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Hebrew text:

Ilya Konstantinovsky (Liusya)

Ilya was born in Kiliya in 1913. His parents David and Feiga Konstantinovsky moved to Vilkov, and he lived there until 1925. He returned to Kiliya in 1925. He studied Law and Literature at the Bucharest University. From 1940, he published 14 books, most of them on Jewish topics and the fight against the Nazis.

We are printing here two selections from his book “The First Arrest,” in which he describes Kiliya and Ismail in the 1930s.

In this autobiographical fragment, he describes his swimming in the Danube with his cousin Liusya Ben Aharon Konstantinovsky. This swim ended in a tragedy that traumatized the entire city.

Ilya Konstantinovsky: The First Arrest, 1960

I again came to the intersection and saw a strange wagon on two wheels. It didn't have a carriage body; instead, on the wheels there was a fitted barrel, and on that, as if on a carriage body, perched an old man, covered up to his eyes by a dirty-gray beard, with a barely noticeable, bluish grey nub of a nose and dull, cloudy green eyes. The old man was soaking wet, as if he had intentionally been drenched, and his beard, looking like a wet dishcloth, was clumped together. His nag with shedding hair and a bulging stomach was also wet, and the barrel with rusty hoops was wet – it left a trail behind on the cobblestones like a thin stream.

“Water carrier!” a woman in a black kerchief shouted, leaning out of an open window.

The old man heard the cry and stopped. I came closer. The man unhurriedly got two buckets, and then also unhurriedly pulled out a long stopper, wrapped in a cloth – a stream shot from the barrel and nearly grazed the old man's beard, but he had managed to turn away and place the buckets. When they were full, he plugged the barrel again and, stepping with difficulty in his wet, ragged boots, carried the buckets with water to the house.

Thus began the first day of my new life in the city.

Summer began again, dry, hot, with a faded sky and dull leaves curled inward from the heat. I gave in and broke the rules. My return to the Danube was short-lived and painful. I paid a dear price for it.

When he learned that I was planning to go swimming, my cousin, a serious boy my same age with a freckled face and big attentive eyes, latched onto me. We lived in the same house, our names were even the same, we studied together, prepared our lessons, and secretly – unbeknownst to the adults – went over to the Danube.

The Danube greeted us with an especially blinding sparkle, reflecting the white light of the sun. Finding a good spot, we quickly undressed and ran toward the water. I immediately began to dive, do flips, and try to see if I still remembered how to swim. It seemed like the water would hold me only when I was swimming like a frog – my ability to swim the crawl, the side stroke, or the back stroke had been lost. After splashing around and swallowing some of the muddy water, I looked around for my cousin. We had agreed that he wouldn't go far from the shore but would wait for me to start teaching him how to swim. I looked on the shore, but he wasn't there. A bee appeared over the water. Following it with my eyes, I saw Sasha. But he wasn't where I expected. He was significantly farther from the shore than I was myself, almost up to his neck in the water.

“Whirlpool!” The awful realization flashed through my mind, and I instantly became heavy with dread: with a few strong wheel-like movements under the water I got out of the swimming hole, leaped onto the shore, and began to call for help.

The area was deserted. All that could be seen, on the right above a reddish precipice, was the dirty grey walls of a slaughterhouse. My shouts didn't reach it. Soon, a small crowd had gathered around me: some old man, wearing snow boots in spite of the heat, a woman large and round like a barrel, several boys my age, and a shabby guy covered in mud with dull, fearful eyes. They all haphazardly bustled around on the shore.

“It's bumpy here, a horse can't pull him out of there,” said the guy covered in mud.

But the old man in snow boots said otherwise:

“You need a rope… If we had a rope, we'd get him out at once!”

Meanwhile, my cousin's head was drifting farther from the shore. He never opened his eyes or shouted. The current carried him farther and farther, and he was slowly submerged deeper and deeper under the water. His mouth was already not visible, then his eyes disappeared, and the water effortlessly washed over his head. Then he was completely gone under the white, bubbly surface of the water.

Ilya Konstantinovsky in November 1989. He attended the gathering of Kiliyans in Tel Aviv at Beit HeHalutz.

He said: “In the 1930s, there was a discussion in Kiliya to make Aliyah or to assimilate. My friends, I have to admit that you were right!”

