Our Trip to the Past Part 3

Chapter Ten

Kamenetz Podolski

Although it was getting late, Kamenetz Podolski was nearby so we decided to at least drive through it and stop off at the archives before heading back to Krasilov. We wanted to know if the archives would be open the next day and the hours of its operation. Both of these may seem like unusual questions, but we had learned that Ukrainians take unannounced holidays and that offices are not always open regular hours. We would plan our day in Kamenetz Podolski according to the schedule of the archives.

Bobby had been corresponding via e-mail with a man named Marco Weinman who had been in Kamenetz Podolski the previous summer. He was encouraging about his experiences. When Joan was in California, we visited Marco. He told us about his trip, a very different trip than the one we expected to make, and about how wonderful Zena, the archivist in Kamenetz Podolski, was. After our experience in Khmel’nitskij, we were skeptical.

Marco is a young man who has lived all over Europe. He learned about his Ukrainian ancestry while in Israel, during a visit to Yad Vashem. Among other things, he has a facility with languages and is fluent in Ukrainian. He backpacked to Kamenetz Podolski, determining he would stay until he found material in the archives. At one point early in his stay, the hotel asked him to leave because they expected some businessmen to be coming and needed his room. The archivist, Zena, invited him to stay at her house. They would walk the three miles to the archives every day and return every night. He commented that she would not take any money and fed him dinner every night, even though he felt money was tight. He told us the archives did not turn on their lights. He would take the books outside to read them. He walked up the block to a local shop that had a photocopy machine if he needed a copy made. Zena permitted him access to all her material without restriction. After being in two Khmel’nitskij archives, we found this to be amazing.

The Smotrych River runs through Kamenetz Podolski and, at one place, makes a circle. The center of the circle has a 13^th century fortress and the area near the fortress includes many restored buildings. It is very different from anything we had seen.

One the other side of the river, over one of the two bridges to the fortress, this part of the city is very old. Many different ethnic groups have lived here and the buildings in the area represent some of these groups in style. The town is high above the river. There are deep gorges and sheer cliffs down to the water. The Jewish houses used to be at the bottom of the cliffs alongside the river. The fortress is accessible by crossing one of two bridges. There are high stone walls, solid buildings, turrets and all the prerequisite fortress kinds of things. We walked around the fortress for awhile and then crossed back to the old city.

We also walked around in the old city while Olek went into the archives to check on their schedule. The large functionary buildings seem well cared for and are beautifully restored. They are painted in shades of pink, coral, yellow, blue and tan with white trim around the windows and doors. Some of them almost looked Roman in style. The following day, when we returned, we entered the archives through the back door. Zena explained that the front door was only for show.

Another restored building is across a plaza from the archives. It now houses a store and a community center. Much of it is not being utilized.

The city has many churches. They are very large, some high on hills and others with very tall spires. The Roman Catholic Church has an interesting history. There is a minaret along its side. At one time the Turks were in Kamenetz. When the Polish conquered the city, they promised to leave the minaret. Now it has a Christian symbol on its top.

Olek knew of a restaurant in Kamenetz Podolski so we decided to eat dinner before heading back to the hotel. The restaurant is in a building that used to be the old synagogue. He wanted us to see it. It is now a restaurant/ discotheque/bar. We ate outside, on a patio overlooking the steep cliffs. They are completely covered with greenery so we couldn’t see much of the river below. We ate a very mediocre dinner accompanied by the sounds of cows, goats, geese, ducks, chickens, cars and trucks. Strangely, there was a Ferris wheel poking out of the trees on the other side of the river, high up on the cliffs. We could see no other evidence of human activity.

The tower next to the old synagogue is hollow, with a packed earth floor at least two stories below ground level. There are many open “windows.” We saw swallows flying into the tower.

We bought some old photographs at a shop in the archives building. One shows the old synagogue perched high on the cliffs of Kamenetz Podolski. We ate dinner in this building and photographed the tower.

The Jewish houses were located at the base of the cliff near the Smotrych River. In the olden times, and probably when our relatives lived here, the Jewish houses in Kamenetz Podolski were tucked into a crook formed by a bend in the river at the base of the cliff. The fortress was high on the top of the cliff above the Jewish houses.

A general comment: Everywhere we’ve been, there are statues and monuments to Lenin, to Soviet times, to soldiers, tanks, etc. Many are very large and very ornate. They seem out of place among the farms, countryside and sleepy little villages. In this quiet, peaceful, poor county, it is surprising to us that so much money has gone to this and not to the people or to the infrastructure. Strangely, the people don’t see anything wrong with this. As we’ve already mentioned, wedding photographs are often taken with the monuments as backdrops.

Another comment: The condition of the roads is poor. The largest highway we saw was one lane in each direction with either a dirt or grass shoulder. In the villages, the roads are often unpaved, with deep ruts that remain for years. When we asked the villagers why they don’t get a shovel and at least fill in the holes in front of their own house, they told us the ruts would just reappear and so it didn’t pay to fix them. We found few signs giving directions and very few gas stations. Some looked as though they had been built in the 1920’s and were still functioning. There is evidence of new gas station construction. Olek told us he feared there would soon be too many gas stations. We were surprised to learn that gas cost pretty much what it does in the states.

We returned to Krasilov very tired and happy. We planned to return to Kamenetz Podolski the following day. We would spend time in the archives and tour the city. Olek suggested that we visit Khotin (pronounced HO-TIN with the HO pronounced as though one was clearing one’s throat and the emphasis on the TIN), another fortress town that used to be in Bessarabia. Now it is in Ukraine. We agreed that we would enjoy it if there were enough time.

Chapter Eleven

Kamenetz Podolski, Khotin and Our Best Meal, Shashlik

Thursday, August 10^th: We wanted to go straight to Kamenetz Podolski. The archives would be open and we had been told that the archivist would be helpful.

Although we had been on this road several times before, every time we traveled it, we noticed something we hadn’t seen before. This time was no exception. We asked Olek to stop so that we could take photographs of some these very unusual houses. They have elaborate mosaic tile work around the windows, doors, eaves and trim. We’d seen many houses that had been decorated with tiles, but this decoration was different, and more elaborate.

