Ann Modenstein Shoah Foundation Testimony

Today is November 22nd, 1995, we are with Ann Modenstein, whose name at birth was Chana Idels, the interviewer is Sheryl Tatelman, we're in Lincoln, Nebraska, in the United States, and we'll be interviewing in English. I'm Sheryl Tatelman, and I'll be interviewing Ann Modenstein today, November 22nd, 1995, in Lincoln, Nebraska. Could you tell us your name, please?

My name is Ann Modenstein.

And your name when you were born?

I was born Chana Idels.

Could you spell that for us?

I-D-E-L-S.

And where were you born?

I was born in Kovno, Lita, Lithuania.

And when?

1928, January 22nd.

And what were the names of your parents?

My mother's name was, uh, Shira, and my father's name was Abram.

Idels?

Idels, yes. And, I, I was the youngest of two sisters, and my older sister's name was Chaya.

So you were Chaya and Chana?

Chaya and Chana, yes.

And what did your parents do?

My parents had a business, we had a grocery store, and my mother usually worked with my father, and, um, we went to school.

When your mother was working, was there someone else who would watch you during the day?

Um, we had, um, we had a girl, a Polish girl, in the house, that she, she lived with us she, uh, was like a housekeeper. And, um, sometimes, when it was busy, even she used to go and help my father. But, uh, I attended the, um, Hebrew gymnasium, and, uh, it was called Schwabe's Gymnasium, and unfortunately, I did not, um, finish school, because the war broke out, and I was in sixth grade then and, um, we had, uh, as a child I had a good life, a happy life, I belonged to an organization, uh, Betar, and, uh, I used to love to ice skate in the wintertime.

And, um, we had a very big extended family, from uncles and aunts and cousins, and actually, even though with all the anti-Semitism there, and knowing that uh, we are second-grade citizens, as Jews, we still felt very good. Kovno was a beautiful city. And I remember it very well. And, um, so that's how life went on for me, til, uh, 1940, when the Russians occupied Lithuania, things changed because they, um closed all the private Hebrew schools and, uh, we had to go to their schools, Russian school, and, uh, we had a feeling then about war, because the war started in Poland. And we heard on radio what was going on, but we always thought that it will never happen. It'll never go as far as it went.

Before you tell us about that, can you tell us a little bit more about the community in Kovno? Did you live in an area that was mostly Jewish?

Um, Kovno, uh, was about, I think, between 45 and 60 thousand Jews, but it was spread out, it was a big city, and in that, uh, we had an apartment, and in that apartment house, um, I would say about half and half. Half Jews and half gentiles. And mostly, uh, the Jewish people lived in the, in the main streets, and had the businesses in the main streets. Very few people had their own homes outside, like here, you know, so, um, that's, that's what I remember. Jews, it used to be large apartment houses, in, uh, in the city. Outside the city, there were already, you know, smaller homes. And, um, spread all over, we were, the Jewish people lived all over because of businesses, and, um, most of the doctors and, uh, lawyers, it seems like the Jewish people prospered over there.

So it was a wealthy community?

It was a wealthy community, yes.

Was- was your family an assimilated family? Were they observant?

Well, not assimilated, we were observant, I wouldn't say religious, until my grandmother lived with us, my father's mother. Uh, I barely remember her, I must've been maybe 3, 4 years when she passed away, until she lived with us, we were more observant, but, uh, as time went on, my father was a free-thinking man, and, um, uh, observing, the Sabbath and the holidays, but actually not so, like we say, religious.

Sort of a traditional family?

Traditional family, yes. Some in the, the rest of the family, [coughs] some were more religious, some were less, but, uh, we were just, not, not, not too religious.

Well, tell, tell us a little bit about the Jewish holiday Shabbat, and the other holidays, what was it like in your home?

Well, um, we were always looking for Friday night and Shabbat, my father used to have his business closed, and, uh, usually, um, I don't remember him going every Shabbat to the synagogue, but once in a while, he went, and it was a relaxing day for everybody. Sha—Shabbat morning, it was my father's time to, um, serve breakfast, and I remember he also, also, always used to bring coffee in the morning, and we had a babka that he was serving my mother, and, um, then, of course, the, the big lunch, that we had on Shabbat because we didn't cook, and, so, I don't know, people will remember, we used to have the cholent for dinner, and, um, then in the afternoon there was always getting together with family. That was the part of the day that I loved because uncles and aunts came, and cousins with children played, and they used to talk about all kind of stuff, from the weekend, the politics, and about Palestine, at that time, and Zionism, and it was a happy house.

So you said there was a large extended family?

Very large extended family. My, um, not everybody from our family lived in Kovno, some lived in the surrounding smaller towns, but my mother comes from a family, they were, um, six sisters and two brothers, everybody was married, and children, my father had two sisters left in, uh, Kovno, one sister immigrated years ago to the States, so they had children, and it seems like, uh, every Saturday, somebody else used to come, or we used to go to them, and, uh, I'm speaking at a, as a child then, because I was still 12 years old, so, um, in 12 years old in the old country, was really a child, not like in the, in the, the new world, now, so, uh, as I remember that, I had a very, very happy childhood.

And what was your relationship with your sister like?

My sister was seven and a half years older than I was, so our relationship was more like mother and daughter than, than two sisters, because she was already quite older than I am, and she had other interests. And, uh, she went to the gymn-gymnasium, and studied very hard, and then, when my father got busy. she too, helped in the business because we had a nice, big store, and she had her own friends, you know, I used to drag, sometimes, behind them, and, uh, she always used to tell me to go away [laughs} but, um, um, I had my own friends, and like I said, in the wintertime I used to love skating, and the summertime my mother, uh, used to, we used to rent a cottage, in the woods, uh, away from Kovno, and we used to take the ferry boat to go there, which it was beautiful, and the river, the Kovno- the Neman river was around Kovno, and we used to usually stay in the summer home for about six weeks, and my father used to come Friday late afternoon, and stay til Sunday mor- Sunday afternoon, and then go back to his business. So, um, that was, a nice summer vacation, we didn't have three months' vacation from school, we had just, I think, six or seven weeks. So, back to school, and back to the everyday grind.

And you were going to a Hebrew gymnasium?

It was a private Hebrew gymnasium, yes. Everything was taught in Hebrew, and just once, one hour in the morning, a Lithuanian teacher used to come in, and he used to teach us Lithuanian. But otherwise, everything in Hebrew.

And what language did your family speak at home?

