Category Archives: Who Were You Dora?

WHO Were You, DORA? A Writing Competition for Love Stories Gives a “Voice” to Three “Forgotten Women”

Qוuirks in time – old letters turn into voices in the present… Naomi’s Photos

I received a surprising letter a few days ago.

I was informed that a writing competition of short love stories inspired by historic letters, had recently taken place.  Someone was inspired by the historic letter I had posted and wrote a short love story, which won first place.

The entries are still not available to the public. I haven’t read the story yet.  Nonetheless, I feel that this story has given a “forgotten woman” from the past, a voice in the present day.

To me, the fact that this short story came into existence actually highlights a line with TWO unhappy women at either end, in addition to an ornery woman in between.

It’s ironic that the historic letter inspired a love story, considering the lives of these two women, but that’s the beauty of art – a moment captured in time can create something that wasn’t there in real life.

Distorted shadows are all that remain… Naomi’s Photos

Back in 2016  I began writing a series of posts in which I, with crowdsourcing help, tried to unravel the mysteries hidden in previously unknown letters written by my mysterious step-great aunt Dvora /Dora before and during WWll (up to 1940) in what was then Poland. The goal was to discover what I could of the short LIFE she lived in Brest, Belarus (then Poland) before its violent end,  most likely on October 15, 1942,  aged 22, at nearby Bronnaya Gora.   ( To see the first post of the series and follow the discoveries, click here:   Who Were You, Dora, One.)

Dora’s life was short and unhappy, we’ll never know if she even experienced her first kiss. Her letters don’t mention anyone – in the period before the ghetto she cared for the house and her father, who perished along with her.

Dora’s letters were written to her much older step-sister Libby/Lillian, who had immigrated to New York when Dora was a child.

The guardian of “lost voices”… Naomi’s Photos

The fact that Lillian kept Dora’s letters isn’t so surprising. At first, they must have been a connection to her past. Then, a memorial to those who perished.

Perhaps having created a physical space to keep letters, Lillian then kept additional letters, from other relatives,  including one from a 16-year-old girl named Haya.

A girl living in a farm school, in the soon-to-become Israel.

What I find mind-boggling is the fact that despite the woman being someone who was, to put it politely,  not known for being warm or “grandmotherly”, was fortunate enough not to have all her old papers chucked into a bin when her cousins’ children cleaned out her apartment after she passed away.

They kept the letters.

Letters that years later made a long journey all the way to me, thanks to them.

Absolutely amazing.

There was a time when her future seemed brighter… Naomi’s Photos

Haya’s letter is dated March 8, 1948.

A dramatic period of change – 3 years after WWII, two months before the Declaration of Independence.

It’s a lovely little letter from a girl describing life at an all-girls farm school in central Israel at that time.

The teenagers studied for about 3 hours every morning and then did farm work for another five hours. There were two groups of young people  – new adolescent immigrants who needed a stable place in which to adjust to their new lives before moving on, and the “local” girls for whom this was their boarding school (though Haya herself immigrated when she was three years old).

They raised Eucalyptus trees at the school. Haya describes how everyone pitched in to fill an order and get SIX THOUSAND  Eucalyptus trees destined for replanting in the arid Negev area out on time.

In the evenings they had gym classes and choir practice. They had a youth movement – sometimes they had fun activities, while other times they discussed current events.

An interesting letter from a historic point of view, though I never would have expected it to inspire a love story!

Letter writing was once “a thing” … (Naomi’s Photos)

I posted the letter on a site called Otzarot – a History in Letters. A national letter archive, in Hebrew. The founders want to show history through the eyes of “regular people”, the kind of people whose lives never made it into newspapers.

A direct link to Haya’s letter, in Hebrew

I posted the letter because I hoped it would somehow let her leave some mark that she was really here.

Haya’s life was a sad one. After a brief, disastrous marriage she became a recluse, working at night and barely interacting with the world.

