rescuers of jews
After the war Šimaitė would write about the inhabitants of the Vilnius Ghetto:
It was important to support these people, to help them live and fight and to help them overcome the fear of death. The sword of Damocles did not hang over me; I had a place of my own, a job I enjoyed and could meet my friends. It seemed to me sacrilege to advise persecuted and maltreated people who had lost everything not to fear death. I often asked myself how I would behave in their place and whether I would have enough strength to live, work and not fear imminent death. I would sit a long time before briefly answering letters. Fortunately, none of my correspondents asked me how I would behave in their place.
One particular aspect of Šimaitė’s activity distinguishing her from other rescuers was her attempts to save the creative legacy of the inhabitants of the ghetto. A letter sent by her to various people after the war informed them about what she had managed to take out of the ghetto and hide; she also urged other people to look for that legacy.
I, the undersigned, Ona Šimaitė, having lived at the time of the Vilnius Ghetto and having maintained The Righteous Among the Nations Certificate of Honour contact with various Jewish groups, managed to save some documents from the Vilnius Ghetto. I feel it is my duty to inform the representatives of the corresponding institutions about it, to whom historical Jewish documents are dear. I also declare my fervent desire, which is also a desire of those who gave me their documents, that these documents be found and given to Jews who are interested in historical documentation, irrespective of their political views.
I have sent this declaration on the documents to the following persons:
1. The poet Avromas Suckeveris, Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee, Moscow
2. Dr Maksas Vainraichas, YIVO, America
3. The rector of the Ancient Jewish University, Jerusalem
4. Stefanas Veisas, World Jewish Congress, USA
5. Dr Šteinbergas, USA
6. Isaakas Cukermanas, participant in the Warsaw Uprising
7. Dr Abramovičius, USA
8. Dr M. Dvožeckis, Paris.
I request all these persons to acknowledge receipt of this declaration. Once again, I urge everybody to adopt all the appropriate measures in the search for the documents and to place them at the disposal of the Jewish nation.
Today we are aware only of some pieces of that legacy (G. Šuras’ records). Nevertheless, it seems that not all the chances to get it back have been exploited.
Šimaitė’s communication with the Jews of the Vilnius Ghetto, her impressions and her deliberations about the relations between the Jews and the Lithuanians are reflected on in her postwar articles and letters.
From Ona Šimaitė’s article Lithuanians and Jews During the Years of Nazi Occupation (Lita, N.Y.1951, p. 1661–1671):
Lithuanian-Jewish relations took on a sharply tragic form that could not have been imagined in earlier times. As a Lithuanian woman, it is bitter for me to assert that during the years of the worst torture of the Jews by the Germans, not all of the people in my country showed an elementary, humane sympathy to their Jewish neighbours of many generations and the worst of the Lithuanians – to my great pain! – even had their hand in the extermination.
/.../ I, myself, know three Lithuanian policemen who strongly sympathised with the Jews and also helped them. One, for example, helped Berman and other Jews receive Aryan documents. Later, this policeman was caught by the Nazis and severely punished. One Lithuanian soldier, who was in the guard of the Vilnius Ghetto, so strongly befriended the Jews that he learned and sang Yiddish folk songs. However, these and others were only illustrative exceptions.
/.../ Not all Lithuanians who did not help any Jews behaved in this way because of hatred toward Jews. If I had to define the attitude of Lithuanians toward Jews in the bitter years of occupation of 1941–1945, I would do it in this manner: The Lithuanians, as people in general, were in the majority more cowards than villains. The Hitlerists so intimidated the population to not help Jews with anything that just at the word “Jew”, a Christian would fall into a panic of fear. This group of Lithuanians, which is actually the majority of the people, did not directly do harm to any Jews. There were even those among them who quietly wiped a tear over the plight of the Jews. However, there were also those who were totally indifferent to Jewish suffering. These people did not do anything good or anything bad.
/.../ I was too near the Jews at the time of the Shoa not to admire their tremendous courage and moral tenacity in the face of death behind the barbed wire of the ghetto. It could be said that any other nation which experienced what every Jew had would be morally and physically broken down. In the ghetto the Jews were heroes without seeing it that way themselves...
At that harsh time for the Jews (and for every human being with a conscience), I often thought that after all the experiences of the Jewish people the eyes of many people would open, and we would learn about the hatred of Jews in archives and museums. But I was disastrously wrong. Only a small section of society remembers those terrible methods and ways in which the Hitlerites annihilated thousands of Jews, how they killed Jewish children, and women and old men. And shame on those who have forgotten whose hands did it and who saved Jewish lives...