Mostly Yiddish. We spoke mostly Yiddish, and of course Lithuanian was the language of the country, so we all spoke Lithuanian, and Russian, because Russia, too, and, um, that was the main, uh, languages we spoke then, before the war.

And what was your mother like?

My mother was, um, very cheerful all the time, and she loved to, uh, play jokes on people until the later years, um, like '38, '39, she got sick with rheumatoid, uh, arthritis, and then she started to get a little crippled up, so, uh, she had to take it easy, and, uh, couldn't, couldn't do a lot of things with us. Which, with me, actually, my sister was already a little grown up. So that, I missed out that, with my mother, to be, um, running around, and, you know. But, um, we, we were a loving family. We were small, two children, but a very loving family.

And what kind of a child were you?

[laughs} I would say that I was a good child, like any other child, sometimes I listened to what the parents told me to do, sometimes I didn't. But, um, I wasn't a very good student. I never wanted to study, and our gymnasium was, uh, on the street, right to the, to the, river, and I used to love to look out the windows and dream. And uh, sometimes I got caught doing it, but it was okay.

You said that you were aware of anti-Semitism even before the war. What kinds of ways-?

Well, just, um, just of the feeling that, when, um, my parents wouldn't let me go at night alone, and if I used to go ice skating, or something, there used to be gentile boys, and they used to, you know, uh, call us names, and, and, um, pull the hair, things like that. And like I said, that's from a chil—child point of view. So I wasn't really understanding exactly what's happening. But, um, an—and from my parents talking, you know, that, um, uh, we have to be careful with the children, you know, at night, and this and that.

So you had a sense that things might be dangerous?

We had a, we had a sense that it was always, you know, dangerous, uh, but, actually I, myself, did not, um, did not feel it much at all.

Did you ever go to a public school where there were gentile children?

Never, no. No. But we played with them together, we had— where our apartment was, it was like a court, in the apartments around, and in a court, and always used to play there, with the children together, and my father had a lot of, um, cli—, uh, clients who came from out of town in to buy things from our store, and, uh, he was very good, um, uh, communicated with them very good. So actually, uh, we didn't feel it too much. And, um, until 1940.

Um hum. And then what happened?

1940, the Russian army, the Russians took over Lithuania. And, uh, things changed, because we could not go to the schools. The Hebrew schools were closed. They, uh, wanted very much for us to speak Russian. And, um, we had to go to their schools, and it was a change. And we felt, um, in the air, that, uh, something is going to be changing, the war in Poland was going on already, and, uh, a lot of Polish, uh, Jews started to running into Lithuania. And we felt that something is going on, and that lasted, uh, not quite a year, because in 1941, the Germans took over.

So what was it like under the Russians? It was...?

Well, they used to liquidate businesses, they took away the businesses, and my father was lucky, I guess, they let him work in our store, but it was confiscated. And they, uh, sent a lot of, um, my family to Siberia, because my family owned, uh, my aunts and uncles, they owned some land and two businesses. And, uh, it was a small-town, Marijampole, and, they, uh, sent two families, with their children, to Siberia. And at that, at that time we thought it was terrible. We didn't realize that, um, at the end, actually, they were the lucky ones. Because they worked very hard in Siberia, and had a terrible life, but at least they were all alive. They all came out of, uh, okay.

So that part of the family survived the war?

That part of the family survived the war, of course my aunts and uncles and, died a long time ago, but the cousins, their children, came, immigrated to Israel, some about fifteen years ago, some five years ago, and now, I understand everyone is coming, and they are reuniting themselves. So, that, I have about, maybe 20 cousins now in Israel that, some of them I didn't meet yet. They came the last two years.

But at the time these people were sent to Siberia, they didn't have a choice, and...?

They had no choice, they were sent in 1940, '41 to Siberia, and, um, hard labor, you know, um, but then, they, they were all educated, they are very highly educated, actually, and doctors, and uh, engineers, and all that, and, um, at least they stayed alive, because the rest of them who stayed behind didn't.

Do you remember what kind of conversations the adults were having after they, after this happened, that the, some of the family was sent to Siberia? Were people—?

Well, we, it was, uh, terrible, because at that time, it was almost like, uh uh, a tragedy, you know, to send away people, we didn't even get to say goodbye to them. Nothing. And then, um, everything was confiscated, like I said, they ran everything, they took everything over, And, um, that's all that we even heard from them, we never heard from them anymore, because um, not quite a year later, the Germans took over and everything stopped then.

So what happened— so in 1940?

In 1941.

'41.

Uh, uh, when the Germans, uh, came in into, uh, Kovno, a lot of people ran together with the Russian army to escape, and they ran into Russia. Some were st- some ma- some made it, some were stopped. We never went anyplace, we stayed home. And then when the bombs started to, to come down on us, and artillery, we were hiding, uh, underground for just a few days.

And then we came back to our apartment, and, uh, they were blasting on the radios that all the Jews have to register, and all the Jews have to bring the monies to such and such a place, and the fu- the jewelry, the fur coats, everything, uh, they used to grab, mostly men at that time, people from the streets, for labor, we were told not to walk on the sidewalks, we had to walk on the street, and then we had to wear those yellow, um, Mogan Dovids, the star of David, in the back and in the front, and, uh, our neighbors that we were, we lived together for so many years, two in the guest house, even the girl who lived with us all those years, the Polish girl, said, I've, you know, I would, when, she even said it when the Russians came in, that if the Germans come in I'll be the first one to run with the knife to kill Jews. So everything turned upside-down, and, um, little by little, they were taking people from the streets and they never returned, we never knew what happened to them. And then, came out that um, all the Jews from Kovno will have to move to a ghetto.

So did these things happen gradually?

Gradually. Every day something else. And then, this came out we have to move to the ghetto. The ghetto they, uh, had, it's uh, Slobodka, it was called. And that was like, over the bridge, over the water, a small place, like a suburb, from Kovno, mostly the poor people lived there, also, uh, a lot of gentiles, a lot of broken-down little wooden homes, and this is the place that they decided to make the ghetto.