I  am grateful to the organizers of the story competition. Without having read the short story that the letter inspired, I’m moved that Haya’s letter, written all those years ago, was read and that her existence was remembered.

For me, that is enough.






“If she had been there, she would have been saved”

“She hated strangers talking about her as if she wasn’t standing right beside them”.

When the nest vanishes…
Naomi’s Photos


An excerpt from the short story

The Mathematics of One Winter Blanket / Naomi Epstein

…. “Two sisters

One agricultural boarding school

Three hours of study each morning

Five hours of farm work.

The older sister, trapped in the shadow of her sister’s beauty.

The younger, so blond and with such white skin that she was noticed everywhere, at once.

The summer sun seemed to leave no impression.

The younger sister was unaware that the combination of those long blond braids, wide eyes and frank expression was beautiful. All she knew was that in the late 1940s her looks made people, strangers, talk between themselves about her: “Look at this one. If she had been there, she would have been saved, she would have been spared”. She hated strangers talking about her as if she wasn’t standing right beside them. And those braids – years of pain at the hands of her mother’s hairbrush. Yet she kept silent, always the obedient daughter, the only one in a family of five doing her mother’s bidding, always at her mother’s side.

You can read the complete short story here:

Who Were You, Dora? Now the Bones are Quite Literally Crying Out…

Dora 1935

I’ve delayed writing this post for several weeks.

It’s really hard to write about.

I’ve been making every effort to focus on the LIFE that once was before all hell broke loose, but the bones are, quite literally, crying out their reminder of the DEATH.

This post is an unplanned postscript to the Saturday Series, in which I, with crowdsourcing help, try to unravel the mysteries hidden in previously unknown letters written by my mysterious step-great aunt Dvora /Dora before and during WWll in what was then Poland.  For further explanations about the series see the previous post here.

As I wrote in my posts,  my goal was (and continues to be) to find out as much as possible about Dora’s LIFE – the schools she went to, how she spent her time, what her neighborhood looked like and more. The LIFE she lived in Brest, Belarus (then Poland) before its violent end,  most likely on October 15, 1942,  aged 22, at nearby Bronnaya Gora.  Dora and her father were registered by the Nazis when entering the Brest Ghetto in November 1941, as you can see here. Dora’s name is on line four. Her father’s name is the one on the last line.  To read about the fate of those who entered that Ghetto, read here.

brest ghetto passport
Brest Ghetto registration




But was that Dora’s fate as well or was the following how her life ended?

In February of 2019, on a  construction site of an apartment block in Brest (Dora would have referred called it “Brisk”)  the remains of about one thousand murdered Jews was discovered, with bullet holes. Remains of people of all ages. The site is on the location of the Brest Ghetto. It seems that those who somehow managed to escape the massacre of October 15 were murdered here. This is a link to the BBC post which will give you more information, without pictures of the bones themselves – those can be found on other sites.

I can’t possibly answer and will not try to answer the question of whether or not Dora’s remains were there as well.

What I can do is repost Dora’s last letter here, dated August 25, 1940, when she was 20, years old, her dreams of going to university long gone.  It is fitting to reread her words.

Dora aged 15
Dora aged 15
Dora aged 15 in photo

“Dear Sister,

Your postcard procured us a great pleasure because we did not hope yet to get letters from you. Nearly a whole year passed that we did not correspond one with the other and has delightfully is that we can at last write one to the other. I forgot almost write English during the time, because I am not using it.  

What to me I have none news. As you know I did not succeed in life to this time. I must reconcile with that. The housework is very not interesting and I am busy day by day at house.

From Palestine we have not any letter. There is very unquietly. The father works at a state working place. He will also write you a letter the next days.

Write as soon as you will get this card. Let us hear good news one from the other and the rest family.

Your sincere Dora”

No good news came.

So very very sad.

