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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
A brief vacation
Time is an abstract, a concept not easy to understand, depending on a given situation and circumstance. If one suffers, time stands still, seconds transform into hours, days into eternity. Yet if one is healthy, contented, then time vanishes rapidly.
Thus were the days of Jacob’s stay in Minsk. Work became a blessing, enriching his life, ennobling his soul; jealously guarding the shop, first to arrive, the last to leave – so, with schoo as well Like a hungry child eyeing his favorite food.
And on weekends with one’s favorite girl, shooting stars like Cupid’s arrows encouraging. Blending work with pleasure, an evening with the great Michoels, member of the M.X.A.T., David Oistrach, master of the violin, or a piano recital by Emile Gilels or Rosa Tamarkina.
But summer ended too soon, ushering autumn in, intense gales predicting a severe winter, the crowd in Kufeikes and Valienkes rushing home from work. The perking samovar and the parcel to be shipped home waiting, pleasantly tired, he fell asleep, awakened by a knock on the shutters. Releasing the bolt, Jacob dressed and ran all the way to the shop.
Passing by Eva, he got a poke in the ribs, she out of breath, her forehead scraped.
After lunch the official watchdog, the party member, gave him a lecture and a warning.
"Yasha, it was reported that you were 19 minutes late for work. One more minute and it would have been considered a ‘Progul.’ Remember Herman? The young fellow, he is in the stockade. Three months he will repent for being 20 minutes late. You are a very lucky guy."
They were at the cafeteria recalling the incident, Eva the innocent victim; Magda, her face rosy, just the tip of her dainty nose white, frostbitten, and there was Bolek.
"What are you doing here?" asked Eva.
"I am meeting my mother, who works here," the handsome guy said, kissing his approaching mother -- a slim, neatly dressed woman, her black hair set in a bun hiding strands of gray, her oval face enhanced with dark eyes. Watching them, Jacob could not help but feel a pang of jealousy.
They reminisced of the days in Warsaw, discussed the recent blackouts, macabre tales emanating from the west.
By the end of May Jacob had two wonderful surprises. Upon finishing school his group was praised on the local radio for their achievements – congratulated by their peers, particularly by Comrade Sherman.
The next day a young mechanic and Jacob were the recipients of two weeks’ vacation to Kiev, all expenses paid. The head of the factory handed them the papers, shoved bills in their pockets, saying, "This is for Morozhonoye. I wish you a good trip and a good time."
They had a good trip and the time of their lives. After sleeping overnight in the Pullman car, they were hosted by a pretty guide, a room in a hostelry and the itinerary. They strolled on the Kreshtchatic, the pride of Kiev, parks in full bloom and huge plazas with statues of Lenin, Stalin, Marx and Engels.
They visited the Shevtchenko gallery, gigantic paintings depicting the conquest of Taras Bulba, Bogdan Chmielnicki, Peter the Great, but most impressive were the Pieshtierskie Lovry, on the city’s periphery, the site of the Russian Christian Orthodoxy, turned into a profitable museum.
Sixteen churches, and cloisters, clustered together, the magnificent "Uspensky Sobor," white worn out of granite stairs leading to its golden doors, the entire front adorned with colorful mosaics, murals of the apostles … Jesus in front.
Ancient relics, icons, paintings and crowns on display, winding steps leading into caves, dark catacombs, skeletons, skulls of holy men, old priests with lit candles casting an eerie shadow.
They didn’t stay long, just enough to cool off, then climbed the iron stairs, holding onto the rusty banisters toward sunshine and fresh air.
All too soon, the journey was over. Upon his return, Jacob learned that the entire plant was closed for vacation.
Taking advantage of this unforeseen bonus, he joined his friends at the park of culture and rest, located on the outskirts of the city, relating his trip amid laughter, song, and music of a distant radio.
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