And at that time, we were, I would think, at least 35 or 40 thousand Jews. And there was no place for them. So, uh, whatever you could, you could find, a basement, an attic, to move in with uh, two, three families together, uh, we had to, you know, at that time, there was, not everybody had cars over there, so horse and buggy, we took, took a few belongings, and the Germans always used to say, um, don't, um, take too much, because you're just going to work, and the Lithuanians will take care of everything when you'll come back from your jobs, you know, you'll find everything intact. And of course, um, we had to leave everything in the apartments, we just took the necessities. And with horse and buggy, we moved in into the ghetto, and the people who lived in the ghetto, the gentiles, had to move out of their little homes, so they all moved out into our homes in Kovno. And took everything over. The ghetto was August 1941, so, was it—? August 15, 1941, the ghetto was closed.

So at that time no one was— could leave, or go in?

No. The ghetto was closed and it was with, uh, um, barbed wire around. And, uh, like I said, two, three families in one, uh, little house, my— my father's, uh, sister had already a little house there, so we moved in with them, and, uh, two, three families together. Um, food was still available because we took some food with us, and then, um, it started to, they started to make, it was like a, actually like a small town because there were so many people, so, they started, they had a Jewish committee, they had the Jewish police, they had, uh, schools for the children, because the children with the families, well, some of them still together. We could cook, ourselves, like, like a little small town, funtioning as much as we could. Then, they started to, uh, call out that, uh, brigades, you know, like at the airport, they needed so many people to work, to build the airport. And the other factories, they need so many people to work. And they came in, the German soldiers came in, and they used to say, uh, to the police, bring to the, to the street so many people, and then they used to march out from the ghetto, and march to work, work all day, and then at night used to march back.

And they were never paid for their work?

Oh, of course not. Never paid for their work, the only thing what it helped a little bit was we still had something with us, if you, um, not dollars, litas, a little money, or maybe a ring, or something, that it was hidden, and not given away before we got in ghetto, and when the people used to go to work, they mingled sometimes with gentiles, and they exchange, I give you a gold watch, you give me, um, loaf of bread. Or vice versa, few potatoes. So sometimes you could smuggle it in, in the ghetto, when you came back from work, and sometimes when the Germans saw what you are carrying, they took it away from you. But every, every so often, uh, they were auctions, auction, I think, is right, that they were sorting people, young people, old people, right, left, that was, I would think, the end of October, the big auction sale, the black day, we call it, the, the, German soldiers came in, and they, um, told the people at night to go out at ni- uh, all day, and a big uh, place, and, um, all the people from the ghetto had to be there.

Did they call that every person—?

Everybody, child, old person, sick person, everybody had to come. And they let us stay a whole day, and then,

You stayed there for a whole day?

The Germans— stayed there for a whole day, and there was a selection. And we didn't know if right is to stay alive, or left is to stay alive, actually some people were sent to right, and they thought the left is better, so they ran to the left side, smuggled themselves in to the left side, and there, there wasn't the right place. And, uh, mostly, um, families stayed together, and, uh, also brigades that worked together were combined together, they stayed together. Um, this, uh, German officer's name was Rauca. Rauca.

Do you know how to spell it?

I don't know how to spell it in German. R-O-U-K-A, I think. Rauca. And he had this long wooden baton, and, um, picking, you know, you go to the right, you go to the left, and, uh, late at night, this one group was sent to the ninth fort, that was in, in, uh, not far from the ghetto, was a fort, alright.

A fort?

Uh-huh. I think you pronounce it fort. And over there the people were shot, also a lot of people from Germany were brought over there to be shot, Jews. And, uh, there was a rule, where on the right side we went back to our homes, and then we realized, you know, after, after it was calm, we realized that who, who they took away, you know, and who was left behind.

Before the selection happened, did you understand that this was a life decision, whether you would live or die?

No. We didn't know. No, we knew something is going on but they played it so, that every time it was a selection or every time they send you to a camp or something they always used to say, you're going to work, you're going to work over there. And by saying that, we actually thought we're going to work, and maybe by working we'll stay alive. So nobody, you know, like I said, some people even went to the left side, they didn't realize what's happening. And, uh, every day, selections, and every day, work, and um, that was the ghetto life until 1943.

So this selection you were talking about was the biggest selection—?

The black day, we called it. The big aktion. In Kovno ghetto.

But the selections happened many times after that?

Many times. A thousand people here, two thousand people here, uh, children, you know, older people, people were in the hospital sick, who couldn't work, but it was always— in the ghetto was alway— also a life. People went to school, they had vocational schools, and the police, and people were you know, kind of, uh, functioning, functioning. We had an orchestra in the ghetto, a symphonic orchestra was formed in the ghetto, also. Just to keep going, to feel like, uh, feel like human. We had to, we had to push ourselves like that. So, um,

November 22nd, 1995, with Ann Modenstein. You were talking about the ghetto, and there was a big selection in the ghetto.

Yeah, the big selection. And after that, there was always selections, and always taking off people, and always sending people to different labor camps, but I want to tell a little, uh, a little incident, what happened. You know, um, in the ghetto, people were forbidden to have children. And if somebody was born they took it away, right away. So this lady was giving, uh, birth to a child, and they were afraid that somebody from the German soldiers will come in at that time, and um, actually, there was a block, say, it was called, and there was vocational schools over there that the children, myself included, were working, all kind of different, uh, jobs, and made some noise and stuff so the, they brought her over there, so she could give birth over there, under the big noise and stuff so if somebody, soldier, comes, they would not hear, uh, um, you know, crying or yelling or something and, uh, she did give birth to this little boy, was born, and I don't know how he was- where he was hidden, how, and how he stayed alive, I don't know that, but I just found out a couple years ago that this little boy, who was born under those circumstances in the Kovno ghetto, is living in Be'er Sheva, Israel now.

So, and this is something you remember? You remember—?

I remember because I was at that school, you see, I was, uh, then about 14 or so, so, I didn't go out to work, but, they wanted, you know, we had to work for the Germans inside the ghetto. And, uh, all kinds of uh, little incidents, that, uh, you remember what happened, a school friend of mine, um, um, had a grenade in his hand going to work, he had a grenade in his hand and he threw it at the train, that they knew, when train is coming with, um, German soldiers, and he knew that he is going to get killed, but he threw the grenade, and he got killed, and of course the train, on a bridge, so, uh, there was some, some heroic, um, happenings in the ghetto too, um, one other man, by the name of Mack, uh, he was a jeweler, and his sister was my, my sister's best friend, and he was, wanted to escape through the ghetto, and they caught him on the barbed wire, and they brought him in back into the ghetto, and then hung him right there in the ghetto. And he was hanging, like, 24, 48 hours, and everybody, all the people in the ghetto had to come to this place, where the hanging was, and they had to watch him. Like, uh, you know, to scare people not to escape. But some did escape, some escaped when they took them out to the brigades to work, some were shot.