/.../ Knowing very well the heavy blame on the part of the Lithuanians in the extermination in Lithuania, I am, however, categorically against the idea that we can blame the Lithuanian people. I do not accept the conventional wisdom: “Lithuanians,” “Germans”, “Poles”, “Jews” and so on. Thus speak others, who will at first condemn. It is forgotten that there are villains among every people, but also good people. The conclusion is the possibility of wholesale blame. The number one enemy of the Jewish people were not the Germans, but only the Hitlerists; and the number two enemy of the Jewish people were not Lithuanians or Poles or other peoples, but those who helped the Hitlerists in this or that way. The Lithuanian Fascists, activists, partisans, policemen and many others are to blame. But I categorically reject the collective blame of the Lithuanian people.
/.../ My best friends are dying one by one. I am ashamed to be alive, ashamed to have a roof over my head, ashamed to have the opportunity to wash myself and so on, when thousands of people live not only deprived of these minimal things, but when the sword of Damocles hangs over their heads, when anyone can jeer and torture. If before this I only loved them, now I adore them for those perpetual sufferings, because only the chosen can suffer so much.
If someone honestly does something good, the Jewish nation will not forget it for eternity.
From Ona Šimaitė‘s diary (2 May 1955):
Even the Jewish people excelled, as I understand, by demonstrating a feeling of deep thankfulness to those who showed kindness and those who helped their children during the times of misfortune, which will not be forgotten for a century.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 33
From Ona Šimaitė’s article Lithuanians and Jews During the Years of Nazi Occupation (Lita, N.Y. 1951, p. 1661–1671):
They awarded me the medal of Israel. It is a big honour for a mere mortal. But I do not want that medal to be used to pressure someone to improve my condition. That, which has been done during the time of the Jewish catastrophe, was being done because my conscience said it had to be done. I cannot ask for any “reward” for that. People do not understand me. At that time I was ashamed that I was not Jewish.
From Ona Šimaitė‘s diary:
The nation, which gave so much to human culture was robbed, slandered, beaten and killed by the million. The nation that gave humanity its prophets, Christ, the scientists, is being disdained and despised. My mind and heart refuse to comprehend anti-Semitism and violence against that small, valuable, and ever-suffering nation. There is no other nation in the world which has suffered as much as the Jews have. (p. 99)
... The world has not yet fully forgotten the Jews. At a terrible time for the Jewish nation the Pope addressed the Chief Rabbi of Palestine with words of consolation, he began thus: “My brother”. The Lithuanian bishop Reinys refused to bless one squad of Lithuanians that went to war with the Germans, and told them that their hands were tainted with the blood of Jews /.../ I wrote about all of this to my friends in the ghetto. I knew that these letters would not only be read by those whom they were addressed to, but by many others as well. (5 March 1957, p. 49)
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius
From Ona Šimaitė’s article My Correspondence with the People from the Vilnius Ghetto (newspaper “Vozroždenije”, 1973, No. 1, p. 92–112):
Of all the Lithuanian strata, the Lithuanian clergy best resisted the temptations of that bitter era. A large number of them were not only aware of the inhumane suffering and torture of the Jews in Lithuania, but also actively tried to help.
The first of the Catholic clergy in Lithuania who suffered for interceding for the tormented Jews was Krupavičius, the priest of the leaders of the Catholic-Democratic party. Krupavičius had protested to the German regime in Kovno against the burning of Jewish books and the forcing of Jews to dance around the bonfires (this was the first time and it was a trifle as opposed to what happened later). He wrote in his protest that Lithuanians are not accustomed to such spectacles and that this was soiling all of Lithuania. For this, Krupavičius was deported to Tilžė for physical labour.
/.../ Lipniūnas, the priest (Vilna), in several of his sermons, defended the tormented Jews. The Gestapo learned of this and he paid with his head.
Two old priests in the Uniate church on Savičius Street helped Jews from the brigade that worked in the adjacent large military workshops. One day, the Gestapo came and sealed the church and took away both priests. They never returned.
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to Kazys Jakubėnas (21 October 1941) (Kazys Kęstutis Šimas. Ona Šimaitė – Pasaulio Tautų teisuolė, p. 51):
I visited the ghetto both legally and illegally, starting with 14 September 1941 until 26 April 1943. After that I met people only on this side of the ghetto wall. I had to travel to Kaunas and Riga a few times, to meet the Jews who lived over there. I hid K. Zaborowski, a Polish Jew, a nurse; Taper, a teacher of English; her 13 year old daughter, Anna Abramovicz; the wife of the director of the Vilnius Jewish School of Crafts H. Abramovicz and others in my apartment for several days each. I got documents for Alė Bermanaitė, whom I introduced as my “relative” Aldona Daujotaitė and put in the Vilnius Antakalnis children’s home. That 13 year old girl spoke Lithuanian very well, because her parents thought that since she was living in Lithuania, she had to speak Lithuanian. I was arrested together with the girl. In addition to that, I hid a young Jewish writer, Salė Wachsman, for 4 months. /.../ I acquired appropriate documents for Jews and had contacts with those who were in the forests.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 20
Aside from my personal letters from Movšovičius, I got many letters that I was meant to pass on; for example, to Polish and Lithuanian professors. A typical letter came from one Polish professor to his Jewish colleague, which contained potassium cyanide and a letter in which the Pole stated his wish that it would never have to be consumed. It has to be said that every Jew dreamed of having some poison and forged documents. Getting both was extremely difficult. The Polish professor’s wish came true: Movšovičius did not use the poison. He survived.