We continued on to Kamenetz Podolski, where we were expected. We parked in an unpaved lot in back of the building. Much to our surprise, the beautifully restored building is only restored on its front facade. The back of the building looks as though it is about to fall down. The outer cement walls are decaying and they are water stained. The wooden frames around the windows and doors are also in a poor state of repair. The parking lot is uneven packed earth with many potholes and debris around it.

We entered the building through the back door and were met by the director, Serge. He welcomed us warmly and led us to his office, a large room with a desk, a few wooden chairs and a table. As in other offices we’d seen, there was no computer, typewriter or any other electronic equipment. Serge spoke with Alex for a few minutes and then he excused himself pleading another appointment. Zena, the archivist, came in. We knew about her from Marco Weinman and were anxious to finally meet her. He told us how wonderful she had treated him. After our experience with the archivists in the Khmel’nitskij archives, we couldn’t believe she would be as nice as Marco indicated.

Several months before, we had hired a researcher from Odessa who sent us documents from the Kamenetz Podolski archives. Zena had helped him and was familiar with our family names. This researcher was now working on a second request from us. When Olek stopped in the previous day to find out if the archives would be open, Zena pulled out these new documents for us to see. She not only had the books ready, but she had drawn a family tree to show us the relationships of the people in these new documents. We were excited to see them. She wanted to give copies to us but we told her to continue as though we hadn’t been there because we had an agreement with Serge, our researcher, and didn’t feel it would be right to cut him out of the loop.

We already had documents we received from our researcher from Odessa when he completed his previous assignment from us at the Kamenetz Podolski Archives. We were so pleased with his work that we asked him to go further. The papers Zena showed us now were from this new research. We had not seen them before and were excited to do so then.

Zena showed us many books with documents from our shtetls but we were unable to read the handwritten Cyrillic. Once again, we realized how necessary a native researcher is if we are to find out more about our family.

We were grateful for her help and gave Zena our magnifying glass and a package of colored markers. She seemed very exited about the magnifier. She gave us each two pieces of paper, one from an old record book from 1847 and the other, a blue sheet, from a record book from 1813. She also told us that the archives would be getting a computer soon which she expected to make a big difference in their ability to organize and access material. We thanked Zena for her help. As we tried to leave the archives, we headed toward the front door. Zena stopped us, explaining that the door didn’t work. It was a “show” door. We left the building as we had entered, by the back door and through the unpaved parking lot. Our last impression was not of this beautifully restored building, but of the decay within and behind it. What a pity.

Then we went to the Jewish cemetery in Kamenetz Podolski. It is located in a residential area and is quite large. The ground is overgrown with weeds and small trees. Someone had been by recently to cut down the weeds and trees. It was treacherous walking with so many two to three inch tree stumps that had been left.

The tombstones near the street are toppled or broken. Many are too eroded to read the inscription. About halfway toward the back of the cemetery, the tombstones are in better condition. These have iron fences around them like the ones we had seen in Minkivtsi. Some of the newer stones are written in Cyrillic, but some of the older ones are in Hebrew. We walked around the cemetery, reading the names of the people buried there. We think there must have been more than 200 graves here, most dating from the post war period.

Olek wanted to take us to Khotin (by now you know the KHO is pronounced as though one is clearing one’s throat, but softly, and the emphasis is on the TIN), a fortress city. Although we have no ancestors from Khotin, it sounded like it might be an interesting place and we had seen all we wanted to in Kamenetz Podolski.

We crossed the Dniester River, which was very far below us, very wide, very calm, and had no boat traffic. There was Kamenetz Podolski, a city, on one side and farmland on the other. The contrast was striking.

Along the way, Olek asked if he could stop for something to eat. We felt badly that we kept forgetting to offer to stop for lunch and, of course, agreed. There was a small store nearby so he stopped, bought potato chips and Coca-Cola. He bought some chips for us too. We tasted the chips and thought they were awful.

Olek told us Khotin has been part of Bessarabia but is now part of Ukraine. Although he had been to Khotin before, the roads are not marked and we spent some time driving through the village before we got on the right road. None of the roads in this village are paved. They are in very bad shape. He had to drive very slowly in order to keep from breaking anything on his car. Most of the roads are only wide enough for one car at a time. Fortunately, we didn’t seem many cars or horse drawn carts. We had only to pull off the road once to let another car pass. We were very surprised when we passed a building with a sign indicating that this was a Jewish school. We saw no people using the building. We had been told there weren’t any Jews here.

The land drops off sharply, at least 300 – 500 feet. The fortress sits high on top of this gorge. It is very old with some parts of it dating from the 13^th century. It has been partially restored but most of it is crumbled and ancient. It is easy to imagine how solid and strong the fortress’ protection must have been. Today it is absolutely quiet there except for the occasional lowing of a cow or a bleat of a goat on the very green hillsides.

There are fields within the fortress. Cows and sheep were grazing here. We crossed a bridge across a dried up moat. We were glad it was dried up.

The city of Chernovtsi was across the river as were the dachas of Kamenetz-Podolski. It’s a beautiful spot. We visited a Russian Orthodox Church on the grounds and walked around the fortress. There was a group of Polish tourists getting a lecture from a guide.

Olek asked about our impressions and if we thought something like this could be a tourist attraction in the US. We told him there would be a myriad of hotels and golf courses, fast food and souvenir concessions if Khotin were in the US. Here there was nothing but green hillsides, farm animals, and small villages. Outside of the fortress, we found a small trailer where a woman was selling postcards. We bought a few and received a blessing with our purchase.

We had noticed that there seemed to be no anti-Semitic sentiment, but Olek clearly did not like, or feel comfortable with, our being near gypsies. This was also true in Slovakia, where our guides consistently expressed disgust for the gypsies. We didn’t get the chance to ask Olek to address this issue and were sorry to have missed the opportunity.

Although it was still early in the afternoon, it had been a full day so we decided to head back to Krasilov. Throughout our trip, we had been passing shashlik stands with their tantalizingly delicious aromas and now was the perfect time to stop. We asked Olek to pick one. As we drove between Kamenetz Podolski and Gorodok, he did. Our expectations were far different from the reality.

Shashlik is skewered, marinated pork cooked outdoors over a wood fire. The cooking is done in a rectangular metal box, maybe 2’ X 4’ X 2’ deep. Chunks of wood burn in this box creating lots of smoke. The pork is skewered on a long pole resembling a knife, which is placed over the smoky fire when you order it. Before then, the meat is partially cooked and rests on a table on the side of the cooking box covered with a towel to keep the flies from landing on it. We thought one would go up to the cooking area, order a skewer of meat and eat it off the skewer while standing there. This is far from what happened.