And then, uh, uh, talk, we heard that they are going to liquidate the ghetto, some people wanted to take out the children. To uh, take them to the Aryans to hide them. So, my cousin had a little boy and a little girl and, uh, was going out to work every day, and she put those two little children in a knap- big knapsack. And, um, so the children wouldn't cry, uh, they gave them shots, to fall to sleep, not to wake up. Well, it so happened, that that day, uh, Ir brigade marched out, the last one, and the medicine started to wear off of the children. And, um, so they gave them another medication, so they wouldn't cry, and they overdosed the children. So, to a little boy and a little girl. So incidents like that, you know, you wanted to, um, to escape, you wanted to take out your children from the ghetto, somehow, but sometimes it really backfired. And, in 1943, uh, my family was sent to a labor camp.

So, you were all together?

We were all together still, yes.

Your mother and your father and your sister?

Yes, yes.

And, were there other people from your family that were sent at the same time?

No, not, uh, not with us together, they were sent, uh, before, they were sent after, they, some of them were sent to Estonia to work, and, um, not, I don't know what happened to them, they were all killed. And, uh, some of them were sent to, um other labor camps. But we were sent to that labor camp, and, um, that was, uh, Schanzen, it's like a little for— a little suburb of Kovno, and we worked over there, uh, it used barracks, the men were separated and the women were separated, we didn't live together then, and, uh, my father was working in the camp, and he was, um, chopping wood that day, and a splinter of wood, um, went in into his, um, leg, into his toe, and, um, since he did not want to work, so the best thing was to go to the hospital, like a barrack that they called a hospital, to stay there so he wouldn't have to go to work, and so happened that that day, when my father was in that hospital, the Germans decided that they will ta— that was the children's aktion, the kinderaktion, to take all the children from that camp. They came in with, uh, big uh, uh, buses and the buses were painted black, the glass was painted so nobody could see what and when, and they dragged every child available out from this camp.

Were there small children in the camp?

Small children in the camp still, yes. Five, six, seven years old. Were babies when they came into, when they first started, and I was then, in the, I was also working in the camp, and, uh, since I was one of the older children then, I was watching the smaller children. And as we heard what was going on, we started to hide the we started to hide the, we started to hide the children them in between the, narrow, um, we were sleeping on, how do you say it, uh, wooden trench- not trenches, like beds you know, one next to the other kind of-

Like cots?

Not cots, like you see sometimes in the pictures that my, it slipped my mind how to say, now, in Jewish it's narrus. So, um, in, in, between the pillows where, so we used to hide the children in between the pillows, so maybe when they come in they won't see the children. So my friends, now my friend, at that time, you know, I was watching a little boy, and, um, was hiding him there, between the pillows, and she wasn't there, she was at work, and he use— he begged me, he used to say it, said to me in Yiddish. Hannahle, bahalt mir. It means, uh, um, gu— guard me, you know, hide me, so they wouldn't find me, and then uh, um, it's hard. The German soldiers came in, and they, uh, were poking with their sticks and the guns into the pillows, and they found every one of the children. And they dragged them out in the buses, and this little boy was the last one, was dragged out with a cane, the handle of the cane around his neck, and dragged him out. And that was also the day that my father was taken away, because all the people from the hospital were taken. And, um, didn't know what happened, where they took him, I'm sure they all took him right away to, uh, the gas chambers, and my father, at that time, was sent to Dachau. That's what I was told from people who were with him together. So, he ended up in Dachau, and my mother and my sister and I, and, uh, we stayed til, uh, '44.

How old were you at that time? When all the children were taken?

I was 14, 15?

So were you too old to be taken?

My mother was— yeah, they used— most of the time they took children up to 13, because then, you could, you could work already, you see, they didn't want to feed anybody who wasn't available to work for them for nothing. So when you were 14, 15, 13, you already could, um, supply a day's work. My mother always used to dress me older than I looked. She used to take, um, we didn't have any makeup, of course, used to find red paper, crepe paper or something, and used to make mine cheeks with rouge, so I look older, used to give me her shoes to wear with high heels, and also, stick some socks, so I would look older than my age, so they wouldn't take me away. And that's how actually I stayed alive. And, um, then, uh, I worked over there, later on I start working in uh, called tankholts. It's a factory who chops wood. They bring, the machines are going like, chopping all the time, and, uh, you guide the pieces of the wood under that, and you had to check the machine chopped it in squares, pieces, because the Germans used it for fuel, for the buses and for the trucks. So that was my job in the last, the last year, in that, um, Schanzen.

In the same camp?

In the same camp. And some people went to factories, some people went to dig ditches, some people did all kinds of work. And, I was there til, uh, they sent us to Stutthof.

And when you went to Stutthof, were you with your mother and your sister still?

I was with my mother and father— my mother and my sister, they send us to Stutthof, and they, too— they, uh, marched us to the train station, and again, separation of men and women, men and women. So, um, we were sent to Stutthof, and the men were sent to Dachau, Auschwitz, other camps, and then in Stutthof, um, again, sorting people.

When you got, when you arrived—?

When we arrived. When we arrived in Stutthof again, in a big, um, place, waiting, and we saw people going in, we never saw them coming out. They took everything away, I mean, we had a few belongings with a dress, two dresses, and something, you know, and, um, so, uh, they took everything away, and they gave us their concentration camp garb. And they did not tattoo our arm, but they shaved our heads. So, women with shaved heads and, uh, concentration camp garbs, there was no place where to go. And, they took us in to the showers for entlausung, clean-

Delousing?

Delousing. And, uh, when we walked out of the showers, we couldn't recognize each other. Because we were shaved, we just didn't recognize— we were, you know, we lost our, our... being human. We just— and then again, in the, in the barracks and, uh, living like animals, no food, no wash, no nothing, and from there, um, they started to send us out, with the people who could work, they started to make, uh, selections, and send us to different labor camps.

Were the conditions in Stutthof worse than the other camp you— in Schanzen?

Yes, that was already like a concentration camp. In Schanzen, at least we still felt like, you know, free. Not free, but, uh, we were always, uh, guarded, and always with, uh, barbed wire around us, but, we, Stutthof was already the last step.

In what kinds of ways was it different?

Uh, the selection. Just, uh, you know, they took all the men, and, you know, with the boys, they took them away, and just women, and we, when we marched in, in 19— end of, end of '43 into '44 already, people were there already from way before. And we looked at them, and we saw what can happen to humans.