It was important to support these people, to help them live and fight and to help them overcome the fear of death. The sword of Damocles did not hang over me; I had a place of my own, a job I enjoyed and could meet my friends. It seemed to me sacrilege to advise persecuted and maltreated people who had lost everything not to fear death. I often asked myself how I would behave in their place and whether I would have enough strength to live, work and not fear imminent death. I would sit a long time before briefly answering letters. Fortunately, none of my correspondents asked me how I would behave in their place.
One particular aspect of Šimaitė’s activity distinguishing her from other rescuers was her attempts to save the creative legacy of the inhabitants of the ghetto. A letter sent by her to various people after the war informed them about what she had managed to take out of the ghetto and hide; she also urged other people to look for that legacy.
I, the undersigned, Ona Šimaitė, having lived at the time of the Vilnius Ghetto and having maintained The Righteous Among the Nations Certificate of Honour contact with various Jewish groups, managed to save some documents from the Vilnius Ghetto. I feel it is my duty to inform the representatives of the corresponding institutions about it, to whom historical Jewish documents are dear. I also declare my fervent desire, which is also a desire of those who gave me their documents, that these documents be found and given to Jews who are interested in historical documentation, irrespective of their political views.
I have sent this declaration on the documents to the following persons:
1. The poet Avromas Suckeveris, Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee, Moscow
2. Dr Maksas Vainraichas, YIVO, America
3. The rector of the Ancient Jewish University, Jerusalem
4. Stefanas Veisas, World Jewish Congress, USA
5. Dr Šteinbergas, USA
6. Isaakas Cukermanas, participant in the Warsaw Uprising
7. Dr Abramovičius, USA
8. Dr M. Dvožeckis, Paris.
I request all these persons to acknowledge receipt of this declaration. Once again, I urge everybody to adopt all the appropriate measures in the search for the documents and to place them at the disposal of the Jewish nation.
Today we are aware only of some pieces of that legacy (G. Šuras’ records). Nevertheless, it seems that not all the chances to get it back have been exploited.
Šimaitė’s communication with the Jews of the Vilnius Ghetto, her impressions and her deliberations about the relations between the Jews and the Lithuanians are reflected on in her postwar articles and letters.
From Ona Šimaitė’s article Lithuanians and Jews During the Years of Nazi Occupation (Lita, N.Y.1951, p. 1661–1671):
Lithuanian-Jewish relations took on a sharply tragic form that could not have been imagined in earlier times. As a Lithuanian woman, it is bitter for me to assert that during the years of the worst torture of the Jews by the Germans, not all of the people in my country showed an elementary, humane sympathy to their Jewish neighbours of many generations and the worst of the Lithuanians – to my great pain! – even had their hand in the extermination.
/.../ I, myself, know three Lithuanian policemen who strongly sympathised with the Jews and also helped them. One, for example, helped Berman and other Jews receive Aryan documents. Later, this policeman was caught by the Nazis and severely punished. One Lithuanian soldier, who was in the guard of the Vilnius Ghetto, so strongly befriended the Jews that he learned and sang Yiddish folk songs. However, these and others were only illustrative exceptions.
/.../ Not all Lithuanians who did not help any Jews behaved in this way because of hatred toward Jews. If I had to define the attitude of Lithuanians toward Jews in the bitter years of occupation of 1941–1945, I would do it in this manner: The Lithuanians, as people in general, were in the majority more cowards than villains. The Hitlerists so intimidated the population to not help Jews with anything that just at the word “Jew”, a Christian would fall into a panic of fear. This group of Lithuanians, which is actually the majority of the people, did not directly do harm to any Jews. There were even those among them who quietly wiped a tear over the plight of the Jews. However, there were also those who were totally indifferent to Jewish suffering. These people did not do anything good or anything bad.
/.../ I was too near the Jews at the time of the Shoa not to admire their tremendous courage and moral tenacity in the face of death behind the barbed wire of the ghetto. It could be said that any other nation which experienced what every Jew had would be morally and physically broken down. In the ghetto the Jews were heroes without seeing it that way themselves...