Once Olek parked his car, we began to notice that there were small log cabins in the woods. There was also a trailer where one enters to order food. The experience includes a whole meal. We ordered salad, potatoes and drinks. Olek asked the man cooking the meat to trim off most of the fat because we Americans prefer our meat lean. Ukrainians enjoy very fatty meats. Olek told us that a traditional food in the Trans Carpathian region is made largely from pork fat and cornmeal. We were happy to miss that.

While waiting for our shashlik, we selected the little log cabin where we wanted to eat. It had wooden benches along two walls and an oilcloth covered table in front of the benches. There was a bare light bulb hanging from rafters with its wire tacked to the ceiling. Window openings, with no glass, were cutouts in two walls and the doorway was a cutout in the third wall. The floor was packed earth. The roof was similar to the other roofs we’d seen, corrugated tile. We found this log cabin absolutely charming. It was just like eating in a doll’s house.

When the food was delivered, we thought we had never eaten anything quite so delicious. We had a salad of red pepper, cucumber and tomato covered with chopped parsley. The potatoes were cubed, boiled and drenched in a thin sour cream and covered with chopped dill. The meat was tender, smoky, marinated in something wonderful and served with onions that had also been on the skewer and grilled to perfection. We enjoyed every bite.

After the meal, Olek lounged around outside the cabin with his feet up on a railing. He decided the place must be like something out of a cowboy movie. We taught him to say, “Howdy, pardner,” in the full cowboy inflection. This tickled him and so we taught him the bowlegged cowboy swagger to accompany his expression.

After we finished eating, Bobby wanted to use the “facilities.” Once again, she found herself using a “Turkish Standing.” This time, at least, there was no odor, for which she was grateful.

We returned to Krasilov, tired and happy. We made a date to meet Olek a few hours later for dessert in the hotel’s restaurant. By now the waitresses must have been positive that we Americans were crazy but they granted our every wish with such grace that we never got a hint of it. We both had chocolate ice cream sundaes. We asked for an extra scoop of ice cream in place of the whipped cream they ordinarily served. Not an eyebrow was raised.

Chapter Twelve

Kuzmin Again, Kalytintsy, Zhuravlintsy and Veseltsa

Friday, August 11^th: Today we drove back to Kuzmin to find Dr. Weisskopf, the veterinarian, who had said he would take us to the three small villages we wanted to see, Kalytintsy, Zhuravlintsy and Veseltsa. They are in the middle of the forest and too far to walk, too difficult to find on one’s own and with roads so bad that the visit should not be attempted without a Jeep, tractor or horse and cart.

When we reached Kuzmin, we saw Dr. Weisskopf driving his horse drawn wagon up to the hospital. He was sitting next to a very old toothless man. We knew from our previous visit that this was the regional hospital. Once again, we each said a silent prayer that its services would not be needed. It looked like a dirty old barn.

Olek spoke with Dr. Weisskopf for awhile but he didn’t want to take us because the roads were very bad after the rain of a few days ago. We had waited three days before going back to Kuzmin thinking this would be enough time for the puddles to dry up.

Dr. Weisskopf directed us to the Mayor, who has a Jeep type car. While we were at the hospital, another man approached our car and began talking to us. Olek translated. The man was telling us how bad the conditions are, how poor the people are, how he must retire but has no money. He offered to give us some apples, disappeared, and returned with an armload. We thought we should give him some money but Olek said it wasn't necessary. The man was just letting off steam and happy for the audience.

We were never certain what to do about giving people money. We are accustomed to people in the United States having their hand out. Here, it seemed as though this was not the case. Many people were genuinely interested in helping or in being heard. We trusted Olek’s take on things and allowed him to guide us as to when it was appropriate to tip and the amount.

An unusual brick house had triangular windows on the second floor. Although we’d seen many brick houses, the brickwork is very different from that of the US. The mortar is put between the bricks so that it doesn’t completely fill the openings. And, the building is made of brick with no frame or inner support. We imagined that the inner walls would go up after the shell was completed.

Although we’d been to Kuzmin before, and had seen the mill, today there was a distinct difference. This day, there were many people bringing sacks of grain to the mill to be ground. Later we saw them in a different place in town, weighing their sacks of flour.

This was one of the first times that our presence created a stir. People seemed curious about us, but there had really never been any overt sign of it. Perhaps it was because there was a group, but the people stopped what they were doing and stared at us. One brave soul came up to the car to ask who we were, what we wanted and why we were there.

We drove on and, after several false turns where we got to see even more of Kuzmin, we wound up high up the hills, at the top, at the gas station of the collective farm. There were very large farm machines gassing up and maneuvering to go out into the fields. Here we found the Mayor and Vice-Mayor. The Vice-Mayor owns his own car while all of the other vehicles, including the Mayor’s Jeep, belong to the collective farm. Olek explained that all vehicles of a particular type are called Jeep no matter who manufactured them.

The Vice-Mayor, Anatoli, agreed to take us to our villages; Kalytintsy, Zhuravlintsy and Veseltsa. We got into his car, sort of like a Jeep Wrangler but not as nice, well built or comfortable. We headed off on a sort of paved and bumpy road through the fields. Before long, the paving ended and the road became very bumpy, with deep ruts, many of them filled with water. At several points, the car skidded as though it was skidding on ice but Anatoli was a skilled driver and kept the car under control most of the time.

The first town we came to was Kalytintsy. It was beautiful. We crossed a river. There were many willow trees along the river’s banks. There were houses on the hills on either side of the river. There was the usual assortment of cows, horses, chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys, goats, dogs, cats and old people. The houses are typical in style, well maintained, with beautiful flower gardens in all sides. Every house has a fence and gate. Anatoli said there were about 300 people in this town. Even for him, these people live an isolated and remote existence. There is a store but it was locked.

Few people were walking in the village or out in their yards. We were unable to speak with anyone except for the babushka. Olek was wonderful about approaching anyone. Too bad there was little she could tell him.

After taking a few photos, we went on to Zhuravlintsy, a few kilometers away, on a terrible “road” (for lack of another word), through fields, to a look-alike village only slightly larger than the first. We asked if there was a Jewish cemetery here but Anatoli said the only one was in Kuzmin.

