Jerusalem Post - 05.31.2004

Jerusalem Post

Memories of Lithuania

By Hadassah Bat Haim

Coming into Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, from the small airport, is a pleasant experience. Tree-lined roads with good surfaces sweep past well-kept homes with gardens. In town the hotels are welcoming, modern but with traditional elements. 

We are near the shining white cathedral flanked by large statues of Moses and Abraham. It stands in a wide square dominated by a statue of King Gidiminus, the first ruler of a united Lithuania. Everywhere is clean, swept and scoured. There are no candy wrappers, empty cigarette packets, fast food containers. 

Though in geography and culture Lithuania is far from Brussels, a huge majority of its citizens voted in favor of applying for European Union membership. This is what all the spit and polish is about and there is a feeling of optimism. Lithuania is independent now, and hopes to match any attraction in Western Europe. 

Indeed, anyone who has observed the state of public facilities in Old Europe, has to be, as we were, both astounded and grateful for this country's excellent restrooms here, even in the smallest of villages. In this respect, they have surpassed their mentors. 

Restaurants nearly all have menus in English, with recognizably Western food, often fancied up with elaborate sauces and frills, such as chicken in peanut butter or halibut in curry. The staff are friendly, anxious to please, happy to accept suggestions. 

BUT in spite of all this modernity, there is a chapter of recent history that no one talks about. For its size - half that of Germany - and its population - barely 3 million - the Lithuanians slaughtered more Jews, in a shorter time even than the Werhmacht, their role models. This record is not in question, and at the time of its operation was probably a source of national pride. 

There had been a Jewish presence in this area for more than 600 years. In 1388, a formal document was signed by the leader of several connected groups, admitting Jews as legal residents. For just over a century, Jews were accepted and lived normal lives. The then-ruler, Grand Duke Alexander, learning that some properties were owned and exploited by non-Christians, expelled them and confiscated their holdings. 

However, their absence left a gap, as only eight years later, the Grand Duke had a change of heart and invited them all back. Even better, the next ruler, Zigimantas the Old, extended the privileges granted by Alexander. All Jews living within the borders of the Grand Duchy, had resident status and freedom of religion. 

Jewish settlement increased until the end of the century when the pervasive blood-libel that Christian children were killed and used in Jewish rituals, became popular, providing an excuse for savage attacks against the Jews. 

TOWARDS the 18th century, though never eradicated, anti-Semitism was less organized. The privilege was never officially rescinded, but its conditions were not disputed. Centers of Jewish learning were established. 

In 1668, Rabbi Israel Ben Eleazer founded the Hassidic movement, although not embraced by all communities, had a profound influence on Jewish education. Jews were encouraged to settle and develop trade connections, and religious seminaries attracted scholars from other countries. In Vilna (as Vilnius was known), Rabbi Eliyahu ben Shlomo Zalman - the Vilna Gaon - wrote his commentaries and interpretations of sacred texts. 

The granting of full rights to Jews, as France had done in 1791, was seriously debated but rejected in favor of setting up the Pale of Settlement. Jews were confined to certain parts of the town and their movements were limited. From Russia, in 1804, came further restrictions. The printing of Jewish books decreased. A rabbinical academy, with Russian as the language, was founded. Jews in Lithuania participated in parliamentary elections, and one became a member. Another, S. Rosenbaum, a leader of the new Zionist movement, became deputy foreign minister. 

Despite restrictions, Jewish life and religion expanded, and Jews received, by 1919, cultural autonomy. 

THE Jews of Lithuania were not, in general, a wealthy community. They were small traders, cobblers, grain merchants, owners of mules and carts, and owned transport agencies. Today, above the lintels of tiny businesses and home in the remains of the Jewish quarters are faded signs, in Yiddish, "Yakov, kerosene" and "Reuven, carpenter." 

Every cluster of Jews had a synagogue, perhaps only a prayer room, and a school. Larger communities had a hospital, in which all sick persons were welcome. Success in business demanded that the poor, the disabled, the orphaned should be supported by the owners of such facilities. Better-off members sent sons away to be educated, especially in medicine, and when they graduated, returned and opened a clinic. Often, they were the first and only doctors that a particular village had ever known. 

This comparative tranquility came to an abrupt end with the 1940 Russian invasion. Warned, the Telshe Yeshiva and YIVO managed to get most of the students and teachers out. Other religious establishment were shut. Ministers, priests and rabbis were exiled together with those deemed to be "enemies of the revolution" or "Capitalist spies." These included, municipal officials, businessmen, high school principals, bookshop owners, newspaper editors and broadcasters. Many were Jews, torn from their normal lives and sent to harsh bitter conditions, to work as laborers. 

The Russian occupiers moved swiftly to enlighten the people as to the benefits of socialism. All lessons were to be taught in Russian. All places of worship closed. Plans for land collectives were to take place immediately. Dissidents were imprisoned in an old fortress. There was some resistance. The national army, in which Jews served with other citizens, had put up a pitiful resistance. But they were quickly and decisively overwhelmed. The strongest symbol of defiance is still visible in the Hill of Crosses. 

Clinging to traditional beliefs, citizens secretly approached a small hill and erected crosses. The Russians removed them. The next day more crosses appeared. From tiny lapel pins to three-meter tall wooden posts, carved and decorated, the hill became an icon of rejection of alien values and in the long year of Russian rule, some 60,000 crosses were on display. 