At that harsh time for the Jews (and for every human being with a conscience), I often thought that after all the experiences of the Jewish people the eyes of many people would open, and we would learn about the hatred of Jews in archives and museums. But I was disastrously wrong. Only a small section of society remembers those terrible methods and ways in which the Hitlerites annihilated thousands of Jews, how they killed Jewish children, and women and old men. And shame on those who have forgotten whose hands did it and who saved Jewish lives...
/.../ Knowing very well the heavy blame on the part of the Lithuanians in the extermination in Lithuania, I am, however, categorically against the idea that we can blame the Lithuanian people. I do not accept the conventional wisdom: “Lithuanians,” “Germans”, “Poles”, “Jews” and so on. Thus speak others, who will at first condemn. It is forgotten that there are villains among every people, but also good people. The conclusion is the possibility of wholesale blame. The number one enemy of the Jewish people were not the Germans, but only the Hitlerists; and the number two enemy of the Jewish people were not Lithuanians or Poles or other peoples, but those who helped the Hitlerists in this or that way. The Lithuanian Fascists, activists, partisans, policemen and many others are to blame. But I categorically reject the collective blame of the Lithuanian people.
/.../ My best friends are dying one by one. I am ashamed to be alive, ashamed to have a roof over my head, ashamed to have the opportunity to wash myself and so on, when thousands of people live not only deprived of these minimal things, but when the sword of Damocles hangs over their heads, when anyone can jeer and torture. If before this I only loved them, now I adore them for those perpetual sufferings, because only the chosen can suffer so much.
If someone honestly does something good, the Jewish nation will not forget it for eternity.
From Ona Šimaitė‘s diary (2 May 1955):
Even the Jewish people excelled, as I understand, by demonstrating a feeling of deep thankfulness to those who showed kindness and those who helped their children during the times of misfortune, which will not be forgotten for a century.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 33
From Ona Šimaitė’s article Lithuanians and Jews During the Years of Nazi Occupation (Lita, N.Y. 1951, p. 1661–1671):
They awarded me the medal of Israel. It is a big honour for a mere mortal. But I do not want that medal to be used to pressure someone to improve my condition. That, which has been done during the time of the Jewish catastrophe, was being done because my conscience said it had to be done. I cannot ask for any “reward” for that. People do not understand me. At that time I was ashamed that I was not Jewish.
From Ona Šimaitė‘s diary:
The nation, which gave so much to human culture was robbed, slandered, beaten and killed by the million. The nation that gave humanity its prophets, Christ, the scientists, is being disdained and despised. My mind and heart refuse to comprehend anti-Semitism and violence against that small, valuable, and ever-suffering nation. There is no other nation in the world which has suffered as much as the Jews have. (p. 99)
... The world has not yet fully forgotten the Jews. At a terrible time for the Jewish nation the Pope addressed the Chief Rabbi of Palestine with words of consolation, he began thus: “My brother”. The Lithuanian bishop Reinys refused to bless one squad of Lithuanians that went to war with the Germans, and told them that their hands were tainted with the blood of Jews /.../ I wrote about all of this to my friends in the ghetto. I knew that these letters would not only be read by those whom they were addressed to, but by many others as well. (5 March 1957, p. 49)
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius
From Ona Šimaitė’s article My Correspondence with the People from the Vilnius Ghetto (newspaper “Vozroždenije”, 1973, No. 1, p. 92–112):
Of all the Lithuanian strata, the Lithuanian clergy best resisted the temptations of that bitter era. A large number of them were not only aware of the inhumane suffering and torture of the Jews in Lithuania, but also actively tried to help.
The first of the Catholic clergy in Lithuania who suffered for interceding for the tormented Jews was Krupavičius, the priest of the leaders of the Catholic-Democratic party. Krupavičius had protested to the German regime in Kovno against the burning of Jewish books and the forcing of Jews to dance around the bonfires (this was the first time and it was a trifle as opposed to what happened later). He wrote in his protest that Lithuanians are not accustomed to such spectacles and that this was soiling all of Lithuania. For this, Krupavičius was deported to Tilžė for physical labour.
/.../ Lipniūnas, the priest (Vilna), in several of his sermons, defended the tormented Jews. The Gestapo learned of this and he paid with his head.
Two old priests in the Uniate church on Savičius Street helped Jews from the brigade that worked in the adjacent large military workshops. One day, the Gestapo came and sealed the church and took away both priests. They never returned.