In Zhuravlintsy, we stopped on the road where a motorcycle, and its driver, blocked the way. We asked him if the local store was open. The shopkeeper lives in a house across the road from her store. The man told her we wanted to see her store so she crossed the street and opened it for us. Inside, there was one 20’ square room with three or four tiers of shelving lining three of the exterior walls. There were no aisles. The shelves were mostly empty. The few products they did have were a hodge podge of plastic clothes pins, one notebook, three ceramic coffee mugs, maybe five or six plates of various sizes and patterns, many bottles of warm beer, vodka, other wine and liquor, cigarettes, several jars of peas, tomato sauce, some unrecognizable meat with the liquid oozing from the jar, coating its outside, individually wrapped hard candies, a few small, unwrapped loaves of bread and a few other items we no longer remember.

The people of Zhuravlintsy have access to this store, or they can walk miles to the nearest bus stop, take a bus to a larger town several kilometers away, and stock up on supplies. Mostly they grow their own produce, slaughter their own animals for meat, milk their own cows and goats, and do without many items we would consider essential.

We felt we should buy something so Bobby bought two packs of Ukrainian cigarettes. The woman totaled the amount on an abacus. It came to 2 1/2 hryvnas, about 50 cents. Bobby gave her five hryvnas.

Veseltsa is a larger town with a large Russian Orthodox Church in the center. We stopped at one of the first houses as we came into town and spoke with the woman who owns it. We complimented her on her garden and she immediately offered to cut some flowers for us. We declined, explaining that we would be in the car all day and had no place to put them.

We spent quite a long time with this woman as she seemed very willing to answer our questions. She told us about life in this beautiful and remote place. She said the children go to eighth grade at the local school. They leave the house at seven in the morning, walk one hour to the school, and leave the school at three to walk home. The children go to school six days a week. The high school, which is in a different town, goes up to tenth grade. To get there, the children have to walk much further. Eighth grade is mandatory but only those who want it go on to the high school.

The woman gets up around six and works all day in the fields and with the animals. She typically goes to bed around ten. She has a son who lives in Gorodok and a daughter in Veseltsa with a baby.

She told us there are many more small towns like these, very remote. There is no bus service. About once a month, the people walk to a place where they can get a bus but it is very far from this town and so they don’t go unless it is necessary to buy goods they cannot produce themselves or to visit the doctor or dentist. In the winter, the snow sometimes gets chest deep. Joan asked if they have snowshoes, skis or sleds. The woman seemed confused by the question and said, “No, we just walk.” It was as though she couldn’t understand why anyone would want these things when walking worked just fine.

She said life would be better if the roads were fixed. When Joan suggested that each homeowner could go out with a shovel and fill in the ruts in front of their own house, she said the ruts would just come back so there was no point.

When we expressed amazement at how hard life must be for the residents of these remote villages, she acknowledged that this was true but that life here was natural, clean and healthy, with no pollution. They have animals and a vegetable garden and beautiful flowers and beautiful scenery. They can grow just about everything they need. This is the view across the road from her house.

Although the houses have no running water, the people were happy to allow us to use their “facilities.” This woman was no exception. Olek told us that he does not drive at all in the winter. The roads in Ukraine are poorly maintained all year but it is particularly treacherous in the winter. On one occasion, he and his wife were returning from a research trip to a distant city when they came across an April snowstorm. He stopped in a small village and was able to convince a family to let them spend the night. We couldn’t imagine the same happening in the US.

Generally, the people we spoke with feel times were better under the Soviets. Life was easier. No one had to work too hard. Machinery got fixed. Men retired and got their pension at 60 and women at 55. Now it is 65 and 60. There was work for everyone. The people have no idea about free enterprise and can’t understand why they have to work hard to succeed. They feel nothing is good anymore. They all seem to work very hard just to survive. But few understand that they could work hard at a job or profession that would bring personal satisfaction and financial reward. They had no concept whatsoever of free enterprise. Olek was the only person we met who understood this.

Olek asked us how his country could get from the Soviet economy to a free economy and we had no real answers. These people have been under Communist domination for so long that they can’t understand that they must now take matters into their own hands. We felt it was almost like they had been kept children and were suddenly kicked out into the cruel world without the skills necessary to survive. It’s difficult to see how things will turn out but we are not optimistic about their future.

After visiting Veseltsa, we started back to the collective farm. We passed fields where kasha (buckwheat) is being grown. Anatoli showed us fields lying fallow. Olek told us that the people had been permitted to buy land very cheaply after the Soviet collapse. But few did. The pieces of fallow land were now individually owned. The fields we were seeing were not part of the collective farm and the farm owners don’t have the machinery to till the soil or run the farm. People stole the farm machines. And now, when the machines break, no one knows how to fix them.

We asked about the job of a Vice-Mayor. Anatoli said his job is to take care of the farm machines, to get new parts or buy new machines when these die. He organizes the work. Basically, he is the manager of the collective farm. We asked if he is an elected official. He laughed and indicated that he had been Vice-Mayor for 14 years and the Mayor has held his post for seven years. These positions are partly elected. Mostly, he said, he was “volunteered.”

We were glad Anatoli was able to take us to our three villages and glad to be back in one piece. Like virtually all the people we’d met, he couldn’t do enough for us. He interrupted his day to drive us into the forest – and he was a model of patience and good humor.

When we got back to the collective farm, we asked if anyone in town might know about our family and were directed to an 88 year old woman, Tekla, who lived down the road near the stork’s nest. We walked to her house because the road was so bad. This gave us an opportunity to see the people and their houses close up. One house in particular drew our attention. It was a large complex compared to others in this area. There was a big barn with many farm tools hanging on the outside. A second building was perpendicular to the barn. It appeared to be a summer kitchen. This building had an outside porch where vegetables had been strung and were drying. The house, perpendicular to the summer kitchen, was very colorful.

We found Tekla’s house at the end of the road. Sure enough, there was a stork sitting on a nest on top of a high pole in Tekla’s yard. She was sitting outside with another babushka. Tekla’s face looked like a skull with skin; she was so old and thin. We think she was smoking a pipe. A third woman came out of the house. She was younger than the other two, but not by much. None of them could help us in any way. They offered us a glass of goat’s milk before we left but we thanked them and declined their kind offer.