Who Were You, Dora? Tiny Glimpses into Life before the Holocaust through Ads

There was a time when the only one wearing yellow who was free was a butterfly…
Naomi’s Photos

” Understand, that I am younger and therefore all the troubles influence on me so strong. I must confess that I am not at all ??? Each little thing oldnesses me I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it will pass when all things will be better”.  (Written by Dora Volovelsky, Brest, March 1939, Perished in Ghetto Brest).

Note: For information regarding the “Who Were You, Dora?” series of posts, click here.

We know for a fact that Dora’s life, so tragically,  did not get better at all and ended very badly indeed. That fact is always there when we look back into the past.

Since there were no “better days” in her future, I am drawn to learning about what “better days” were like in earlier times, when Dora was a child. She was born in 1920. The Jewish communities in Pre-War Poland were very literate and had many newspapers. Three years of issues of the local newspaper for the community in Brest,  (where Dora grew up)    Brisker Wochenblat  בריסקער וואכענבלאט   are available online on the Historical Jewish Press Website. Issues from 1928 -1930.

The ads are what attracts one’s eye immediately, especially as they are far easier to understand (I can’t read the articles in Yiddish). There were a variety of ads,  such as advertisements for banks (there was more than one), doctors, clothing and shops that sold shoes. There were ads for plays and performances.  However, a few random ones caught my eye in particular while  virtually flipping through the advertisements in these newspapers. Here are some examples

Driving lessons, easy and quick
June 29, 1928

I wonder who was able to afford such lessons in 1928 and who even had a car.

Carmel Wines, Kosher for Passover, imported from Eretz Yisrael, wine and cognac. They claim it’s tasty! Make sure to get only the original brand with the two “scouts” with the grapes!
March 23, 1928

I suppose it makes sense when you think about it but frankly, I admit that it had never occurred to me that wine was being imported in that direction in the 1920s…

Feb 3 1928

This one is in Polish but the names of the dances are quite clear.  I had to check what “Black-Bottom” dancing was, I had never heard of it. Once again I wonder who attended and who may have studied the ad with interest but would never be permitted to set foot in such a gathering for religious reasons.

Music Lessons – Learn to play an instrument
July 20, 1928

This must have been more common. Not only do we have “The Fiddler on the Roof” image, my own grandmother immigrated from Brest with a fiddle.

Herba soap will give your skin a great color!
July 13 1928

According to family lore, beauty cream was really concoctions of several vegetables but perhaps a nice soap was something more readily available.

Entrance exams to the Jewish Tarbut School

June 7 1929

Dora may have studied here but I’m not sure. In any case, seeing that they had entrance exams to the Jewish school makes me wonder where those who didn’t pass the entrance exams studied. Or perhaps they didn’t study at all? This seems to be high school, not elementary. Many didn’t go to high school in those days.

The bus to Warsaw
Bus to Warsaw

This ad particularly interested me for two reasons. First of all, it may  have been the route to Warsaw that some or all of Dora’s half siblings took when they left home to immigrate.  In addition, the ad says the bus passes through Siedlce. That is where the lovely Beata Gulati resides, the one who helped turn my journey to Belarus into a reality and the point of departure for our trip. Perhaps I retraced a bit of my grandmother’s journey without knowing it?



In memory of Dora and Nochim Volovelsky, who perished in Ghetto Brest.



Witnessing a Teacher Breathe Life into History – Volpa, Belarus

Volpa, Belarus

Note – This is post number five and our final stop on our Heritage Trip to Belarus. Once again, we were dealing with the time period in which Dora lived, but since our relatives from here are from my husband’s side, this post is not strictly part of the “Dora posts” series.

The amazing history teacher Teresa Kudrik and former principal Yuri, in the school’s museum. They gave us a very warm welcome and a fascinating tour.