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to Kazys Jakubėnas (21 October 1941) (Kazys Kęstutis Šimas. Ona Šimaitė – Pasaulio Tautų teisuolė, p. 51):
I visited the ghetto both legally and illegally, starting with 14 September 1941 until 26 April 1943. After that I met people only on this side of the ghetto wall. I had to travel to Kaunas and Riga a few times, to meet the Jews who lived over there. I hid K. Zaborowski, a Polish Jew, a nurse; Taper, a teacher of English; her 13 year old daughter, Anna Abramovicz; the wife of the director of the Vilnius Jewish School of Crafts H. Abramovicz and others in my apartment for several days each. I got documents for Alė Bermanaitė, whom I introduced as my “relative” Aldona Daujotaitė and put in the Vilnius Antakalnis children’s home. That 13 year old girl spoke Lithuanian very well, because her parents thought that since she was living in Lithuania, she had to speak Lithuanian. I was arrested together with the girl. In addition to that, I hid a young Jewish writer, Salė Wachsman, for 4 months. /.../ I acquired appropriate documents for Jews and had contacts with those who were in the forests.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 20
Aside from my personal letters from Movšovičius, I got many letters that I was meant to pass on; for example, to Polish and Lithuanian professors. A typical letter came from one Polish professor to his Jewish colleague, which contained potassium cyanide and a letter in which the Pole stated his wish that it would never have to be consumed. It has to be said that every Jew dreamed of having some poison and forged documents. Getting both was extremely difficult. The Polish professor’s wish came true: Movšovičius did not use the poison. He survived.
From Ona Šimaitė’s article My Correspondence with the People from the Vilnius Ghetto (newspaper “Vozroždenije”, 1973, No. 1, p. 92–112):
I got some letters from people whom I did not even know. I tried to fulfil most of their requests, especially those that asked about opportunities to hide children. Of course, all of those promises were hidden; in the face of such danger they were not serious, speculative. On two occasions I went to the indicated addresses, but no one would even talk to me until I put ten thousand Deutsch Mark on the table. I resented that, I fell from my powerlessness, and meanwhile, irresponsible people in the ghetto created legends that it was possible to do anything on the other side.
/.../When the ghetto was being liquidated I took in an eleven year old girl, Alė Berman. Her mother, Galina Berman, was sent to the HKP labour camp. The girl exchanged letters with her mother in Lithuanian. When Alė was brought to me, I had to send her mother a two-word note – “Everything’s alright” through an officer of the police, who did favours for the Jews. At the end of the week the girl wrote to her mother, that instead of crying for her, she should eat well and take care of herself. She asked her mother to live, so that she could settle the score with those who were so cruel to them. She wrote that she was eating, studying, walking around with an old lady, playing the piano, drawing, making things using her hands. The girl lived with me for two weeks, later she went to a children’s home.
/.../During the interrogation in the vaults of the Gestapo, I was scared (I am just a human being after all) not to give away any names. I would train myself all the time to confuse myself and forget all the names and all addresses. On the way to the camp, the train stayed in Kaunas for several days. The Poles said they could go to my relatives and friends, so they could come to see me and bid me farewell, but I could not remember any addresses or names.
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to J. Urbšys
I do not know of any instances, when the property of Jews was not given back, if they were left in the hands of Lithuanian and Polish professors and artists.
/.../ There were people who took Jewish things for protection very reluctantly, because they seemed a nuisance to them. Later they would get used to them and they would become a necessity. When the possessions had to be given back, it was a tragedy for both sides. For many Jews, their possessions were their cause of death.
Most of the people who did not return the property to the Jews or did so very reluctantly, were the ones who took them without further ado, or even offered to take care of them.
/.../ Frequently, when I went somewhere at the request of the unfortunate ones, I would not be let inside. I had to hear all kinds of morality sermons, reproaches about benefiting from the Jews; in the end, I would just feel the insult and the humiliation on my behalf. Sometimes, I had to stand an hour or two in the kitchen hall, until people deigned to find the time to get the package ready, although it had already been agreed that I would come for the package at a specific time.
/.../ When I went through these difficult tasks trying to get the Jewish possessions back, I suffered many, very many grievances and anger. Whoever I went to, and these were people of various social standings, educations, ethnicities, they were all slow to return the possessions of the Jews if they chose to do it at all. But my Jewish friends went through insults that were a lot worse than I did, but I still cannot free myself from the shame and suffering.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 95
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to Isakas Šteinbergas (1948)
Prepared by Ona Šimaitė’s nephew
Kazys Kęstutis Šimas
Today, when we address the struggle and terrible agony of the Vilnius Ghetto with respect, we met with Ona Šimaitė, the saviour of the persecuted, who has become an almost legendary person. She dared to look death in the eye, she was not afraid to go into the ghetto, that bottomless pit of inhumane torment. She helped out by providing forged documents and money, saved children, carried books, hope and consolation to the residents of the ghetto.
