There is a group of Holocaust survivors who have only recently received more attention – those whose native language is Russian and who were only able to emigrate to Israel after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Having arrived in their old-new homeland, they were no longer able to build up any financial reserves for their retirement and are therefore increasingly dependent on outside help. Gita Koifman, herself a Holocaust survivor, has been advocating for these people for over two decades – supported, among others, by Christians Standing with Israel (CSI). CSI staff members Dana Nowak and Anemone Rüger visited survivors with her in Kiryat Yam.
By Anemone Rüger
The two of us barely have enough hands to carry all the bouquets of flowers, heart-shaped waffles, and greeting cards for the guests Gita has invited today. They are already sitting expectantly in a circle: Ruth and Genja, Roman and Rachmil, and Jefim; from Chernivtsi, Brazlav, and Briceni. We are familiar with all their places of origin from visits to elderly Jewish residents in Ukraine and Moldova. But the Holocaust survivors sitting around us here chose Israel in the 1990s.
Rachmil can communicate with us quite well in Hebrew. Ruth speaks to us in German. "That's my mother tongue—I was born in Czernowitz, which used to be Austria." But Russian is the language everyone is most familiar with. We introduce ourselves, briefly explain our work, and then the survivors begin to tell their stories, one after the other. How their fathers were sent to the front, how their mothers tried to flee with their children and were overtaken by the Germans, how the inhabitants of the Moldavian shtetls were humiliated and tortured by the Romanian troops allied with Nazi Germany and then driven north across the Dniester River. How they arrived in the already overcrowded shtetls of southern Ukraine—those who were still alive—and how a long ordeal began. And how they returned to their depopulated hometowns and searched for the houses where their childhoods had begun.
"We cannot afford to remain silent!"
Jefim has to tell us about Pechora, the death camp near Vinnytsia, from which only a very few escaped alive. When he can no longer speak, I sit down beside him. I place a hand on his shoulder until he composes himself. As difficult as it is to remember the horror, the stories must be told. "That's why we exist in our survivors' association," says Genya, when we remind him that we don't want to pressure anyone to tell their story. "It's so important to us that people know what happened back then! Antisemitism is spreading everywhere again. We can't afford to remain silent!" "As long as we live, we will speak and bear witness to what we experienced and saw," says Gita. "We will speak and call out and, if necessary, shout."
I remember the waffle hearts my mother had baked for the survivors back in Germany, which I had individually wrapped in gift bags the night before. With one careless movement, they had all broken at the door. But perhaps that was meant to be, I suddenly realized. "Our hearts are broken, along with yours," we tell the survivors. "What a privilege for us that you share these painful memories with us! We want to stay by your side a little longer, as long as we can."
“We’ve met so many times,” Genja says to Gita. “But we’ve never experienced anything like this! To feel such warmth, such love from Germans!” “Yes, it’s really true,” says Ruth in German, almost disappearing behind her bouquet of flowers and fighting back tears.
All eyes are on us. Between tea and pastries, the survivors absorb everything we've brought in terms of good news from the many Christians in Germany who consciously stand with Israel. Rachmil, 96 years old, keeps asking questions. He has a lot to process. "In my entire life, I've never met people like you!"
“It’s so important for us to preserve the memory of the Holocaust,” Gita says in closing. “Normally we do this through newspapers, through the internet. But the most important place where these stories must be kept—that’s you! You are the link for the next generation. There are many good people who express their sympathy. But not many have the courage to consistently translate this into action and show it publicly. You have that. I believe that your tears and your words will outlive us.” There are hugs, and then more. There is so much catching up to do.
When I tell Gita that CSI has increased its budget to better meet the needs of the increasingly frail survivors, Gita weeps with joy. “You know, these people didn’t have a childhood. And I know what it was like for them. I’ll do anything for them, as long as God gives me the strength. I can hardly believe we’re all together here today. When I was two, I was in the way. I should have been killed too. And now I have so many friends in Germany. I can hardly believe it!”
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