Imagine you are a student in a small rural school, in a small, sleepy village. One day your teacher takes your class out for an unusual kind of “treasure hunt” around the village, a sort of “story in a suitcase”. At each stop along the way, you meet Basya (one of the older school girls played Basya, dressed up in the old style), supposedly a Jewish girl who once lived here, who tells you what  once used to happen on this spot. The girl’s name was taken from a class photo. In the last years before the Nazi’s took over a few Jewish girls studied in the local school.

The “Mikveh” once stood here.
The synagogue in Volpa was such a unique building that it was known the world over. Poland named it a national treasure in 1929. The only drawback was that it wasn’t heated. In winter it could only be used on the Sabbath and the congregation would try to rush the services because of the cold! It was made of wood and burned quickly during the war.

Imagine Basya explaining that Jews had different places to buy food because of the dietary laws. She would have used  this photo to show that all the children were neighbors and could play together.

A picture found in a villager’s attic. The two neighbors & friends bound forever in the same frame, a Christian boy and a Jewish one (alone in the photo).

Now you must imagine how the walk around the village ends – with Basya revealing that only her spirit could remain in Volpa, since she perished along with all the other Jewish residents (only one survivor).

Can you imagine planning such a tour for the school children?! I was dumbfounded to learn of this project that the amazing history teacher Teresa Kudrik organized. Teachers can work magic, you know! Even more so to learn that Teresa had been on a course at Yad Va-Shem in Jerusalem!

The school has a small but very impressive museum devoted to the history of the place. They raised tobacco here.

In the Jewish section of the museum they used pictures from the Volkovysk Yizkor Book (Memorial Book), where Volpa is mentioned. This was the first place on the trip where we found the complete list of names of the former Jewish residents that perished. We did not encounter such  a list in Antopol or in Volkovysk. It was also our first encounter with someone who was delighted (in fact, the first real smile we encountered on the trip!) to hear that Roni’s grandparents were from Volpa and was happy to receive copies of the few photos we have from those days, for the museum.

The section on local Jewish history
It was thanks to former principal Yuri that we got to visit the museum and tour the school.
Our guide, Andrei Burdenkov, also smiles when he isn’t busy listening and translating for us!

As a teacher, I was also very interested in the school itself. It was very modern looking and attractive. We got to see the fine computer lab and the biology lab. I was surprised to see chalk boards in use but Andrei explained that chalk is abundant in these parts. The classes are very small, the number of residents in such villages is dwindling.

The highlight of our tour!

We took a short walk around town before heading back to the cemetery. We had actually started with the cemetery, if you could call it that. We never would have found it on our own, it is so very easy to miss entirely. Andrei had coordinates. There’s barely anything to see, tall grass (with ticks!) and no fence. But at the museum we learned that a memorial marker had been erected there and so we returned to find it.

Local mailboxes
Spring must be roof mending time.. The winters around here are harsh.

What is left of the cemetery of Volpa…
Volpa cemetery memorial

A memorable visit indeed!

Our guide, Andrei Burdenkov, prepared this video “Driving through Volpa”








Could You Hear the Wolves Howling at Night in Volkovysk, Father?

Note – This is post number four following our Heritage Trip to Belarus. My husband’s father was Dora’s contemporary but naturally, this post is not strictly part of the “Dora posts” series.

Volkovysk – The founding year is proudly displayed

Local legend has it that the name Volkovysk (or Vawkavysk) means Wolf’s Howl. Whether or not a young boy, who later became my husband’s father, ever lay in bed at night, listening to the wolves howl, is something we will never know. Like so many others who literally lost everyone and everything, who for years didn’t even have a picture or a simple memento to place on a shelf, he closed the door firmly on his pre-war life and did not speak of it.

We certainly didn’t hear any wolves from our hotel situated  in the center of the city, and I believe there aren’t any to be heard even on the outskirts of the city nowadays. Winters are harsh in these parts and the windows are thick. Our guide explained that even back then people would nail on  an extra window frame from inside the house for the cruel winter months. Sawdust would often be placed between the frames for extra insulation. Perhaps wolves couldn’t have been heard through all those layers of protection…

The city’s symbol. The supermarket with the multiple cashier adventure can be seen behind it (see first post)!
The view from our hotel. Wide streets, very clean, not a lot of traffic.