Ona Šimaitė has lived in Paris for a few years now, even though she lives in a fancy neighbourhood, but in the “chambre de bonne” – the room of the maid – on the seventh floor. The elevator “de service” (for staff only) lifts me to a corridor, which resembles a labyrinth. The walls are lined with white doors and there is absolute silence. I knock on a few doors – the only thing that answers me is a muted echo. I walk through the labyrinth in all directions before finally getting to the door with the number 18 on them – these are the ones I am looking for. Before me stands Ona Šimaitė. She is 71 years old. The looks dignified and spectacular. Her bright maroon-coloured ponytail (age is powerless against her) is convoluted on the top of her head. The gaze of her blue eyes is filled with kindness. She penetrates the soul, caresses and calms it. It seems like we had known each other for many years... Why is she thanking me for the flowers I brought in such hot-spirited words? It was she who saved Jewish children and lead young women and men to the partisan forces in the forest, therefore I owe her, and how can I repay such a debt?!
I am looking around the tiny bright room: every corner is shimmering with cleanliness. She just shrugs it off: what’s so special about that?
“Of course,” she agrees. “It is difficult for me to do the laundry, clean everything. I have rheumatism and whenever I bend over I feel a strong pain.”
I notice (even blush from shame), that she has no gas in her room, and I can not help mentioning it.
“It’s not such a big deal,” she answers calmly. “I have a spirit primus.”
She sits me down on the only chair in the room and lays down on the bed.
“Accept my apologies that I have to welcome you this way. It is difficult for me to walk, I work in my bed. I read, write, take care of my papers. I have a pretty wide connection with the people who survived the Vilnius Ghetto.
Every time she mentions the word “ghetto”, you can feel her flinch and a tear rolls down her kind-hearted, wide country-woman’s face.
“How did you manage to get inside the ghetto?” I ask.
“We were a group of intellectuals in the Vilnius University who decided that we had to help the Jews. I worked there as a librarian and I got a permit from the commandant of the ghetto, which allowed me to go and get the books that had been borrowed from the university by Jews. Later, when all the books had been “reclaimed”, I got a permit to go cure myself to at one famous specialist in the ghetto. I knew what I could do with such a permit. Another colleague came with me, but when she saw what was going on there, she almost fainted. She said she could not go there anymore or she would go insane.
“If only you knew, my dearest... If only you knew how many wonderful people I met there.”
One tear rolls down her kind, wide, still barely wrinkled face, then another.
“No! The world doesn’t know! The world has forgotten! I met real heroes there. Children, who would risk their lives to steal some potatoes from the Nazis.
“Do you know what impressed me the most? Despite the terrible hunger and humiliations, the people did not stop living a cultural life! Try to imagine – they managed to stage plays, make exhibitions of the works of painters and sculptors, and there were concerts too. There were schools that were always open (do not ask me, dearest, under what conditions!), the children studied.”
She told me about the teacher Mira Bernstein. Mira took care of her pupils like a real mother. She tried to make it possible for her pupils, who studied with their arms blue from the cold, organise exhibitions of their works, to learn how to deal with famine, to hold together like adults, to be responsible people.
This teacher Bernstein did not even try to escape. All she cared about were her little children and she went with them, so their final journey would not be so horrifying...
Šimaitė takes a handkerchief, wipes her tears.
“I knew Liuba Levicka – the nightingale of the Vilnius Ghetto. She was as young and pretty as the spring and her voice was like a silver string. I went to her concerts – to forget the depressing difficulties, to enjoy the moments of endless pure love.
“The butcher Murer caught her with a kilo of peas, which were given to her by people at the tailor shop. She claimed to have stolen the peas...
“For that kilo of peas... He beat our nightingale to death. Sent her to Paneriai before the concert she had prepared... And those thugs had the nerve to talk about culture!”
Ona Šimaitė has a lot to tell. How many Jews escaped to the partisans because of her, how many children she saved – although she does not like to speak about those things at length. You can see joy and pride in her eyes, when she mentions her step-daughter and son-in-law, who live in a kibbutz (an agricultural society) in Israel.
“The principal said that the girl is very clever. I took her out of the ghetto, kept her hidden in my library, sometimes – in an empty wardrobe...
“One time a German came in unexpectedly. When he saw the girl he made a threat: “I don’t want to see you here again tomorrow.” Having said those words he put a few of the more valuable things on the table in his pockets and went out. Of course, the girl was gone from my place the next day.
“After the ghetto was liquidated,” Šimaitė goes on. “I was arrested. Do you know what for, dear? People used to see me in the ghetto all the time, so professedly it was clear that the Jews sold their gold through me.
“I was ready for anything, but did not expect to be arrested as a tout. But the label of a “tout” is what saved me. If you didn’t count the severe beatings I had to suffer. I went through a few camps, but I survived.”
I had to stop her. It was obvious, that she felt worn out. She lay in bed – silent, majestic, lit by an aura of good people.