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Russian text:

Cover page of Ilya Konstantinovsky's book The Book of Wanderings, 1972

Cover page of Ilya Konstantinovsky's book Return to Bucharest, 1963

The book The Order of the Stock Market was published in Paris in 1977. It bypassed the Soviet censorship. The author is very critical about the anti-Semitism of the Communist Party rulers in Poland. Before he returned from Paris to Moscow, he wrote to his family, “If I do not return, it is a sign that they sent me to the “vacation resort”…

Cover of the book Cities and Destinies - Documentary Stories, Moscow, Sovietsky Pisatel, 1979

Cover of the book The Warsaw Seder, published in French, Paris, Gallimard, 1977

In 1990, two new books by I. Konstantinovsky were published: From Candle to Candle in Moscow and Yom Kippur by Aliyah Publishing, Jerusalem. Both books depict the Soviet Union Jewish writer who suffered many years from the regime because of his beliefs and his world views and is a mirror of Konstantinovsky's life.

[Page 39]

Hebrew text:

Yacov (Jacob) Botoshansky

Dedicated to Yacov Botoshansky on his 60th birthday I am from Belz and you're from Kiliya Black for us is so much redder now We picked ripe forest berries Together wild, free, sincere Let's recall the summers of harvest The sorrow at the gate of the fields Evenings when the wine was flowing Let's drink until the sadness is going We'll plant the corn of autumn, deep in the earth; until it reaches clear waters As long as we have our songs We will peacefully remember the elderly years You are the master of exquisite words You stretched your wings in the wind With an abandoned joy and belief Like a Bessarabian summer morning With words you cultivated thoughts And words you sowed with a exciting heart With bundles of colourful words full of kindness You gave us the courage to tell our story.

Botoshansky was born in Kiliya. From 1914–1926, he was an avant-garde literary figure in Yiddish in Romania. Then he moved to Buenos Aires and was very active in all genres of Jewish literature and journalism. His plays Hershele and Rabbi Ber Liover were staged in Argentina and Soviet Russia.

He published many books that have been distributed in all countries of the Jewish diaspora.

Botoshansky was born in Kiliya in 1892. He started publishing before WWI. In 1914, he moved to Romania. There, he wrote mostly literary criticism in Yiddish. From Romania, he moved to Buenos Aires and was very active in literary and journalism circles. He published many books and two plays: Hershele and Rabbi Ber Liover. These plays were staged in Argentina and in the United States.

His books were published all over the Jewish world. He is considered one of the great authors by the literary world.

[Page 40]

Emilian Bukov

Russian text:

Native of Kiliya

In 1932, Bukov's first book of poetry, Work in Full Swing, was published by the Communist underground. This collection and his next two books, The Sun's Language and China, were banned by the Romanian secret police. He strongly criticized the difficult situation and the tragic state of exploited workers in the poems “The Ditch Diggers,” “Inferno,” “We Want Land,” etc. The theme of the heroic struggle against Nazi imperialism was very important in Bukov's works (the poems “Letter to China,” “They Shall Not Pass,” “Burning of the Age,” “Worldwide Autumn,” and others.). Mayakovsky had a major influence on Bukov's work.

During WWII, two collections of his poems were published in Moscow in a Russian translation: I See You, Moldova (1942) and Spring on the Dniester (1944). These books, permeated by a deep belief in the victory of the people, were a call to action against the Nazi invaders.

After the war, he published the collection Poems, the story “Andriash,” and the poem “My Country.” The Russian translation of the story “Andriash” (1946) received second prize in a children's literature contest organized by the Ministry of Education of the Russian Soviet Socialist Republic. The poem “My Country,” filled with a life-giving sense of Soviet patriotism,

Hebrew text:

Bukov was born in 1909 in Kiliya to a Lipovanian family. Later he registered as a Moldavian. He was a successful poet of the Romanian language, and later, he held the function of chairman of the Cabinet of the Soviet Republic of Moldova.

He graduated from the University of Bucharest in Literature and Philosophy. In 1932, a book of poetry was published by the Communist underground. This collection and two more books, The Sun's Language and China were banned by the Romanian secret police. He hid his manuscripts with his Jewish friends, who were also searched by secret police agents. He strongly criticized the difficult situation and the tragic state of exploited workers in the poems “The Ditch Diggers,” “Inferno,” “We Want Land,” etc.

He dedicated many works to the Great War against the Nazis. He was inspired in his writings by Vladimir Mayakovsky. During WWII, he published in Moscow two collections of poems in Russian. In these poems, he expressed his belief in the victory of the Russians against the Nazis. After the war, he published in Russian translation “Poems” and the story “Andriash.”

Here we print the poem “Benia,” dedicated to a simple Jew from Kiliya, Benia Oks, a photographer loved by all. Benia Oks was arrested by the policeman Ofrish of the Romanian Secret Service. When the Romanians and the Germans invaded Kiliya in 1941, Benia courageously helped the Jewish people. He was sentenced to death by hanging.