Volkovysk was a real battleground during World War 2 and large parts of the  city were destroyed. We heard a lot about that part of local history at the local museum. 13,000 people lived there before the war, 7, 000 of them were Jews. 40 Jews returned after the war.  The museum is dedicated to Military History and not to the general history of the place. They were able to tell us that the Jewish community had its own hospital, in addition to the school. There was a large fire back in 1909 that burned down the entire street where the synagogue was situated. The fire was so intense that the foundations cracked and the building collapsed.  The only pictures of pre-war Jewish life they had were from the Yizkor book (community memorial book written by  former residents after the war) which we are familiar with.

The military museum. They had a small exhibition on dinosaurs too!
Volkovysk after the war, from the museum

So what can one find from the 1920’s after such destruction?

Well, the river is still there. We believe my father-in-law grew up in a house that also served as a shop and we surmised the general location with old maps we had (many thanks to the many people who helped us obtain a copy of an old map, more on that in another post…).

I’m not sure this section of it should actually be defined as a river but it’s lovely!
This is an old house which could have functioned as a shop and a place of residence, or…
…or it could have been a two-story affair, with the residence above the shop (from the museum)
The train station was also there. But when the Jews were forced to board, it wasn’t at the station, but rather further down the tracks.
The descriptions of what happened here in the Ghetto are pretty horrific. It’s now an industrial building.

If we thought that the cemetery we had seen in Antopol was destroyed, the one here is barely  discernible (though more so then the next one to come…). We never would have found this field strewn with stones, a few barely recognizable as headstones without our trusty guide. This one structure in the center is the lone sentinel who, unfortunately, does not speak.

There is no fence, sign or marker

This was once a headstone. A passerby wouldn’t dream it was a cemetery.

The memorial we did find was erected by a killing field, which is located inside a Christian Cemetery.

Remembering the Jews of Volkovysk who were cruelly murdered by the Nazis. 1941-1942 May their memory be blessed.

It’s a strange feeling. It was a gorgeous spring day around us but there were lots of dark shadows too…


Here’s a video our guide, Andrei Burdenkov took of the streets of Volkovysk.


Who Were You, Dora? Antopol – The “Shteitel” Experience

(Note – For explanations about the “Who were you, Dora?” series, click here.)

Easier to visualize days long gone in Antopol!

If this were the United States, there would have been billboards along the road to Antopol advertising it as the village where you can get the authentic early 20th century “Shteitel” life experience, today.  A horse and cart (with a ticket booth!) would have been waiting by the sign to take you on the ultimate village tour. Merchants on carts  would have been a common sight on the Brest-Antopol road in those days, but I can’t help but wonder how commonplace it was for them to pick up a little girl from Brest running away from home to the village, as my grandmother frequently did.

I was too embarrassed to take a picture of the traditionally dressed “Babushka” riding a bicycle and talking on a cell phone…
…but this woman immediately gave me her permission to take a picture of her! We understood each other without a translator!

We walked around with an enterprising local woman (with our guide smoothly translating) who has her own little set tour of the place. Only 800 people, perhaps less, live here today. Not many young folks at all. Once there were several thousand residents, 80% of them Jewish. The woman points at a neighbor passing by and calls out – he lives in a house where Jews once lived. The man replied “I haven’t found anything valuable so I’m not sure about that”.

Some dirt roads remain
There are active wells in many yards. The water table is very high here, I believe they can’t have cellars in these houses.
You still need to stock up on wood
The well is still active but not sure about the outhouse…

The local guide pointed out where the synagogues once stood and the school but I was much more interested in taking in the remnants of how life was, rather than where things once stood. Others have documented that better than I.