We decided to go to the old Jewish cemetery we had been told was in Kuzmin. After asking directions of several people, and driving around in circles for awhile, one woman asked if she could get into the car. She offered to take us there. Olek asked us if this was okay. We said, “Sure,” and the woman got in and proceeded to direct us to the cemetery, We wouldn’t have found it without her. Once again, we were amazed that everyone seemed to know where the cemeteries are, even though no one is Jewish and the cemeteries haven’t been used for 80 to 100 years. This one was behind the community center, across a field, down a steep hill and up the other side. There were cows grazing in the valley.

As we found in Sharovka, most of the stones had been toppled. There seemed to be about 100 stones. Those with visible inscriptions were written in Hebrew. Joan took photographs. We will get the inscriptions translated. All of the stones here and in Sharovka are of the same material, a rough grey composite. They are pitted with age and moss covered.

We were surprised that people seem to know the ages of all the people in town. We were told Tekla was 88, born in 1912. Our own experience with our own older relatives who had come to the US, is that they did not know how old they were or when their birthdays were. They merely said they were born the same year the barn burned down or that some other event took place and the actual day was so many days or weeks after a Jewish holiday. Our favorite uncle Menashe told us he was born a week after Tish'a B'Av but didn’t know the year. So we were surprised that all the people in any town we visited seemed to know the age of the older people in their town.

On the way back to Krasilov, we stopped to buy a cold Coca-Cola – well – a cool Coca Cola. Even this was not easy to find as there are few stores and even fewer with refrigeration. Then we stopped along the side of the road in the countryside, under a tree, for a picnic. We had brought peanut butter, crackers, chocolate bars and nuts to the Ukraine just in case there was no food or little we cared to eat. We had not found the occasion to use any of it and were feeling guilty that we had not been offering to stop for lunch. So we decided to have an American picnic, Ukrainian style. We had seen many people pull their cars off the road, spread a cloth on the hood, and eat a meal. We requested that Olek pull over as we headed back

Olek produced a rug, which used to belong to his grandfather. It was more than 50 years old. We were hesitant to sit on it while eating because we are both so messy but he assured us it would be okay. We had peanut butter crackers, apple slices, chocolate and warm coke. A feast! But great fun. The only negative was the constant stream of smoke spewing vehicles passing us as we ate.

Chapter Thirteen

Cherni Ostrov and Sharovechka

Saturday, August 12^th: Today we visited the last two of our towns, Cherni Ostrov and Sharovka. Cherni Ostrov is about a half-hour to 40 minutes west of Khmel’nitskij. All our other towns are south except for Slavuta, which is north. We were going in a different direction than we had gone before. We passed fields with small sections burning, white smoke filling the countryside. There weren’t so many cows but all the other usual assortment of animals, vehicles and houses were present.

Cherni Ostrov is another village located off the beaten path. Getting there, we drove over a small river and through a very charming village. We saw a small boy herding a mother pig and about eight piglets. Very cute.

The sign for this village made us think we had double vision. The name in Russian has one letter different in each word than the Ukraine spelling. So, instead of making a new sign, in Ukrainian, this one is just printed over. The letters are offset. And the result is jarring.

We passed an ornately tiled railroad crossing. A man and woman sat in this little shack all day waiting for a train to come by. Then they lowered the arm to prevent the almost nonexistent traffic from going across the tracks while the train is approaching.

This village has brick and cement houses, some very large and there are some very large buildings we thought were community buildings. We stopped near the central market, renok (pronounced REYNOK with the emphasis on the NOK) to see what was being sold. One woman had only watermelons, round ones like all the others we’d seen. We were continually surprised that everyone grows exactly the same produce and then tries to sell the excess. We wondered who would buy this since everyone seemed to have the same vegetable and fruits for their own personal use and also in excess.

A man had a tray table with cigarettes and hard candy on it. Across the street a woman had an ice cream cart and umbrella. She sold bottled water too. Next to her there was a man in a wooden trailer only slightly larger than a newspaper kiosk in the states. He had a large variety of mismatched items including a bent coat hanger strung with dried fish; a whole smoked fish on a plate (without its head). He had a deck of unusual playing cards, with cards 1 – 6 and three face cards. He also had toilet paper and small packers of what we would consider samples of hand lotion and shampoo.

Two young men, who Olek identified as gypsies or Armenians, seemed fascinated by us. Olek was uncomfortable with their attention and urged us to move on. We asked the man with the trailer and woman with the ice cream cart if they recognized our family names but they were too young and both said the original town residents don’t live here anymore.

Later, we learned that Cherni Ostrov means Black Island and that more than 100 years ago there was a kind of sickness called black sickness. We wondered if it was plague. People who had this sickness were sent to Cherni Ostrov because the river surrounds part of the town forming an island. The illness was isolated there. Could this be why our ancestors left?

We asked if there was a Jewish cemetery or any older people. We were directed to an 80 year old woman who lives next to the bus stop. Olek remembered where that was. A fence surrounded the blue house. Inside was a nasty growling dog. Thank goodness he was chained up.

The woman came out but she couldn’t talk. She had a plastic piece in her throat that made us think she’d had cancer of the throat or larynx. In a whisper, she indicated that her husband would come out to speak with us. He did, buckling his belt, obviously getting dressed to meet us. It was late morning but we guessed he had nowhere to go and didn’t always dress. It didn’t take long to realize he was missing one hand. He explained he had lost it in the war and that the government didn’t provide any assistance for war veterans, a familiar story. He asked how the US government treated their veterans. This was a question we’d been asked several times before.

Neither he nor his wife knew our family names but he said he had many Jewish friends and still corresponded with someone in Israel who promised to send him parcels but never did. This was also becoming a familiar story; this disgruntled cry that no one was doing enough to help or was not sending goods from the outside world. Even after he had put this person up and had given him three dinners, he hadn’t received any gratitude for his hospitality.

He offered to take us to the Jewish cemetery in town and we readily agreed to drive him there. Once we parked on the side of the road, he led us down a dirt path, past some grazing cows. The cemetery was fairly new and all the stones were inscribed in Cyrillic. We saw the names Barg, Rosenbaum, Grossman, Hitman and Creitchman. All the stones were individually surrounded by painted, iron fences, like those we’d seen before. Many had the likeness of the person inscribed on them. As we were leaving this area, we noticed an older stone at the edge of the forest. Its own fence also surrounded it but this one was written all in Hebrew and two iron arms framed the stone. We thought this might have been the rabbi’s stone.

