An Article Appearing the Jerusalem of Lithuania Newspaper (January-March 1998)
by
Vladas Dautartas, Writer
I am connected with both books : I was involved in the publication of one, and the other, published by the Museum, contains a portrait of my mother and the girl she saved. I am connected to the Jew-ish nation right from childhood, because my father fished in the Nemunas and Nevezys rivers. The Jews, Notke and Abke bought his fish from him, and they often slept over at our place. It was very interesting for me to watch them: how they eat, how they speak. As a child, I and the others used to especially wait for when they would bring matzos. We knew that was the name for their unleavened bread. We'd wait very impatiently. And when those terrible times of annihilation of people and of an entire nation came around, our family's position was already clear.
The Jews from the ghetto were building an embankment. As was his custom, my father fished, and he helped those Jews as much as he could he'd give them fish. He got to know the family of Dr. Abramovicius ; one day they ran away from the Ghetto , and came to us. In the beginning we hid them in the cellar, where they stayed for a few weeks; in the meantime my father was preparing a new hiding place. I won't give you all the details, because they are very sad memories. I remember that my father prayed for two weeks. We kept their two year old daughter, Aviva , who was covered in boils. It looked as if she wouldn't make it. My father knew something about medicinal herbs, and he prepared various decoctions, cordials, and baths for her. It seemed like the child was ready to expire. Mother and father had already lit the candles. But she survived; she escaped the clutches of death. And that left a deep impression in my memory and my heart. Such a tiny little girl, with such a desire to live.
I recall another moment: quite often the Germans would drive over from the next village. As the youngest, I'd be told to take the girl, whom my parents christened Brone, and to row her over to the other shore, into the reeds, so that no-one would see her. But the interesting thing was that when I'd lay her down in the bottom of the boat, cover her up with a jacket, and say: "Aviva, don't move", she'd seem to understand. and she wouldn't move until we reached the other side.
I've written more than one story on the theme of this terrible Jewish tragedy. One of them is called "The train of the living - the train of the dead". It was wonderfully translated by G.Kanovicius, and we hoped to have it published in Moscow, but didn't succeed. All of it really upset me and the Lithuanian intellectuals, especially those they call the "bread growers."
One more important detail: in our village there was a fellow who literally shot Jews at the Ninth Fort. He'd always bring home various things that had belonged to those who were killed: clothing, etc. Our homestead had the only well, from which the entire hamlet drew their water. After they found out where those things were from, my father would close the gates when the killer's mother would come for water. I think that says all there is to say about him.
Copyright © 1996 Henry Propp
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