So that the people there were much more sick, or—?

They were sick, they were hungry, they were skeletons, they looked at us and we, when we came up, they begged us through the barbed wiring to throw them what we had, some, a piece of bread or something. And, um, it was a horrible picture. Really bad. If we would have not seen, maybe we would not understand what's happening, but when we looked at other people, we know, we knew that this is going to be the end for us. But, I was young, again, and they took me to work again, you see, my mother was left, left in Stutthof, they didn't take her, because at that time she already had gray hair and looked older. [coughs]

So immediately when you came to Stutthof, she was selected?

Yes. So, uh, no, she was left there, and we were selected to get out of Stutthof, to, sent to a camp, and the people who could not work anymore, they were left in Stutthof, and they were eliminated there. So, we, I worked again, in different camps, and those camps were not, uh, stationary. We worked a week, two weeks, or so, and then we finished our job there, then they transported us in another camp. So in those camps we were living in pup tents. Ten women to a tent. And that was already January. And, I tell you, my— we— no mattress, nothing. And, I cannot tell you how many times my hair was, uh, frozen to the ground. And how much hair I used to leave in those pup tents. And every morning, we have to go roll call, no shoes, nothing, we have to stay to roll call for half an hour, an hour. And, um, they used to, we used to march, to work, uh, we were digging trenches for the German soldiers. And we had to stay and, uh, you used to, you used to get a shovel or a pick, and that was something that you had to guard with your life. Uh, because, if you lost it, or anybody stole it from you, you had to do your job and you had to dig with your hands. And, God forbid, if you fell in, in a place that it was sandy, and you dug, and you dug very deep, and all of a sudden, it caved in. The sand caved in. And you had to do it all over again. Or you fell in, in a place that it was lime, you know, real heavy, and you could not shovel it out. It was a terrible job. And in the morning, we marched down, they gave us a cup of coffee, and, with that coffee we used to usually wash our face and eyes, because we had no water for eight months. Nothing. No, no water to wash ourselves. And then, in the evening, they used to give us, um, slice of bread, and a pint of soup. And, we always used to say we are going to leave the bread for the next morning, and just eat the soup. But, as the night went on, we took little bites from the little piece of bread, and in the morning, the bread was gone. And also, what that camp was terrible was, because if any, a lot of people died in that camp. And if anybody died, they left them laying on the place on the mattress there, and, um, we had to come from work, all day long marching back, sometimes five miles, we used to- five kilometers, we used to march. We used to come back hungry and dirty and cold and we used, we had to bury our peop- our own people. So sometimes, we couldn't do it, the ground was frozen, so we had to sleep next to dead people quite often. And I remember one incident, God forgive me, my mother's friend slept next to me. And she had died. And I, I didn't want to say that she died. Because, by not telling them, I could take her cover, and make myself shoes, and, and, something to cover myself. So, um, that's how we worked there. Um, we never knew from any other people, we thought that our brigade is the last one alive, we never saw anybody, we never heard from anybody. They did it, I think, uh, so we never meet, because there were other brigades doing the same job as we were doing, but they always put us in different ways, that we never met together. We could never meet anybody.

How many people were in your brigade?

Um, [coughs] I think we were about a thousand people there. All sleeping in tents, and, um, they had a, uh, water for the cows, uh, standing around. One, one day the young officers decided that the younger women should, uh, undress, and they all pushed us in into that muddy water, to wash ourselves. That's how, they took the, everything out of us, what we had, we felt so unhuman, we felt so terrible, no, no washrooms, no toilets, no nothing. And every day, you had to see how many more people are dying, and, uh, that's how I, that's how I worked, til they started, the Russian army started to advance again. And, um, they wanted to march us in closer to Poland- to Germany, away from there, and they started to make, uh, selections again. The younger who could march, the older one left behind. And, uh, we marched out, and we were marching, um, three, four days, and, um, as you were looking back, as we were marching down the roads and looking back, we saw people laying, laying, laying, laying people just could not go on. Because there was no food, they never fed us anything, and marching in Poland, in January, barefooted and we froze to death that, so, um, um, people were just laying like flies. Until we came to a place, and they put us into a barn, big barn, there was lots of straw in the barn, and we couldn't wait to crawl into the straw. Because to warm ourselves up, but we didn't realize that when you don't have shoes, and you, half, your, your dress is half torn, and you're half naked, that the straw is, um, pin— uh, you know, pinching you, or something, and we started to itch, like, it's terrible, so the whole, the people who were left there, I would say we were about 300-some people left, from over a thousand. Uh, we couldn't stand it, so we started to crawl out from the snow, that, that must've been around the 20th of January, 1945. And, uh, I was looking out the barn door. They, they fed us, they fed us that night, they fed us. They gave us, even pieces of, um, of, uh, um, cheese, and, and, uh, bread, and, we didn't realize, why are they feeding us so much, and then, early in the morning, we started to peek out, because we didn't hear any noise, we didn't hear this, every time, raus, raus, raus, out, out, out, you know, always, with, with, pushing us and pulling us, and we didn't hear anything, it was too quiet, and, a few of us looked out the barn door, and we didn't see any Germans. We didn't see anybody. And that was the night that they ran away, and they left us there in the barn. And now, we don't know what to do. Are we still under Germans, are they going to shoot us, are they, should we escape, should we stay? And then, when, when it's really, we really realized what happened. And it so happened, in 1945, January 22nd— 21st of January, I was liberated, that's how I was liberated, on my 17th birthday.

You were 17 years, that day?

17 years old. Yeah. So we were liberated. And then, we, two days maybe, until we saw the first Russian soldier. Riding on a white horse. Coming in. He was Jewish, he was an officer, in the, commandeer, from the brigade when they came in, he was Jewish, and, uh, we just went berserk. We just picked him up with the horse together. But, it, also, tragedy started then, because we were so hungry, we were so, that we started to run around and get us some food from the farmers, from wherever gave us something, and we started to eat. And then, dysentery came in. And people started to die from that. A day after liberation, two days after liberation. So, uh, some died, some were taken to hospitals, the Russian army took over already then, and some of us, uh, wanted to go back home. And we didn't know how to do it, and then, actually, all those years from, from, uh, running, and all those years of hard labor, and all those years of separations, and losing the whole family, then we realized how alone we really are. And where do we go, and what do we do. And, um, so anyway, we started to, uh, 18 of us, we stayed together.