As we walked around the cemetery, Joan was stung on the hand by some insect. She is allergic to many things and was concerned about having an anaphylactic reaction. But she didn’t want Olek to know about it because he was so very concerned about our welfare that she didn’t want to make a big deal about it. She told Bobby just to keep an eye on her. If she started to swell, or have difficulty breathing, she wanted Bobby to know what was happening. We’d passed the local hospital and Joan felt it might be better to die on the roadside than have to visit there. She didn’t want to use the medical insurance we purchased at the border. And she didn’t want to regret not bringing the disposable syringes she’d been encouraged to take with her when we left on our trip. She took an allergy pill and we continued on. Perhaps it would prove to be a good thing that we were already in a cemetery.

Then, as we looked harder, we saw more stones in the forest, much like we had when we were in Vrannov Slovakia. The cemetery was so overgrown, we couldn’t see too many more stones, but the man said there were many more. When we asked about older cemeteries, he said there was another cemetery further down this path and we asked to be taken there. This one was on the side of a hill, but in a clearing. We decided it had been cleared mostly by the grazing cows and goats that walked among the stones. This cemetery was more like the ones we’d seen in Kuzmin and Sharovka. Most of the stones were toppled and broken. Little remains but some broken bits of grey composite stone.

The man said there was one more cemetery in Cherni Ostrov, a very old one. We asked to be taken there. It required a drive to another part of the village. We passed the hospital but Joan didn’t want to stop. Although her hand was hurting, nothing more was happening and she wanted to wait before drawing any attention to what had happened. Just so you won’t be kept in suspense any longer, Joan’s hand continued to hurt all day but never got any worse. By the next day, it was fine and we were both relieved.

When we’d exited the car at the place where the man indicated, we saw a group of people also park their car on the side of the road. They were in dress clothes and were carrying bunches of flowers. The man told Olek and he explained to us that they were going to a wedding. They also had to walk through the woods on this dirt path. No one would have clean shoes or clothes when they arrived. We guessed it would not be noticed.

We walked down a path, through a field with some trees, a hobbled horse and a few cows, to a beautiful place on the top of a very high hill where we could see the whole village and lots of countryside before us. The man had told us it would be impossible to tell that this place was a cemetery and he was right. Even the broken stones were gone. We could see only a few places were bits of stone were visible but it was impossible to tell that these were the remnants of tombstones. Nonetheless, we were moved to think that some our ancestors may have been buried here.

We were high up and could see the river before us, all the usual compliment of animals, some children swimming in the river downstream, and some large village houses. We could also see the island that gives this town its name, Black Island.

A cow was grazing in the cemetery. It was impossible to tell there had ever been tombstones here.

It is difficult to keep in mind how hard these people’s lives are when confronted with the peaceful, quiet countryside. This is truly a beautiful country. It is also hard to imagine how difficult our ancestor’s lives must have been to leave, and what a culture shock it must have been for them to arrive on the Lower East Side of New York with its crowded tenements and lack of natural beauty.

The man told us about a Polish count who lived in a blue house we could see to our left on the bank of the river. The count used this house as a hunting lodge. He built a bridge to the island and many people came to visit him here and stayed.

Our guide also showed us some former Jewish houses; one belonging to a man named Noodleman. One very large tile house looked so large we thought it was a community center. He said this Jewish man was very rich. He owned six stores. He had eight daughters and two sons.

We brought our guide back to his house, thanked him for his help and gave him 20 hryvnas. He asked if we had given him US dollars and seemed disappointed that we had not. Then we drove on to Sharovechka.

Sharovechka has become a suburb of Khmel’nitskij. The change is dramatic, from single family dwellings and lots of undeveloped space, to apartment houses and congestion. There are dacha behind the row of brick buildings. No older houses remain. We saw two brick houses with lawns. These were the first lawns we’d seen and the houses that closest resemble houses in the United States. We also saw many houses with very elaborate, ornamental bas-relief tiles on their facade. Some of these were sculptures of grape leaves with clusters of grapes. Others were of other natural shapes, leaves, flowers or small animals, like rabbits and squirrels. These were different than any we’d seen before. Even here, so close to a large city, everyone has an outhouse. There is no running water. We saw many houses in the process of being built. None of these will have running water either.

Several two story houses had a door on the second story. We were mystified about the purpose of the door. Then, as we looked closer, we saw that there was hay being used for insulation, filling the rooms on the second story. The door must have been for ease of access.

After driving around Sharovechka, we decided we’d seen enough and asked to be taken back to the hotel in Krasilov. We’d seen all the villages on our list, had found more cemeteries than we’d expected, found people who knew our relatives, something we never really expected, and had learned so much. We were overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted.

We were so impressed with these kind and generous, good looking people. They had so little but they were all ready to stop whatever they were doing to talk with us, take us to see where the Jewish houses had been or where the Jewish cemetery was. They offered to feed us or put us up overnight. They accepted our presence and our questions without any sign of hostility, suspicion or anti-Semitism. Many people told us about their Jewish friends, or former fiends. Some even had Jewish sister-in-laws or brother-in-laws. Our experience was nothing like what we had expected.

Chapter Fourteen

Back to Lviv

Sunday, August 13^th: We were sorry to leave the beautiful countryside. So many of the villages hadn’t changed since our ancestors had lived there more than 100 years before. Every house has its individual garden with corn, sugar beets, pumpkins, squash, tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, potatoes, beans and the like, planted there. Everyone has apple, plum, peach and cherry trees and grapevines. Everyone has a least one cow, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks and some have pigs. Many have horses to pull their carts. They fish in the rivers, tend to the fields, grind their grain in the local mills. Their lives are hard. But they are a proud and beautiful people, so ready to share what little they have.

Our agreement with Olek was that we would pay for his hotel room, his meals, gas for the car and a daily compensation. When we checked out of the hotel, we had another lesson in Ukrainian culture. We already knew that there was a different rate for Ukrainians and for foreigners. Olek’s room was $27 per day. We had been quoted a rate of $44 per day but when we tried to pay our bill, we were charged $67 per day. There was no one to argue with and no way to rectify this accounting. The only explanation we could get is that the rate changes with the currency and we would have to accept this. We knew the currency had not changed value in our week there but we felt there was nothing to do but pay. Our experience in Rzeszow at the beginning of the trip had been similar. We were beginning to think this was a pattern. Was this the old bait and switch game? The one saving grace is that the hotel in Krasilov accepted charge cards, something we had been told was not so. We had not exchanged enough dollars to hryvnas to pay this bill.