She tells me, that she has no time to loose – she visits the sick ones in hospitals, brings them books, newspapers. Even though her legs are swollen, she went to the Delacroix exhibition. Tales of Jewish people tell of the “lamed vov” – “the righteous” – simple, humble people; being with them is a joy in and of itself. Ona Šimaitė will go down in history as one of those people, and her name will shine together with all the other immortal heroes of the Vilnius Ghetto.
From a progressive Paris Jewish newspaper “Naije Prese” (“La Presse Nouvelle”), 23 September 1963, article 20 Years After the Liquidation of the Vilnius Ghetto.
I got some letters from people whom I did not even know. I tried to fulfil most of their requests, especially those that asked about opportunities to hide children. Of course, all of those promises were hidden; in the face of such danger they were not serious, speculative. On two occasions I went to the indicated addresses, but no one would even talk to me until I put ten thousand Deutsch Mark on the table. I resented that, I fell from my powerlessness, and meanwhile, irresponsible people in the ghetto created legends that it was possible to do anything on the other side.
/.../When the ghetto was being liquidated I took in an eleven year old girl, Alė Berman. Her mother, Galina Berman, was sent to the HKP labour camp. The girl exchanged letters with her mother in Lithuanian. When Alė was brought to me, I had to send her mother a two-word note – “Everything’s alright” through an officer of the police, who did favours for the Jews. At the end of the week the girl wrote to her mother, that instead of crying for her, she should eat well and take care of herself. She asked her mother to live, so that she could settle the score with those who were so cruel to them. She wrote that she was eating, studying, walking around with an old lady, playing the piano, drawing, making things using her hands. The girl lived with me for two weeks, later she went to a children’s home.
/.../During the interrogation in the vaults of the Gestapo, I was scared (I am just a human being after all) not to give away any names. I would train myself all the time to confuse myself and forget all the names and all addresses. On the way to the camp, the train stayed in Kaunas for several days. The Poles said they could go to my relatives and friends, so they could come to see me and bid me farewell, but I could not remember any addresses or names.
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to J. Urbšys
I do not know of any instances, when the property of Jews was not given back, if they were left in the hands of Lithuanian and Polish professors and artists.
/.../ There were people who took Jewish things for protection very reluctantly, because they seemed a nuisance to them. Later they would get used to them and they would become a necessity. When the possessions had to be given back, it was a tragedy for both sides. For many Jews, their possessions were their cause of death.
Most of the people who did not return the property to the Jews or did so very reluctantly, were the ones who took them without further ado, or even offered to take care of them.
/.../ Frequently, when I went somewhere at the request of the unfortunate ones, I would not be let inside. I had to hear all kinds of morality sermons, reproaches about benefiting from the Jews; in the end, I would just feel the insult and the humiliation on my behalf. Sometimes, I had to stand an hour or two in the kitchen hall, until people deigned to find the time to get the package ready, although it had already been agreed that I would come for the package at a specific time.
/.../ When I went through these difficult tasks trying to get the Jewish possessions back, I suffered many, very many grievances and anger. Whoever I went to, and these were people of various social standings, educations, ethnicities, they were all slow to return the possessions of the Jews if they chose to do it at all. But my Jewish friends went through insults that were a lot worse than I did, but I still cannot free myself from the shame and suffering.
Rimantas Stankevičius. Gyvenusi tautos himno dvasia, 2004, Vilnius, p. 95
From Ona Šimaitė’s letter to Isakas Šteinbergas (1948)
Prepared by Ona Šimaitė’s nephew
Kazys Kęstutis Šimas
Today, when we address the struggle and terrible agony of the Vilnius Ghetto with respect, we met with Ona Šimaitė, the saviour of the persecuted, who has become an almost legendary person. She dared to look death in the eye, she was not afraid to go into the ghetto, that bottomless pit of inhumane torment. She helped out by providing forged documents and money, saved children, carried books, hope and consolation to the residents of the ghetto.
Ona Šimaitė has lived in Paris for a few years now, even though she lives in a fancy neighbourhood, but in the “chambre de bonne” – the room of the maid – on the seventh floor. The elevator “de service” (for staff only) lifts me to a corridor, which resembles a labyrinth. The walls are lined with white doors and there is absolute silence. I knock on a few doors – the only thing that answers me is a muted echo. I walk through the labyrinth in all directions before finally getting to the door with the number 18 on them – these are the ones I am looking for. Before me stands Ona Šimaitė. She is 71 years old. The looks dignified and spectacular. Her bright maroon-coloured ponytail (age is powerless against her) is convoluted on the top of her head. The gaze of her blue eyes is filled with kindness. She penetrates the soul, caresses and calms it. It seems like we had known each other for many years... Why is she thanking me for the flowers I brought in such hot-spirited words? It was she who saved Jewish children and lead young women and men to the partisan forces in the forest, therefore I owe her, and how can I repay such a debt?!
