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To the memory of My father – Hayyim My mother – Zelda My sisters – Leah, Hinda, and Shaina My brother-in-law – Yitzchak and my sister's son – Yacov Who perished in the Shoah.

My dear parents and sisters did not have a grave.

Nor a monument – a marker of mute, silent stone

For the lives that were and no longer are,

For the lives that were lost in the valley of slaughter even as they were blossoming.

For my father and mother– the best, most honest, intelligent people; the most loyal and devoted of parents, for my sisters who perished in their youth – my heart secretly cries without cease.

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The murderers saw to it that even the smallest consolation would not remain for those who survived and stay mired in grief, forever broken.

I have lost hope that I will ever be able to throw myself onto the graves or headstones of my dear ones.

My great sorrow would move even the cold stone, if there were one, to speak – my language would be understood and it would listen to me talk.

A grave and a headstone – my dear ones were not granted even that – not even a trace remains ---

But in my heart, which bleeds, I guard the memory of them and will, until my last breath. May their souls be bound up in the bonds of life.

Celebration in the home of Chaim Perliuk in honor of the visit of Hinda (wife of Moshe) in Mizoch

At a young age she married our father, Leibush, who was a scholar and ritual slaughterer from a respected family in the town of Kaniv. Still in the bloom of her youth she was widowed, and we lost our father. With difficulty, Mama barely supported her family till she buckled under the weight of that burden. A number of years after that, she married Shlomo Finkel and gave birth to three more children.

At the time the ghetto was being liquidated, she managed to escape with her husband, together with the Kurtz and Mendelssohn families from among the refugees. After eight days of hiding she went out to look for

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food, was caught, and killed. We learned this from Mrs. Kurtz. The others of this group in hiding were all killed, too, and only Mrs. Kurtz remained alive.

Sarah Goldberg (née Truchler)

From right to left: Yitzchak Leiber, Shabbetai Golob (lives in Israel), Asher Sudobitzky and Borya Sizak

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Memorial in honor of the Kopit family and the Tzirkel family murdered during the Holocaust

1. The special joy that comes from taking gratification in and being proud of one's children's accomplishments. Return

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At the edge of town, hidden among dense trees, surrounded mostly by greenery, stood our small house. Our house was small, and poor in appearance, but honesty and happiness prevailed within its walls. In that house I was born and raised and I lived there with my brother and two sisters, may G-d avenge their blood, and I never left till the bitter end. My parents were simple people, honest and upright. Above all they valued the commandments of charity and hospitality. Accordingly, every embittered or needy person found in our house a sympathetic ear, a meal, and support. Our house being close to the synagogues in town, villagers were eager to stay there when they came to town for the Days of Awe, or for yohrzeit^[1] or holidays; also when a village orphan needed to study Torah in town, we took care of all his needs. When the Germans desecrated the Beit Midrash,^[2] father risked his life to save the Torah scroll from their degenerate hands. He cried like a child then, and was consoled because from then on there was no doubt in his heart that the hand of G-d would deal with those evil doers and they would never be cleared of their crimes in doing harm to our people's sanctuaries.

On the day the ghetto was liquidated, Papa – a pious Jew – remembered to don his prayer shawl and lay tefillin^[3] and recite the confession while walking to the killing pits. Mama, in contrast, in her last moments focused on smuggling the youngsters out past the ghetto walls. She almost succeeded in her task; only her first granddaughter, Tsipkeleh – whom we all cherished – did she not succeed in saving. [Tzipkeleh] perished together with my parents and the entire sacred community.

Till my last breath, engraved on my heart will be the memory of our little house and its dear inhabitants. May my small, modest account here serve as a monument to their lives and as a respectful remembrance of them.

1. The anniversary of a death, to be marked with memorial prayers. Return
2. Tradition House of Study Return
3. Phylacteries Return

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At a young age it befell him to become the guardian of a big family. Papa died, and we remained without means or livelihood. Yosef took on the heavy burden of providing for the family and did so honorably. He was very successful in business and the family lacked for nothing.

Yosef Wolfman and his sister Rachel

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Two friends had sons.

One was born on Hanukkah and his name was Michael Nemirover, and the second was born on Shavuot and his name was David Gantzberg. The two of them were educated together from childhood. They were pampered and cared for like two expensive, ornamental trees in a garden. When they got a little older, they parted ways. Michael was a member of “Hashomer Haleumi” and David was in “Gordonia,” but they maintained their childhood friendship and stayed connected with ties of mutual affection.

David

Michael

We remember the last moments of parting from them. We had been recruited into the Red Army and they stayed in Mizoch. Michael somehow sensed that we would not see each other again, and he said, it's such a pity I can't go with you. David was lying on his bed with a broken ankle and crying as we left. Michael met his end in the mass pit of the martyrs of Mizoch. David healed and was recruited to the army and died a hero's death at the front lines of the Red Army in Kalinin.

We worked together with them on behalf of Zion. We dreamt of continuing to work in Eretz Israel on behalf of our people. But fate wished otherwise. They were not even granted a Jewish burial. May these words be an eternal flame on their unknown graves. May their souls be bound up in the bonds of life.

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My parents were simple, honest people. Papa was a tailor and earned his living with the work of his hands. Mama was a good homemaker, devoted to her children and husband and friends and all the neighbors. My parents deprived themselves^[1] to obtain education for their children.

On Sabbaths and holidays the house was filled with joy and light, happiness and gaiety. Papa was an optimist by nature, he loved life and always believed in good days to come. Even during the dark days of the ghetto, he did not lose faith and was sure the reign of evil would meet its downfall. But he and the members of my family did not live to see that downfall; they perished together with all the Jews of Mizoch on the day the ghetto was liquidated. May their memory be blessed.

1. Literally, they took from their own mouths. Return

Papa, R. Eliahu Olicker, was a very pious Jew and he gave his many children a religious education.

We lived at the edge of town in a small, modest house, and we were all happy. Papa was proud of his family and his children. He succeeded in marrying off all of them and took much joy and gratification in them. On the night of the Passover seder, we would all gather at his house and his happiness knew no bounds. Paper never grumbled and he never complained against G-d. He always said, whatever G-d wills is good. In the ghetto, mother was very worried for the children and lamented our bitter fate, but Papa accepted even the suffering and remained certain in his belief that G-d would not abandon His people. But all my extensive family perished and I remained alone. May their souls be bound up in the bond of life.

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