IN 1941, Germany flexed its military muscle. In less than a week, they had driven the Red Army back to its bases, leaving behind more than 1 million soldiers to be taken as prisoners of war. Jews, amongst them, were losers on both sides. 

Changes were sudden and brutal. Textbooks were issued in German. All Jewish schools, hospitals, factories and businesses were closed, old age homes evacuated. Jewish students were dismissed from colleges, nurses' training courses, teaching seminars. Yellow stars were distributed. 

In Vilnus, 10% of the population was stripped, forced to walk through to town on the sharp cobbles, carrying babies and toddlers, bewildered and shocked, past the university where many of them had studied, into two ghettos. These were slums from which the residents had been evicted and given access to now empty Jewish homes. 

In the larger ghetto, groups were taken out daily and disposed of. The smaller held people who were workers, or until an even more ruthless commander took charge, they were allowed to live. Of thousands of Vilnius' Jewish citizens in 1940, fewer than 20 survived. 

The general population had accepted the widely-held belief that the Communist occupation, which had caused them so much suffering, had been activated and organized by Jews who made up most of the party members. Lithuanians had not taken kindly to sharing. Most land was parceled into family plots, passed from father to sons and they bitterly resented any interference with this tradition. 

THE Germans did not interfere with any of these practices and though not popular were "at least better than the Communists." This story offered the excuse for those who needed one, for approval of German policy to free the country of Jews and, in a more practical way, to dispossess their neighbors, take over houses farms, businesses, clothes, tools, and destroy "worthless" books, pictures and manuscripts. 

The prison, conveniently adapted by the Communists, was transformed into Gestapo Headquarters. Former guards who had not escaped occupied the cells; their prisoners became their jailors. Sixty years later, the dark airless, window cells, are hard to look into. The padded walls of one cell echos with stifled screams. Rusty chains, thrown hastily into a corner, are evidence of brutality. 

Each small town had an abandoned synagogue. The buildings were re-used as storerooms, sports halls, barns. If it was just a humble wooden structure, the altar was ripped out, Torah scrolls burned and the rest left to rot. In Kaunas (formerly called Kovno), there is a marker, at a hospital site. The German troops burned it, along with patients, staff and visitors. 

WE visited forests where special trains brought victims, sometimes more than 1,000 a day, to be slaughtered. 

We stood at the edges of wide ditches, where hundreds at one time were shot so that their bodies fell into the hollow, piled upon each other, men, women and children. It was said that the German soldiers engaged in this duty, became nearly mad, haunted by the innocent eyes of those falling. The authorities dealt with this problem by ordering the helpless victims to turn their backs on their executioners. 

We visited the pleasant picnic area where 80 schoolgirls from the Jewish high school, were brought by Lithuanian volunteers who proudly wore the insignia identifying them as assistants to the Germans. The girls were told that if they converted to Catholicism, their lives would be spared. They consented, a priest brought to perform the rituals. When he finished, the commander said, "Kill them all. Now they are Catholics they will get to heaven." 

THE history of that time is not totally black. We heard stories of people who risked their lives to save or assist Jewish friends. Some property was looked after; some possessions saved. 

Chune Sugihara is one person who put humanity before orders. In 1940, as vice consulate for the government of Japan, he learned that hundreds of Jews fleeing Poland and Germany for Kovno, where he was stationed, were in desperate danger as the Germans approached. He issued the few printed visas he had in his office, then, with the assistance of one clerk and his wife, and an old-fashioned Remington typewriter, he typed several thousand more. Dismissed from his post, he was seen as his train moved out still issuing the precious papers through his carriage window. In all, 6,000 refugees reached Shanghai. 

There were other touching episodes. We were invited to Kabbalat Shabbat at the Kaunas Jewish community, where 20 elderly men and women welcomed us to herring, homemade challa, fried fish, kugel, cakes and coffee. Kiddush was in Hebrew, but the rest in Yiddish, ending in a rousing singsong. 

The head of the community had come back to his grandfather's house, an imposing villa in a big fruit orchard. His father had survived in the USSR and he had no intention of moving from his family home. 

Another survivor, a decorated veteran of three armies, Yaacov Bunka is now a skilled sculptor in wood with an international clientele. He is the only Jew in Plunga. We met others, without families or friends, thankful just to be alive. Everyone is interested in Israel. Some have relatives there, but all their energy is taken on getting from one day to the next. A further move is unthinkable. 

THE English language is very popular especially among the young. Everyone wants to try out his or her few words. But mention of their history puzzles them. 

"Oh, that was long ago. Even my grandfather doesn't remember it." 

Asked if they know any Jews, they nod. People of the Old Testament? Our preacher told us about them. Yes that's right. We have courses in school, I think. 

Jewish tourism is a growing business. Plaques with the name Jew Street are pointed out. "There used to be a synagogue here on Synagogue Street." On April 14, 2000, the Lithuanian clergy offered an apology to the Jewish world admitting that they had been "less than compassionate" to their Jewish brethren during the Nazi occupation. Alexander Lileikes former chief of the Vilnius security police and his deputy Kazy Gimsauskas were indicted as war criminals. The first died before being brought to trial and his deputy's trial has been indefinitely postponed for ill health. No other trials have been held. 

It is a fertile land. Lakes and rivers ensure good water supplies. Forests are dense. The climate is reasonable compared with countries further east. Orchards are full of apples, pears and even in sheltered spots, grapes. And the ground is well-nourished with blood.