I am looking around the tiny bright room: every corner is shimmering with cleanliness. She just shrugs it off: what’s so special about that?
“Of course,” she agrees. “It is difficult for me to do the laundry, clean everything. I have rheumatism and whenever I bend over I feel a strong pain.”
I notice (even blush from shame), that she has no gas in her room, and I can not help mentioning it.
“It’s not such a big deal,” she answers calmly. “I have a spirit primus.”
She sits me down on the only chair in the room and lays down on the bed.
“Accept my apologies that I have to welcome you this way. It is difficult for me to walk, I work in my bed. I read, write, take care of my papers. I have a pretty wide connection with the people who survived the Vilnius Ghetto.
Every time she mentions the word “ghetto”, you can feel her flinch and a tear rolls down her kind-hearted, wide country-woman’s face.
“How did you manage to get inside the ghetto?” I ask.
“We were a group of intellectuals in the Vilnius University who decided that we had to help the Jews. I worked there as a librarian and I got a permit from the commandant of the ghetto, which allowed me to go and get the books that had been borrowed from the university by Jews. Later, when all the books had been “reclaimed”, I got a permit to go cure myself to at one famous specialist in the ghetto. I knew what I could do with such a permit. Another colleague came with me, but when she saw what was going on there, she almost fainted. She said she could not go there anymore or she would go insane.
“If only you knew, my dearest... If only you knew how many wonderful people I met there.”
One tear rolls down her kind, wide, still barely wrinkled face, then another.
“No! The world doesn’t know! The world has forgotten! I met real heroes there. Children, who would risk their lives to steal some potatoes from the Nazis.
“Do you know what impressed me the most? Despite the terrible hunger and humiliations, the people did not stop living a cultural life! Try to imagine – they managed to stage plays, make exhibitions of the works of painters and sculptors, and there were concerts too. There were schools that were always open (do not ask me, dearest, under what conditions!), the children studied.”
She told me about the teacher Mira Bernstein. Mira took care of her pupils like a real mother. She tried to make it possible for her pupils, who studied with their arms blue from the cold, organise exhibitions of their works, to learn how to deal with famine, to hold together like adults, to be responsible people.
This teacher Bernstein did not even try to escape. All she cared about were her little children and she went with them, so their final journey would not be so horrifying...
Šimaitė takes a handkerchief, wipes her tears.
“I knew Liuba Levicka – the nightingale of the Vilnius Ghetto. She was as young and pretty as the spring and her voice was like a silver string. I went to her concerts – to forget the depressing difficulties, to enjoy the moments of endless pure love.
“The butcher Murer caught her with a kilo of peas, which were given to her by people at the tailor shop. She claimed to have stolen the peas...
“For that kilo of peas... He beat our nightingale to death. Sent her to Paneriai before the concert she had prepared... And those thugs had the nerve to talk about culture!”
Ona Šimaitė has a lot to tell. How many Jews escaped to the partisans because of her, how many children she saved – although she does not like to speak about those things at length. You can see joy and pride in her eyes, when she mentions her step-daughter and son-in-law, who live in a kibbutz (an agricultural society) in Israel.
“The principal said that the girl is very clever. I took her out of the ghetto, kept her hidden in my library, sometimes – in an empty wardrobe...
“One time a German came in unexpectedly. When he saw the girl he made a threat: “I don’t want to see you here again tomorrow.” Having said those words he put a few of the more valuable things on the table in his pockets and went out. Of course, the girl was gone from my place the next day.
“After the ghetto was liquidated,” Šimaitė goes on. “I was arrested. Do you know what for, dear? People used to see me in the ghetto all the time, so professedly it was clear that the Jews sold their gold through me.
“I was ready for anything, but did not expect to be arrested as a tout. But the label of a “tout” is what saved me. If you didn’t count the severe beatings I had to suffer. I went through a few camps, but I survived.”
I had to stop her. It was obvious, that she felt worn out. She lay in bed – silent, majestic, lit by an aura of good people.
She tells me, that she has no time to loose – she visits the sick ones in hospitals, brings them books, newspapers. Even though her legs are swollen, she went to the Delacroix exhibition. Tales of Jewish people tell of the “lamed vov” – “the righteous” – simple, humble people; being with them is a joy in and of itself. Ona Šimaitė will go down in history as one of those people, and her name will shine together with all the other immortal heroes of the Vilnius Ghetto.
From a progressive Paris Jewish newspaper “Naije Prese” (“La Presse Nouvelle”), 23 September 1963, article 20 Years After the Liquidation of the Vilnius Ghetto.