Were you with your sister at this point? Had you been with—?

Yes. She was always with me, to— we were always together. it was always together.

Were you able to help each other at any time?

My sister helped us a lot. When we used to come on those farms, to dig the trenches, that was after the harvest, and the, the farmers used to cut, you know, they had cabbage farms, and potatoes, and all kinds of, of beets, so when they used to cut down the cabbages, the roots used to stick in the ground. And when we came on a grounds like that, you know, and we saw all that food, we were just wild. And no matter, we were not afraid that they'll shoot us, it didn't really matter anymore. Because I know my sister always used to run, to dig the cabbage roots out, and to put a few potatoes, we used to hide, to bring in, back into the barrack, or to the tent, and, uh, I always used to yell at her, they are going to shoot you, they will shoot you, but she always managed to grab a few. And then we had a picnic, we had cabbage roots, and a few raw potatoes, and that sustained us a little bit. I think. So, uh, it's, it's so, um, it's so hard to put everything in a small time. There are so many incidents that happened. There was incidents when Mengele came, to one of our camps to look for twins, to look for young girls to have experiments done. And, we never realized then, why are they taking them out, we actually were envying them. That they are being taken some place, maybe.

Did you know, what camp was this in?

You know, I, I can't even remember exactly the camp where, where it was. But he used to show up—

How did you know it was Mengele?

Well, they, they advertised it. Yeah, and, uh, so many incidents, that, you know, after so many years, you cannot remember exactly how, how it, one thing have happened after the other one. But, uh, they, uh, so many things that happened in each camp separately, you know. And, uh, that's, that's how I, uh, survived, Um, there's a lot of, a lot of, uh, things, Ei- I saw Eichmann, too. He was in one of our camps, also, for selections. He was a good looking man, and couldn't even realize that, you know, and they always were polite, always used to tell us, please turn around so we can shoot you, or something. And, um, one incident with my friend, she's in Israel now, she, um, did something wrong in camp, I don't remember what, but she had to dig a ditch, in camp, in one of those camps, and they put her into the ditch, tied down her arms, and we had to pour cold water on her. In the middle of the winter. That was the punishment for not obeying something. Or for grabbing a piece of bread more, or something.

November 22nd, 1995, with Ann Modenstein. You were talking before about, the, you were in a barn and you didn't know what happened, but you saw that the Germans had gone.

Everybody was gone, all the soldiers, that were guard— were guarding us, they were gone.

Had those— had those soldiers been SS soldiers, or... other soldiers?

SS soldiers. With the black— with the dead, hat. Yeah. And, um, the Lithuanian, uh, people, uh, didn't help either. They, uh, collaborated with the Germans, with the soldiers, uh, so, uh, we had the Lithuanians and Germans.

So these ditches that you were digging, was this in Germany or Lithuania?

That, that was in Poland.

In Poland.

At the border lines, and that was actually for the German soldiers, to be used when the Russians advanced. And we were digging ditches for them. So even, even wide ditches for a tank to go through. I mean, real wide, for the tanks to go underneath. And that, that took months, you know, months to dig, in one, in just one section. And then when we finish that sections, they transported us again to another camp, but they made camp actually, it wasn't nothing there, they made a camp for us. And, uh, sometimes when we came at night, and we didn't see nothing, we saw little te- uh, pup tents, you know, we actually thought that we're going underground someplace, we didn't realize that they already erected the te- uh, camp for us to stay another month, two, as long as the job lasted. We finished this one, they transported us again. So, that's why I can't remember all those names of the camps. First of all, it was strange for me, because it was, uh, Polish names, and so, and, I just, I actually don't remember- we didn't see the names. We didn't actually know exactly where we were. And, uh, moving around all the time, until this day that they marched us out, from one particular camp, into, wanted to bring us deeper into Germany, but, on the way, it was too late. And uh, that's why they put us into this barn, for the night, and left us there.

So afterwards, you know, we had to, we had to decide what we're going to do with our lives. We didn't know if anybody from the family is alive, actually I thought nobody is alive except our little group there. And we went into, um, a city in Poland, it, uh, was, uh, Nowe Miasto. And there was already, uh, Russian, uh, soldiers and the- command- uh, they already started to take over everything. And we wanted to go back home, and we asked them permission, how, how do we go from, from Poland back into Lithuania, and, uh, as soon as we came in to this big, it was like a army camp, As soon as we went into the army camp, they closed the gates after us, and said, um, you know, uh, we, uh, you, uh, have to, we, we, we liberated you, and you have to help us win the war now. We need, we need working people, we need people to work. And here we are, (coughs) barefooted, sick, we were, on our hands we had sores, from excuse me, from the lice, because we were full of it. Was full. And, uh, now they want us to work for them, you know, we had no choice. We could not run away, we had no choice.

And they sent us, uh, the girls, the Jewish women, and also, uh, Russian women, Ukraine, Ukraine, from Ukraine, they, uh, they were sent to Germany to work, and they, got them too, and they put us all together in this little village, in Poland, and, uh, we had to work at the train station, and when the trains came back from the front with the Russian soldiers, we had to clean, we had to, the, (unclear) in Yiddish, and I don't know how to say it in English. We had to clean the ammunition and all that, we had to clean out the wagons and put it back in, and all that, some of them were, uh, Jews, you know, the Jewish, uh, a lot of commandeers in the Russian army, the officers, were, I think, uh, 80% Jews. And they traveled with the family, the wives, and the children, they had an oven in this, uh, train, thing, and, uh, some of the girls, uh, ran away with them, when the train started to go into Russia, they asked us if we want to go with them into Russia. And, uh, some of the girls went, and because of that, after that, the soldiers, the Russian soldiers, kept us under surveillance with guns. So we were afraid to go anyplace.