The ride back to Lviv takes about four hours. Lviv is a bustling city with many old and beautifully restored buildings, cobblestone streets and trolley cars. There aren’t many individually owned cars here but the general feeling is of a busy city with many people rushing about.

Olek brought us back to the Grand Hotel. He had called ahead to make a reservation for us. When we arrived we learned more about how foreigners are treated with regard to hotel accommodations. Olek had reserved a room and a rate had been quoted. When we got there, he was told that a tour group expected to leave that morning had decided to stay another day and the room he served for us would not be available. We could stay but we would have to stay in a more expensive room.

Olek knew the man behind the counter and a rather heated and lengthy “discussion” ensued. After our experience in Rzeszow and in Krasilov, we were getting used to this treatment and getting annoyed at it. Finally, Olek was able to secure a “deluxe” room for us at a rate only slightly greater than that quoted, and only if we paid in dollars. We were led to this room only to find that there was one bed. We are both restless sleepers and told them this would not be acceptable. Another lengthy discussion was held and a new “deluxe” room was found with two beds. We think Olek probably had to bribe several people although everyone pretended that they were graciously accommodating these two very demanding Americans.

After unpacking and settling in, Olek took us to an artisans market so that we could buy souvenirs. He was concerned about pickpockets and clucked around us protectively like a mother hen. Neither of us are shoppers but we each bought a few small items for our children. We walked around the area and saw some of the beautiful buildings. One church was having a concert inside. We bought tapes of the wonderful organ and trumpet music. We also visited some of the street markets. Joan bought two Ukrainian children’s books so that she could continue to read the language when she gets home.

Then we sent Olek home to be with his still very pregnant wife and his son. We assured him we could eat dinner at the hotel restaurant where the menu is also printed in English and where most of the hotel staff speaks English. We arranged to meet him at noon the following day for our drive back to Rzeszow.

The dinner was fine but nothing special. The food in Krasilov at the little hotel in the country was every bit as good, if not better. After dinner, we walked around Lviv on our own. On the central promenade, couples strolled hand in hand and very well behaved children held the hand of a parent. There are benches on the sides of one path and older men were seated there playing chess, checkers or dominoes. We watched some of the games and realized that these men challenge passersby to games, which are played for money. At the end of the pathway, in front of the opera house, there is a large plaza. Vendors set up small motorized cars and trucks which parents rented for their very small children to drive. Photographs are taken and the parents can buy the photos.

In the center of the main promenade, there is the statue of a famous poet and a large sculpture next to it, that we’ve written about in an earlier chapter describing our first night in Lviv.

Next to this sculpture, a large crowd had gathered. We were curious about what was happening but a little leery of getting too close. Our preconceptions were, once again, taking hold. We’d been told there was anti-Semitism, anti-American sentiment and violence in Lviv. Although we’d seen no evidence of it, we were still cautious. We sat on a low wall at the side of the plaza.

There was singing coming from the group and, after watching awhile, we realized that an informal songfest was in progress. We sat for about an hour, listening to the folk melodies being sung and watching as people walked by, met friends and chatted, joined the group to sing for a while, and then walk on. It was so peaceful. It was a wonderful way to end our trip.

We saw no people with tattoos, body piercing, green or blue hair, slovenly dress or threatening manners. Except for the babushkas, most of the people wear very fashionable dress and looked very much like Americans, but better dressed. Most people seem calm and they smile. Although we did see some people wearing jeans, which surprised us, high-heeled sandals accompanied the jeans on the women and shoes, rather than sneakers, which were worn by the men.

Many women in Ukraine dye their hair, even in the countryside. There are a disproportionate number of blondes and red heads. They let the color grow out for a very long time before recoloring. So there are many blondes and red heads with four to six inch roots. For people who are otherwise so meticulously groomed and well dressed, we found this curious.

Chapter Fifteen

Lviv to Rzeszow and Home

Monday, August 14^th: We ate breakfast at the hotel and then went for a walk around Lviv. Bobby had run out of film so we stopped at a store that seemed to have a large variety of items and, through gestures and sign language, we managed to buy a roll of film for her camera. We were glad to have it. There were many beautiful buildings in this area of Lviv. Not all of the buildings are this charming or well persevered. But we liked these, and wanted to capture some of their charm on film.

The streets were interesting and the buildings here were beautifully restored. We photographed some of them. Then we walked back to the hotel through the central promenade. We noticed a religious statue, possibly the Virgin Mary, surrounded by a small garden and fence. Many women brought flower bouquets, which they left on the ground outside the fence. Women were praying at or to the statue.

Olek picked us up at noon for the three and a half hour drive to Rzeszow. He took us through a different border crossing than when we had arrived. The roads are better on both sides and the entire border crossing was much newer. We made it through in record time, about half an hour, and without incident.

There were only one or two other cars parked outside the Ukrainian gate instead of the half mile backlog of waiting vehicles we’d found coming into Ukraine. Olek went inside a building, cautioning us to keep our windows closed and not talk to the many women who were waiting around. No person can cross the border on foot. They must be in a vehicle. So these women were begging for a ride across the border. We don’t know why Olek felt so strongly about not accommodating one or more of them, but we had grown very used to trusting his judgment and complied with his wishes.

We were amazed at the difference between this border crossing and the one we had passed through on our way to Lviv. We were sorry we had not taken photographs of this first crossing. We were especially sorry when we saw the difference.

Once inside the first gate but still on the Ukrainian side, the passport control man spoke to us in very halting English. He asked us the purpose of our trip to Poland and if we had enjoyed our stay in Ukraine. Olek seemed suspicious of this conversation and asked us our take on it. We thought the man was just being friendly and trying out his English.

At this border crossing, we were required to open our suitcases, but the customs man seemed to be disinterested and never really looked inside. He was just doing his job. Olek told us they look for contraband cigarettes and liquor. We had neither and passed through without incident.

