Table of Contents
(?)
Site Page Counts
Public: 510
Restricted: 677
I wanted to go and find the house in the little village of Volchin where we used to live before we left Poland.
I remembered it was near the synagogue. We walked to the synagogue. The synagogue was still there, but today it is a factory. Opposite the synagogue I could see a little house with the roof sunk in and I felt something inside me and I turned to my husband and said, “I am sure this is the house where we lived.”
We stood looking at it and felt sad, remembering my childhood. They were happy days. We used to play here with my cousins and the rest of the children.
Whilst we stood looking at the house, a lady came out and said, “Good evening”. I asked her who used to live in that house and she said Isaac Berezowski. Well, I just stood. I couldn't move: it was a terrible feeling. I had recognised my old home. She told me nobody lived in it because they do try and preserve these places. I was so happy to know that these people do try to preserve some of the Jewish houses, especially mine. I showed her pictures of my relations, my aunt and uncle, and asked her if she knew or remembered any of them. She said, “Oh yes, I know her. I went to school with her. She used to be my friend.” I felt so happy that somebody did recognise and remember my relations.
I managed to meet a few more people. Of course, all told me more or less the same story about the ghetto in the church, how much the people had suffered, how they had been tortured and how hungry they were in the ghetto, and how they were taken outside the village and shot.
The next day we went to visit the cemetery, but to my horror, there was no more cemetery. I remember it was quite a big place. Now all I could find were three stones and the rest of it was like a jungle. I started searching among the grass, maybe I'll find a stone, maybe something written in Yiddish, but there was nothing. We walked away very sad.