On the next page are fragments from the poem “Benia,” translated from the Romanian by Sheli Fain.

Moshe Ianover

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Russian text: Excerpts from the poem “Benia” in Romanian, dedicated to the Jewish athlete Benia Oks.

Hebrew text: “Benia,” a poem by Emilian Bukov. This poem is dedicated to Benia Oks, a Jew from Kiliya loved by all. Translated from the Romanian by Sheli Fain.

Romanian text:

Boots big as a cart wheel A step longer than a yard His wide back is dressed in rags He stands tall as a lamp post His big nose is almost touching A mouth the size of a pot But his eyes are always laughing And they always seem to joke Benia, Benia! What my brother? Nu? and Wus? And his answers are so sweet On his face a warm smile Pure and childish at the most He is passionate for pictures Carries on his back with pleasure An old camera on sticks Even if he is very hungry Has or doesn't have a cent Gives away a lot of candy To the children on the streets Once a cargo full of weapons Came to port by afternoon Benia and his camera Just by chance was strolling by A policeman stopped him then With a stick he beat him up And with heavy fists he hit him Scram from here, or you will die I will run don't worry now! A week passed and his nose Swelled big as a tomato But his sunny disposition Never changed a bit Who smacked you on the face? A policeman, smarty pants, But I hit him in the nose And I gave him on his face A bump bigger than my fist… Last boat sailed to the old kingdom And the cop got muddled With the evil cargo on the quay You can hear him swearing out loud Benia then approached the cop Not a hello or good day But he whispered in his ear “I shook hands With a big Soviet general” The policeman was so mad -Just remember who I am With one blow I shut you up! You'll be mute the rest of days! Many days just after that, Two or five maybe The sun didn't shine at all Darkness came upon the land The policeman then returned On the board of the jinxed ship Saw Benia walking by And arrested him, Ayay! Big investigation And then condemnation Me? What did you say? To the gallows? I am not In a hurry to be shot! In a sunny holiday They built gallows on the street The sidewalks were full Of people young and old Soldiers, agents, children, too A little girl and her mother Near the wooden gate both cry Benia smiles to all who gathered With wide lips that almost reach To the corner of the next street Without warning an agent Shoves him with enormous force Why? What did I do? he asked Suddenly Benia grasps: What? Me a SPY? Must be kidding…AyAyAy…

[Page 42]

Moshe Grinberg

Moshe Grinberg was born in Kiliya in 1918 and immigrated to Israel in 1960. He wrote a novel about Kiliya in the thirties.

In this fragment, we can read about an encounter between Benia Oks and an agent from the secret police named Robert.

Driven by Fate

Moshe Greenberg

“Have pity on us, don't shame us!”

But Madam Palescu didn't want to listen. She ripped the blanket off the bed and heaved it out the window. Robert began to drag the table out of the house.

“Don't touch my things!” Melya cried.

Iosele grabbed a rolling pin and swung it at Madam Palescu.

“Robert! Robert!” she screeched in a frightened voice.

Melya snatched the rolling pin away from Iosele.

Madam Palescu shrieked, “Now I know who I'm dealing with! The Jews wanted to swindle me and live in my home for free!”

Melya, Yefim, and Iosele tried to stop their things from being thrown out, but nothing helped. Robert went into a rage and attacked Yefim with his fists.

Melya shouted, “Don't beat him, Robert!”

The scumbag only smirked. He threw out the last of their possessions, kicked Yefim, Melya, and the children out of the house, and locked the door. Madam Palescu and Robert left, very pleased with themselves.

People walked by and sympathetically gazed on the household belongings. Melya's tears fell to the ground. No one noticed that Benia Oks had appeared.

“What's going on here?” he inquired.

And, hearing their whole story, he clenched his teeth and said, “If I had made it in time, Robert would have been pounded into smithereens!… But Melya, it's no use crying. I won't leave you on the street…”

Flowers for Anna Ginzburg

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On the banks of the Danube A small town, Kiliya, sprawls Each corner is beloved And every stone is dear My little town where I lost everything My heart still has love for you I will not forget you Because you are my pride forever From far away I smell the acacia flowers Maybe it's just a dream I have I saw a cruel war The fascists killed and murdered us And your best sons Did not return Mothers cried and grieved They all are old and sick now But don't cry my old mothers Please listen to my song To our Eretz Israel we'll go Many daughters and sons Will build a Jewish land Sweet God! Give Peace and Power And heal old wounds For many year to come

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