And, uh, that's how we worked there, with no medication, at least we had food to eat, they fed us, but no medication and no clothing or nothing. We, we were just, ou- out of the camps. Actually, I, I had no shoes, I was barefooted, because I was still growing through that time. And they gave me one pair of shoes, in the camps, and one dress. The coat was gone a long time ago. So, when my feet grew, when I grew, I had nothing what to wear. I've a tiny little, short, dress, and nothing on my, my legs, nothing. So, um, that's how we still worked for the Russians, they didn't give us any clothing. Until one day, a friend of mine, who was with me, we cleaned the train, and a nice young man jumped on the train, already dressed in boots and all that, you know, and I said to her, he looks Jewish. And she said no, he doesn't look Jewish. There are no Jews around, no Jewish men, and I said okay, let's go by him, and, um, we'll speak Yiddish, and, how we recognized each other on the streets in Poland, is we used to go by, and if we thought that it's Jew- that the other person is Jewish, we used to say, Amkho? Amkho? And that's how we recognized each other. And, we went by him and talked Yiddish, and he was Jewish! He was my husband's friend from Mława! He was my husband's friend from Mława! And he told us, that in Mława, which this little tow— village was not too far, already Jewish men coming back from Auschwitz, from the camps. And, maybe we can escape. Well, what do we do, we are afraid for, if, if, if my friend and I escape, we are afraid for the other women, who are there, you know. So we went back to camp, and we told the sergeant, uh, guard, that if he is going to take us to work on the train station, in this, Mława, in his hometown, we will buy him vodka. We will find vodka for him, and [laughs} that was a big deal. So he took us one day, into the train station to work, in Mława. And we told him, you sit here and wait, and we are going to find vodka for you. And it so happened, we started to walk the streets, and I asked the Polish people, where the Jewish men who are coming back? And, it was in Eli's house. And, we walked in, into, into this house, actually to ask for medication, because we, we had terrible sores on our hands and our body. Medication, and of course Eli was there, and other people already were there, and, um, they helped us, and then they told us to escape, so we went back to camp, and, uh, one night, that— there was no way, no trains going, you know, like you could buy a ticket or, you knew a time when the train is going, you had to wait til the train is going through that village. Never knew when, and you had to ju— the train was going, and you had to jump on it. On the train, as it was, the train was going. So, we were hiding in the bushes, and then a train came, and we hopped on the train, and we escaped to Eli's hometown.

So you escaped from these Russians that—?

From the Russians. Yes. I escaped from the Russians. I don't know what happened to the rest of the people. I never got together anymore. Never heard from them. And I escaped, and, uh, stayed in Eli's house, for a while.

Who were you with when you escaped?

Um, you know, I can't, my sister, my, my sist— my sister was with me, already or not, no, my sister wasn't with me. I escaped with this other friend.

One, just one friend?

Yeah. Came to Eli's, then my sister was left. And then from Poland, from Mława, we were there but a couple months, then we were afraid to stay there. We got married, the 8th of May.

So you and your husband were married—?

The 8th of May, 1945. In Mława. And then I was afraid that the Russians will, will look for me, it was too close. I was very afraid, and so then we left, with some other friends, for Eli's friends already, and we left to Danzig. And we lived in Danzig, til the end of the year. And then we started to think, uh, what's going to happen, because we already heard that the Poles are killing Jews again, and they killed a few young women, that we knew, that they had visited us. So we wanted to run away from Poland. And we couldn't run away because the, we just couldn't run out of Poland. So, [laughs} we, uh, made ourselves a, um, not a passport, a piece of paper with a stamp on it, you know, for the Russians a piece of paper and stamp was legal. That we are Jews from Greece. And we have to go back home, and we have to travel to Germany, so that means we have to get out of Poland. And that's how we escaped. About seven or eight of us, we escaped from Poland on the train into Czechoslovakia. And they caught us, and they put us in jail.

The Russians caught you?

The Poles.

The Poles caught you.

They put us in jail, men separate, women separate, and, um, we could not speak Polish, or we couldn't speak German at the time, we didn't want them to know that we are not from Greece, we couldn't speak Greek. [laughs] We couldn't, so the few of us who spoke Hebrew, that was Greek. We spoke Hebrew, Greek. So we went in Bratislava, where we went to buy something, on the streets, ice cream or something, used to tell them something in Hebrew, and they thought we are Greek. So, you know, until one day, that's an anecdote, until one day, the man who was, um, uh, arranging everything, about, uh, um, people coming and going, it was like a transit place, you know, people came, and then already the, uh, Palestinian, the Israelis sent people there to committees, you know, to make the aliya, aliya, and he was very happy, he said, I found another Greek man, and he's going to join you. And sure enough, this man came up the stairs to be with us, and he was, he was a Greek, and he speak, and he spoke the language, and we started speaking Hebrew, and he ran down the stairs, and he said a bunch of, mishagoyim, they are crazy people, but, it helped us, we were there a few months, and then from there, uh, few weeks, and from there we escaped to, uh Austria.

You were in Bratislava for a few weeks?

Mm-hmm.

So the Poles had caught you, put— and put you in jail.

Mm-hmm.

And how long did you stay in the jail?

About, uh, 6 or 7 days, I think. And we heard them saying that they, in Polish, they spoke Polish, so we heard them saying that they want to take us out into the woods, and kill us. And take everything we had. We had already a few things, you know, to wear, a ring, a watch. So they wanted to take us to the woods to kill us, and we listened to that, you see. So that's how, it was terrible. We really wanted to get out of there quick. And then from there, we, we ran, it was all illegally. We went to Bratislava- no, to, uh, Judenberg. And we escaped, there was also a transit camp and we escaped there, and they caught us, and they took us back, and then we went to Vienna. And then Eli got sick, and he had to go to the hospital there. So our group kind of dissolved itself.

Because my sist- uh, before that my sister came to Danzig, to join me. And so we, since then they stayed together again. And, uh, in Vienna, the group dissolved, our friends, because some didn't want to wait. They were afraid they'll wait too long, they won't be able to get out of there. So, and my sister and I, and a lot of friends stayed in Vienna til Eli got well and out of the hospital. And there we, um, we, grabbed a train also, to, um, to go on the American's- no, to, we wanted to escape to the American zone, because we knew if we'll come to the American zone, we'll be able to immigrate to Palestine. That was our goal, at that time. Uh, actually, it was already Israel then. '48. '4- no, no, that was in Germany.

And we escaped from, um, uh, there, we came to Munich, Germany. And that's how we ended up in Föhrenwald displaced persons camp. Because when you came to Munich, they had, they sent people here and there, there were a lot of displaced persons camps, And we ended up in Föhrenwald. All, the three of us. And that was, um, we stayed in Föhrenwald in the displaced persons camp, til 1949. March. There in the camp, um, we had our daughter. She was born there. Uh, Eli went to school, um, to learn a trade, and he then, it got him into picture, uh, editing and picture, um, motion picture operator in the camp. In Föhrenwald. He worked there, and, uh, we actually waited there for four years until they opened up, that we could, um, immigrate, to the United States, because we needed the sponsor, and Eli found family here, and they made us the- sponsored us, but it took four years until we uh, were, until we were free, and then we really, we really felt we're going to start a new life. Because living in the camp in Föhrenwald, uh, we were upset that after so many years, under the German occupation, we still had to wait so long to be let in in any free country. And, uh, it made us very upset that nobody is opening the gates, even after what happened. Nobody wanted to let in, we had to wait for a sponsor, for a quota, but finally, uh, that's that's how it ended in, uh, we came to United States.