The marketplace was once vibrant and bustling. Several times a month the locals from the region would come to trade. As relatives have mentioned, the village was known for its cucumbers.

This served as a model for us in other places where the market buildings are no longer standing
The gate would have let in the wagons with the goods.
The stork must have brought a baby already…
Time moves slowly here…

Seeing the remains of the cemetery was heartbreaking. So little left and in such bad shape. At the time we didn’t know that the other ones we would visit were in much worse condition. Someone had donated a fence for this one.

Photo taken by our guide, Andrei Burdenkov
One of the few headstones left
Even the stork nesting above the cemetery looks unhappy…
The memorial at the field where the deeds were done

Perhaps the original untouched Jewish house?

The local guide completed the tour with  a visit to a little museum with household goods. She was very amused by my ignorance of old methods of ironing. I didn’t tell her that my grandmother preferred to fold the shirts and then sit on them!

Something about heating the stick with the grooves and wrapping the shirt around it…

There was no list (even just of surnames!) of former, pre war residents of Antopol, nor was the local guide familiar with any names. Archives again! Considering the fact that my grandmother had uncles, aunts and cousins from both her mother and father’s side in the village, and married a local boy (big mistake, by the way – but that’s another story) I must have been related to a huge amount of residents there…

A very moving visit indeed!

    • Our guide, Andrei Burdenkov, posted two videos of our visit. Here they are:

Who Were You, Dora? Dora’s Letters & Present Day Brest

(Note – For explanations about the “Who were you, Dora?” series, click here.)

Dora spent her entire life of 22 years in Brest-on-the Bug (from the top of one of Dora’s letters, 1937). Today’s Belarus.

Since Dora’s letter’s all had Brest-on-the-Bug written by the dates, I immediatly assumed that the river we saw shortly after beginning to walk around the city of Brest was the BUG. It was not. It was the Mukhavetz River. In fact, when Dora mentioned not having the opportunity to bathe in the river in a letter, or my grandmother used to say that the Gefilte fish they made was only from Carp (and not a mix) because that’s what they had in the river, they may have been referring to the Mukhavetz. Though, in their day the city was under Polish rule and the Bug river was not on the border, so they may have spent more time there than later day residents. Notice my use of the word “may“? In the first  few hours I learned the basic rule for a Heritage traveller, especially in relation to the big cities (which have changed dramatically since the war, much more than the villages)- never jump to conclusions. The trip is another part of the ongoing research process.

Fisherman by the Mukhavetz river, Brest
The old Great Synagogue, now a cinema with a glass facade around the original structure.
Looking for reflections of the past. There is no cemetery to visit here, a stadium was built on the site.

Dora’s last letter, from August 25, 1940,  had an address on it, and the address is in Russian. Which means that the street name has remained the same. But the street has been rebuilt, the numbers reassigned, so we went to see where their apartment with a cellar may have stood. But then again, by 1940, Dora and her father were the only two of the former nine  family members who once lived together in Brest. This is before they were moved to the Ghetto but they may have had strangers  added to their apartment or themselves moved to this address by this time. So this may not have been the location of my grandmother’s childhood home. The only thing Dora writes is that her father is working in a State Working Place. Ominous sounding. Especially as we knew what his occupation was before. All previous letters were written on the letter head of her father’s workshop, Pracownia Kotlarska which also had an address. A Polish street name but our guide knew the name it had been changed to.

