbouring villages would come around to their house to celebrate. They would eat the treats that had been carefully prepared and drink Anuka’s wonderful home-made fruit liquors, served in the crystal glasses she was so proud of.
Tomi and Miki would not be allowed to use these glasses until after their Bar Mitzvah, when they became adults. Like the silver cutlery and the good sheets and pillowcases, the pretty china and the ornaments, they were looked after carefully. Anuka explained to Tomi that all these things had been wedding gifts. They were to be used only on special occasions, and they were to last a lifetime, maybe even beyond, to be handed on to Tomi and his brother when they were grown up and had left the house to get married.
The lights of the little shop, and the Hanukkah candles lighting up the window, glowed warmly against the snow. The shop was the only one in the village, and what his grandparents did not have in stock they made sure to get for their customers.
Tomi pushed open the door, shaking snow from his boots. Inside, the space was stacked with everything and anything. It always astonished him that in a place so full of so many things, Omama and Opapa could put their hand on whatever was asked for straight away.
‘And how is my little one today?’ Omama asked, smiling. ‘Have you come for a story or a cake?’
Tomi shook his head and held up the canister. ‘Anuka sent me for some sugar. Father Harangozo is coming tonight to play cards, so she is making cakes.’
Omama smiled. ‘He is a good man, the priest. He knows all the secrets of the village and says nothing! I will give you some cheesecakes to take back with you.’
Tomi thought his grandmother was a little bit like the priest. She would sit in her own special chair behind the counter, smiling, knitting away, always ready to chat to whoever came in. People loved to talk to her, and they told her things they told nobody else. Omama didn’t give penance or punishment, like the priest did, she just smiled and nodded. And listened. She was a good listener. Small and plump, she always wore a crisp white apron over her skirts, and her hands were always busy, with cooking, with knitting, with sewing, with mending. They were only still when she would pull Tomi onto her knee and tell him stories, like Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel.
Opapa was different: he didn’t waste time chatting. He was very serious about keeping up Jewish traditions, more so than Apuko and Anuka. He arranged to have all their meat killed in the kosher way and recited the blessing over the challah, the special bread they ate on Saturdays, the Sabbath. This was their special day, just like Sunday was the Sabbath day for Christians. On that day, Mariška arrived early to the Reichental house because they were not allowed to do any work. It was the only day in the week when Tomi felt different from his neighbours.
There was the sound of a cart pulling up outside the shop, and a stranger came barging in, slamming the door behind him, shaking snow from his coat all over the floor. Tomi could not help staring. They rarely got strangers in Merašice, just the travelling workers who came around to do jobs like putting glass in windows or mending pots and pans.
This man was tall and rough-looking and spoke with an odd accent. He looked around swiftly and scowled at Tomi. Then he said to Opapa, ‘So you must be those Jews then. I am looking for Ludo Nedelka.’
Omama came out from the back with some cheesecakes for Tomi as his grandfather explained how to find the Nedelka house. The stranger grunted. He poked one of the cakes, which Omama had put on the counter, and Tomi thought how rude he was. He would have had his hand slapped if he had done that.
‘Is this some kind of Jewish cake?’ the stranger asked, staring at Omama. She said calmly, ‘It’s a local recipe. These cakes are the very best in Slovakia.’
The stranger growled something, picked up the cake and took a large bite out of it. Tomi was furious. He was about to tell the stranger just what he thought when he saw his grandfather shake his head at him very slightly.
The stranger stuffed the rest of the cake into his mouth, threw a small coin on the counter and left, slamming the door behind him. They could hear him shouting at his horse and the clatter of hooves as he left.
‘What was wrong with that man?’ Tomi asked. ‘Why was he so rude?’
His grandmother shrugged. ‘No need to worry about that,’ she said. ‘He’s just a rude man. Luckily not very many people are like him. Most people respect us.’
‘And those who don’t are just jealous of us,’ said Opapa, his voice angry. ‘Just because we have a little – a very little – more than they have. As if that wasn’t all down to hard work and effort. That’s our strength, that and keeping the family together.’
Opapa looked very stern as he said this, and Omama looked at him anxiously. She said quietly, ‘Hush, now, Tomi doesn’t need to hear this. As I said, most people respect us – why even the priest is a good friend of your parents, Tomi. You had better get back with that sugar or there will be no cake for him tonight. Just hold on one minute and I will get you another cheesecake.’
All evening, Tomi puzzled over what had happened. Why had the man spoken to his grandparents like that? Was there something wrong with being Jewish? Was that why the man did not like them? Tomi didn’t feel any different to anyone else in the village. It was true, as Opapa said, their family did have a little more than some others – a little more land, a house built of bricks instead of mud. They didn’t go to the church, but why was that so important?
Father Harangozo, who was playing cards and enjoying the cakes and the fine plum brandy, said jokingly, ‘You are much quieter than usual tonight, Tomas!’
Father Harangozo was small and stout and smiled a lot. He was Hungarian, and often he and Tomi’s parents chatted in that language.
‘He’s been like that since he went over to the shop,’ said Anuka. ‘I hope he didn’t get a chill. Are you warm enough, Tominko?’
Tomi nodded.
‘Is something bothering you?’ asked his father.
Tomi shrugged. He didn’t like being the focus of all this attention, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to tell all these adults what was worrying him. Perhaps he was being silly and they would laugh at him.
They were looking at him expectantly, and the card-playing had stopped. Even Miki was looking up from his book.
Tomi started hesitantly. ‘It was this man.’ He stopped.
‘What man?’ asked his mother.
‘He came into the shop, and he was so rude, and talked about us being Jews. Opapa seemed angry. Did that man not like us because we are Jewish?’
Tomi’s parents were silent. Miki looked on intently and said nothing. The priest sighed and said, ‘If that is the case, he is a very stupid and un-Christian man. He should know that we are all God’s children, Tomas, and that your family is a very fine one. Why, I do not know how I would survive without your parents’ good company.’
‘Or Judith’s plum brandy,’ said Apuko, and everyone laughed.
That night in bed, Tomi thought about the stranger for a long time. He was glad that there was no one like that living in Merašice. It always seemed safe from the outside world, and especially safe at times like this when the snow came.
With the shutters closed, he could not see the snow falling, but he knew it was there. The snow will keep us safe, he thought sleepily. We are quite safe, really, in spite of men like that one who came here today.
Safe and sound, safe and sound, he thought drowsily, repeating the words in his head until he went to sleep. And, for a little while, they were.
3
Leaving the Village
T