We had only to go through the Polish side and we would be back in Poland. We did this quickly, showing our passports. They were stamped and we were permitted to drive on. We felt a certain relief. Something about the border crossing is scary. We were very sad to leave Ukraine and to think that our trip was almost over.

The change from the Ukrainian side to the Polish side is immediate and dramatic. When we first arrived, we didn’t know anything about what we would find on the Ukrainian side and could not appreciate the difference. In Poland, the farms are divided into small sections, each planted with a different crop. They almost look like patchwork quilts. In Ukraine, the farms have huge fields of all one crop that seem to go on for miles.

On the Polish side, there were many signs on the side of the road advertising stores, cars and products. In Ukraine, there are almost none. There are more houses, stores, cars, trucks and farm vehicles and better roads.

Rzeszow is a big city. The hotel is very near its center. We arrived around 2:30. By the way, there is a one hour time difference between Ukraine and Poland. We checked into the hotel, dropped off our bags, and decided to walk around Rzeszow.

Olek asked if we would mind if he stopped at the local bank. He keeps his money in the US but has currency mailed to him as needed. He changed some of his US dollars into Polish zloty. The reason is that US currency is more stable. He doesn’t want to worry about his money being devalued. He does quite a lot of his family’s shopping in Poland, where more goods are available, for better prices, and with much more variety.

After accompanying him to the bank, we walked in the city. We were just beginning to get comfortable with the Ukrainian sounding words and were now completely at a loss. We could neither read nor understand any of the Polish.

We walked through a “walking” street of tourist shops. There were many people around but we could not tell if they were tourists or locals. There was a McDonalds, as there seems to be just about everywhere.

Rzeszow was heavily bombed during the war. There seems to be no city planning or organization so the new and old buildings often sit side by side. The Rzeszow Hotel was one of the ugly, but utilitarian, new buildings.

Olek showed us a street with restored buildings, many of them now cafes. Town Hall is just to the right of these buildings. Under the umbrellas there are tables and chairs where people can sit, order a beer, and spend an hour or two with friends. When we walked to the left, we found the old Jewish synagogue. The street with the cafes and Town Hall is to the right of this place.

We saw three buildings that used to be Jewish buildings. Two are now used for the Polish archives and the third is an art gallery. Olek told us that the archivist is anti-Semitic. It’s a shame that the building has an archivist who hated Jews so much. There is a plaque on the outside of one building commemorating Jewish history but we saw no other acknowledgment of any Jewish presence in Rzeszow, especially since it was such a large and important presence.

We saw a plaque on the on the wall outside the former synagogue, not indicating it was a synagogue, but at least a memorial to the Jews killed in the war. Fortunately, this building has been restored. On the side of the synagogue one can see an entrance to an art gallery. Olek told us this building has also been used as a movie theater.

We stopped at an old Roman Catholic Church, which was in need of restoration on the outside but very ornate and beautiful one the inside. Along one wall, there was a line of women waiting to give confession. There were no men in this line. Olek quipped that only women did things that required confession. We thought it terrible that the church could spend so much money on their buildings and not give to their poor. Olek did not agree.

He had told us early in the trip that the two predominant religions in Ukraine were Roman Catholic and Russian Orthodox. We saw large churches everywhere. There were churches for either or both religions in even the smallest of villages. And they were always very ornate. Olek told us that the Catholic Church did a lot for the people during the war and that there was no resentment toward it.

There was a Catholic Monastery in Rzeszow. We saw nuns and priests walking through the streets in their religious garb. Although the Catholic Church is very active in Ukraine, we had not seen any nuns or anyone in religious costume except for a few monks near a monastery in Lviv.

We stopped to buy a gift or two and then went back to the hotel to rest. We met in the hotel dining room for dinner. After a full but very mediocre dinner, we agreed that Olek would pick us up at 5:00 AM for our 6:20 AM departure flight from Rzeszow Airport.

We were beginning to shift gears. We had a more wonderful trip than we can ever describe. We’d experienced more than we expected and were very moved by what we saw and learned. We felt grateful to the warm and generous people in our shtetls that welcomed two American strangers into their lives and homes and shared their stories and their time.

And, we could not have asked for a better guide than Olek. We are truly indebted to him. This trip could have been quite a different experience if our guide had not been him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for us. There was no request too trivial or too large. He opened doors all over Ukraine and won the hearts of the people with whom he interacted, including us.

Tuesday, Aug 15^th: Bobby set her alarm clock for 4:30 AM. Neither of us are morning people and we were not happy about the prospect of getting up this early. But we were anxious to be on our way. The phone in our room rang at 5:10. It was Olek, in the lobby, wondering where we were. Apparently, Bobby had set the alarm for PM, not AM. We dressed and were downstairs in ten minutes, breathless. Olek drove at his usual breakneck speed and we were at the airport with time to spare. The hotel had prepared two very large breakfasts for us because we would be leaving before the dining room opened. We gave one to Olek for his trip back to Ukraine and kept the other. Since we were fed on every leg of the trip back, we didn’t have to worry about going hungry.

The small plane left Rzeszow on time. We arrived in Warsaw, picked up our luggage, walked to the International Terminal and checked in. Fortunately, we didn’t have long to wait for the next plane. The most difficult part was finding the gate. By the time we arrived at the gate, we just walked onto the plane. The trip to Frankfurt was only an hour. We were fed the usual assortment of unidentifiable food. We ate it all.

We arrived in Frankfurt with its huge terminal. Here we were changing buildings as well as airlines. Bobby planned to check her luggage all the way through to LA from Rzeszow but we had to claim it in Warsaw when we changed terminals and again in Frankfurt when we changed airlines. So we just dragged our rolling bags behind us. We had enough time to visit the lounge, wash up and get checked through passport control before boarding the American Airlines plane for the trip to New York. It sounded strange to hear people speaking English. Even the rhythm is different.

The flight to New York is seven hours. We were both tired but too excited to sleep. We easily cleared customs at JFK and Joan’s husband Frank met us at the airport. He waited with us until shortly before Bobby’s plane was to leave. Bobby boarded her plane to LA, stretched out, and was asleep in minutes. She slept the entire way to LA. Joan was so wired, it took her days to come down.

We both went to work the next day; sorry the trip was over, still amazed at our experiences, and very grateful for the opportunities we had. We’d been planning this trip for more than a year. Now we would begin thinking about where we wanted to go next.

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