ב"ה
In Father's Home
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“Avremel Smargoner? He’s a Penimi!”
My father heard that the kosher slaughterer in the town of Tcherepovetz, Siberia, had passed away. Since the community was left bereft of a shochet, many had resorted to eating non-kosher meat, and members of the community were looking for someoneto take his place.
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Photography became a popular new profession and a number community members, my father among them, quickly learned the trade and became photographers.
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We always wondered why we never saw my mother wearing her wedding ring. It was only once I heard the following story that the mystery was solved.
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Radio reports broadcasted the atrocities that the Germans had perpetrated against Jewish civilians in conquered territory and encouraged the Jews to leave Kharkov for safer regions.
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Bread had been rationed, and was distributed solely in exchange for government issued coupons.
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Fearing the Nazi onslaught nonetheless, their mother had pressed them to escape further into the Russian interior.
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After my father left prison, he couldn’t continue with the photo business.
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The terrible wartime economy left us one year without any money for matzos or other food for Pesach.
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I will never forget that frightful scene of Rosh Hashana Eve.
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On the one hand, this was the first time we had a house with our very own yard; on the other hand, every move we made was observed by our neighbors.
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Related Topics
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