Where my family’s home may have stood, after being compared to old maps since numbers shifted, even if the street name hadn’t.
Where my great-grandfather probably had his workshop, Pracownia Kotlarska.
An example of Kotlarska, copper household goods, taken in Poland
Kind of what I was feeling at this point…

When we stopped trying to locate specific things from the letters (we looked at her possible school site as well), we began appreciating how our guide, Andrei, was able to point out the finer details that have remained from the past. Dora would have moved around the town on foot.  But the streets in Brest were not cobblestones, they looked like this

A sample found in a corner of the Brest Fortress Compound
Old  metal work on the balcony, they don’t make them like that anymore
An archway large enough for a carriage to pass through
Windows made in pre-war days
I was just awed by the colors I saw everywhere on this trip…

Obviously, life isn’t a Hollywood movie where you find the ancestral city home still standing and a letter with unknown pictures tucked into the window frame. Especially in a place which was such a battleground. On a heritage trip it is important to understand the greater context in which the events we are interested in took place. Our visit to Brest ended with a tour of the Brest fortress. After hearing about the battle there one ceases to wonder why they would erect a giant statue called “Thirst” beside the GIANT statue called Courage.

Courage – Brest Fortress


Thirst – Brest Fortress

More archive research needed…

Remembering Dora (Dvora) and Nahum Meir Volovelski, perished in Ghetto Brest, October 15,1942






Who were you, Dora? First Notes from a Journey Back in TIME

(Note – For explanations about the “Who were you, Dora?” series, click here.)

Alice began her exciting and enlightening adventures in Wonderland by falling down a rabbit hole. A hole belonging to a rabbit very concerned with the time, to be precise.

I also began our Heritage Journey back in time with a fall. I miscalculated the number of steps when disembarking  (at one a.m!) at Brest Train Station (Belarus) and tumbled onto the platform.

The good luck charm my friend Beata pressed into my hand before boarding the train must have softened the fall! Got up with just a few bruises, nothing more.

While Alice’s white rabbit proved to be a rather elusive guide to Wonderland, thankfully our guide Andrei Burdenkov never left our side. Because we actually were in two versions of Wonderland – present day Belarus and Early 20th Century Russia/Poland/Russia (today – Belarus, it changed hands a lot).  We needed the guide to understand the first and to be able to see what remains of the second. You really need to know where to look, especially to see the finer details.

At the entrance to Antopol

We don’t speak a word of Russian nor can we read the Cyrillic alphabet. During our entire four days in the two cities we were researching (Brest and Volkovysk) and the two villages (Antopol and Volpa) I think we only saw three signs in English (and actually one was in a national nature reserve). Not only don’t  almost all the hotel receptionists and waiters we encountered speak any English, the concept of customer service in state run-places seems very shaky. Most staff members won’t smile and some make you feel that you should be grateful they are giving you the time of day! But it isn’t just the language barrier. When we entered a small supermarket (small, but bigger than a min-market) we couldn’t understand what we had done to elicit an angry tone and finger being shaken at us. Roni had chosen 3 bananas from the fruit section and walked over to join me in the baked goods section (Andrei was over in the milk section). It turned out there are four cashiers scattered around the small supermarket and you must pay for the goods in each section before moving on to the next section! The idea never occured to us. This is not the case in the large supermarket we later saw, by the way. Being a vegetarian (that’s Roni) in Belarus is quite a challenge. Meat, in some form or other, seems to be included in almost every single dish. Andrei patiently translated menus and negotiated with waiters to find solutions.

Fresh paint before May 1st.

On the other hand, people we met were very friendly (with Andrei supplying simultaneous translation, of course!). These encounters and conversations added greatly to visualising what life was like during the pre-war years of the 20th century. We even had an amazing meeting with a school teacher who came up with a novel way to teach the children about their village’s former residents who perished. I’ll be describing  what we found and did not find in much more detail in the next posts.

In the countryside you can still see active wells

In the villages it was easier to get a sense of what life was like once.  You can find houses that remain forlornly untouched. In the cities it is much harder. Technology helped  compare old maps to new ones and we found many of the relevant locations despite changes. Sadly, some of the remnants of the graveyards don’t look like anything more than a field strewed with a handful of larger stones. One wouldn’t give them a second glance if you didn’t know what to look for. In some places the graveyards no longer exist at all. Heartbreaking.