And how did you come to Nebraska? Why did you come here?

Well, Eli's uncle who sponsored us, lived in Lincoln. So we had to come here. We stayed a week in New York, and, uh, met some family that we never knew and everybody told us we'll do all right and we came to Lincoln. We didn't speak any English. We didn't have any money. We had a 2 and a half year old child. We didn't know what the future would bring.

What were people's response to you? How did people react to you then?

That was, that was really my biggest disappointment. And, uh, because I thought that after going through such a horrible, horrible experience, and Eli and I and my sister, really, were the only ones who escaped from the Holocaust. After such a huge family, I come from a family from 150 people, and Eli, too, he had a huge family, and even our family wouldn't let us talk about it. They would not let us express ourselves. They wouldn't let us, they didn't ask any questions, the only thing I heard was, you'll do alright. You'll do alright. You'll do alright. And one gave you five dollars, one gave you ten dollars, you know, to start a new life. Um, I was very, very, um, disappointed and bitter inside, because I had too much to talk about. And too much to tell people, and too much to explain people, and, a free world, and nobody listened. And, uh, even after that nobody listened.

But as I grew older, and I got more into the American way, I think, maybe they didn't want to ask questions, because they didn't want to bring it up, and they didn't want to hurt us, but um, in my opinion, uh, it was wrong. Because at that time, I had more to tell, I could remember more, uh, and, and, I needed it, I, uh, we needed to talk, and nobody listened. So we talk— we talked between ourselves. There was not one day that doesn't go by, that Eli and I don't discuss, we are married, 50, over 50 years. And, uh, it's so long after the war, but it seems like every time we find something new that we did not talk about it yet. Remember something new.

And we always try to teach our daughters what happened and, uh, I'll never forget when we came to the States, my little daughter Faye was two and a half, and, uh, she wanted grandparents. All her friends had grandparents. And she used to come home, and she used to ask me, why don't I have grandparents? No matter how you explain to a child. Then, uh, was a Jewish family here, that this lady was a grandmother to her friends, and she was already in junior high, I think. And she came to me once, and she said, do you mind if I adopt Mrs. Kushner? I want her to be my grandmother. So, even, they were born in, in, uh, in a time after the war, but something was missing. Something is always missing.

And you have two children? How many chil—?

Two daughters.

And their names?

The oldest is Faye, and Susie. Susan. Yeah, one lives on the East coast, and one on the West coast. So, um, unfortunately we don't have any grandchildren, but, um, we have two great nephews living in Omaha. That, uh, their father, we brought down from Montevideo, South America, when he was almost 14, and he lived with us for 8 and a half years. So I kind of consider him like a son. And I consider the children more like grandkids, than, than grand nephews.

Well, what message do you have for that generation of children about your experiences?

Well, um, to listen. And to think, what happened, not to ignore it, and not to think that it was like a, any, it, it's history. And, um, not to think that it cannot happen any place else, be— because it doe— it did, and it does, and it will. And, um, main thing, I think is, is to have a feeling inside, that people every place are the same with feelings. And, uh, one is not better than the other. And have compassion. And us— and carry on, carry on, the second generation, the third generation, we are dying out in a few more years, there'll be anybody from the people who survived. So the younger generation has to carry it on, and never to forget. Never to forget.

Well, thank you very much for sharing your story with us.

Thank you. It's a very, uh, wonderful opportunity, to be able to talk now. Now I'm falling apart. [laughs] And I thank you very much. You've been very kind.

This picture is from my grandparents, um, from my mother's side, uh, at the wedding day she was 17. I don't know how old my grandfather was. But I got this picture to a society in Chicago, and they sent me books from this, um, from the little town that they lived. And that's how I got that picture, and the name is Shevach and Devorah Altschuler. This is my mother, Shira Altschuler Idels. And that picture was taken when she was still, um, in her younger years. I don't know how old she is here. But I got it, also, to a relative. This is my father, Abram Idels. And, uh, also as a younger man. And I got this picture from his sister, my aunt, from New York. This is a, uh, wedding picture, from my mother's side extended family. All aunts and uncles and cousins. And that was in 19- that picture was taken in 1938. And, about, um, four people, five people are alive from that picture. And I'm sitting there in the middle, between the young boy and the lady. That's me. That picture was taken in 1937, I think. This is uh, to, with the bow on, on the head. It's me standing up, and my mother, and my mother's brother, and his wife, and three children, and his name was Boris Altschuler. And, uh, they did not survive.

This is a picture from myself and my sister Chaya. And that, uh, must have been 1938, maybe '39, in front of the opera in Kovno. Opera house in Kovno. This is the picture of the family in our summer home. My father, my sister above, standing above him, my uncle, the lady in the middle is my aunt from New York. She came to visit us in Lithuania, in 1938. My mother and I'm sitting there in the corner. This is, uh, my sister Chaya uh, Kaplan. Uh, that picture was taken, uh, in Germany after liberation. She died in a, uh, mental institution here in Lincoln. [laughs] This is Eli and I that is already here in Lincoln, and, uh, must have been 1951, '50 or '51. This is our family, Eli and I and our two daughters, Faye and Susan.

And which one is Faye?

Faye is, on this side, with the curly hair. [laughs] Faye is with the curly hair.

This is my husband Eli. We have been together over 50 years. He's my best friend, and, uh, um, it's good to have this opportunity to, uh, tell our story before it's too late. Thank you.

Hi, I'm glad that finally, I have the opportunity, after so many years, to share some of my experience.

Um, actually, we, we should, uh, thank Steven Spielberg for, uh, starting it all. And, um, what can I say? It's, it's a, it's a very difficult job to do, but, uh, right now it has to be done. And hopefully it'll help something.

I agree with Ann.

Eli, give me a kiss. [laughs]

I agree that's, uh, something which I'm glad we are doing. Uh, there'll be something for the generations to come, to look back, and maybe get some, a little idea of what we went through during the time of the war.

[blows kiss] [laughs]