Page 94

In Memory of my brother Michael Lotringer
and my sister-in-law Maniah

Translated from the Hebrew by Michael Kallay

At that time the Polish Nationalists were running wild in the streets of Lvov. Anti-Semitism was growing, and we could feel that a war was coming soon.  Younger Jews were all looking for places to go, so even the Aliya Bet (the illegal aliya organization) was hard to get into - so many were waiting in line.  Since I was an activist in the Zionist Organization "Achvah" in Bobrka, I was added to the passenger list.

With great pain I separated from my sister-in-law and brother who had been like a father and mother to me during the three years I lived in their house.  In writing I cannot express how difficult it was to separate from the house where I grew up, from the area I loved so much, and from the friends I had been united with since our beautiful childhood years.  I cannot describe how jealous my friends were of me, even though they knew the path I chose was a difficult departure into the unknown.  We waited for a month in Lvov for the transport that was delayed for security reasons.  At this time, in June 1939, the city of Lvov was full of German Jewish refugees, former Polish citizens that had been deported from their homes in Germany during the infamous Kristallnacht (the night of broken glass).  It was frightening to go out at nights in the streets.  Groups of Poles and Ukrainians would roam the street chanting slogans like "Long live Lvov without Jews", and "Away with the Jews", and so on.  Even so, many of the young men that were supposed to be in our convoy to Eretz Yisrael were drafted in the general conscription that was announced in Poland.

On the day of my departure, my brother came to Lvov in order to say goodbye to me, as if he knew that we were never to see each other again.  I still see his image, wrapped in his talit and t'fillin, deep in prayer with tears flowing from his green eyes, a warm prayer for his sister who was departing on a journey into the unknown.  Near the train we parted with great emotion.  "See you in Eretz Yisrael" were his last words, and I didn't know that we were separating forever.

From the port of Constantinople [Istanbul] we sailed on the cargo ship Las Perlas.  This was a long journey wrought with suffering.   We spent weeks and weeks at sea on meager food and water rations, and awful sanitary conditions.  After several attempts to land on the coast of Israel, the Turkish captain decided to return to Constantinople.

Our people were outraged.  We rebelled.  We tied up the sailors, and forced the captain to sail towards the shores of Israel.  As we came close to shore, one of our engines broke down and we stalled. British coast guard ships detected us, and dragged our ship to shore.

After a week at [the detention camp] Atlit we were released.  This was before the time of deportations from Eretz Israel.  I arrived at my family's place in Raanana unannounced, because I couldn't tell them I was going via the Aliya Bet or they would have worried about me.  We managed to receive one last letter from my brother, expressing his great joy for my arrival in the land of my dreams and his dreams.

During all the years of war we hoped against hope that my brother and his wife would be among the survivors.  But we hoped in vain.  They were not rewarded and neither were we.  When the few survivors from our city arrived, we learned of the awful truth.  My beloved brother was shot in the street.  He left the ghetto, and some Ukrainians discovered him and handed him over to the murderers.  His wife was killed with the rest of the Jews of the ghetto.  May God avenge their blood. May their souls be bound up with the soul of the nation.

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