The remains of the cemetery in Volpa

But in our search for “life”, even spending time outdoors, getting to know the landscape was an important part of the experience. Our ancestors grew up in this flat country with wide open spaces, endless skies, marsh lands, rivers, storks nesting on poles, lots of trees and really cold weather, that makes it is hard to grow things.

The skies seem endless…

This was the backdrop of their lives.




Saturday’s Mystery: Who Were You, Dora? The Father’s Letter

Dora and her father, Nochim Meir. The only two that remained at home ...
Dora and her father, Nochim Meir. The only two that remained at home …

Note: This is a postscript to my Saturday series, in which I, with crowdsourcing help, try to unravel the mysteries hidden in previously unknown letters written by my mysterious step-great aunt Dvora /Dora before and during WWll in Poland. For further explanations see previous post

Translations ascribe meaning.

The trouble is when different people translate the same letter and ascribe different meanings, or at least a different tone to the text.

Among the letter found from Poland (Belarus today) was a letter from Dora’s father, Nachum (Nochim) Meir. The letter is dated April 5th, 1936. It was written to the daughter Libby (in New York) in Yiddish, in very small and difficult to read handwriting, without punctuation marks. It caused difficulties for all who tried to read it. Which only adds to the confusion.

Here are a few examples.

This is Libby, the half sister Dora was writing to in the U.S.A. She could not have had real memories of Libby. The photo is dated April 27, 1925 stamped by a US photographer's studio. Dora was only born in 1920...
This is Libby, the eldest daughter the letter was addressed to. The photo is dated April 27, 1925 stamped by a US photographer’s studio. 
  • One version of the translation claims the letter begins: “I am writing you dear daughter but you will not have pleasure from my letter, because I am writing you now to unburden myself, as they say, as I do not have one good friend. This is why I’m writing to you, you will understand me. I am carrying around a bitter heart from everything”. The other versions claim that the father is writing NOT to unburden himself from all the distress and pain in his heart but just so his daughter will understand him.
  • The next issue is more conflicted. All five of Nachum Meir’s children from his late first wife fled their childhood home with the terrorizing step-mother, and immigrated. Tales passed down the generations tell of a father who never stood up for his children or noticed that they were being underfed, denied proper clothing  for the severe winters and generally mistreated. The question is, did he regret all of that? One version claims he wrote that he feels so bad because he knows he was the worst father in the world. It sounds like a true apology. However, in another translation he sounds like the stereotypical Jewish mother blaming the offspring: “It seems that I am indeed the worst father in the world, as the children do not want to know what I am doing and how I live. Especially since one son and one daughter have children of their own, therefore it should not be like this”.
  • All translators agree in regards to the only mention of Hitler in all of these letters – he wishes his poor health and troubles on Hitlers’ followers.
Dora 1935
Dora 1935
  • Another source of conflicting information is in regards to Dora, whose letters we read. All versions agree that the father is asking for money for his sick wife and for Dora’s schooling. On the one hand, from one version of the translation and from Dora’s letters it seems that she is studying in a high-school (Gymnasium): “ …( cut part) Dora another two years in the gymnasium. Her studies will be finished and then she will earn money. She already earns money now, she has some lessons. For the first lesson she took only two dollars (why would he write about dollars??!), then she immediately got another one…I hope she will be able to earn but she must finish the gymnasium in two years.” We do know from Dora’s letters  that she graduated in 1938 but she mentions working for money only starting that year.  She doesn’t say doing what. A different version of the translation claims that money is needed to pay the tutor who teaches Dora so that she can graduate. No Dora tutoring anyone. Perhaps “pay the tutor” is the same as paying the school?

Was he a contrite father writing for help or did he feel unjustly treated by his fleeing offspring? I want to believe the former because of this sentence (only one translator figured it out): “In life you always make mistakes and the world is such that you always hurry and you run and you stop for nothing and die like a fool”.

I guess I’ll never know.

Very sad, no matter how you look at it.