The need is particularly acute among elderly Jewish residents not only in Ukraine. In Moldova – once densely populated Bessarabia with its Jewish population – the demand for comfort and practical assistance is also great. For many, receiving attention and support from private donors in Germany after nearly a lifetime of persecution and exclusion is deeply moving and healing.
May 2023 in Chisinau. I'm sitting with my Ukrainian colleague Alina and our partners from the Jewish social welfare organization Chesed to plan our next steps together. So far, our visits have focused on the Moldovan capital, as almost half the population lives there. But the infrastructure for social services, which in Germany is fairly evenly distributed even in rural areas, is only rudimentary outside the larger cities in the former Soviet Union. That's where we need to go if we want to reach those most in need. Before I can even make a suggestion, the head of the social welfare organization asks: "Could you imagine extending your aid program to the rural regions in the south? People there are even poorer..."
Traveling in the Moldovan province
A month later, we are traveling with our partners from the Jewish community to southern Moldova. It is hot. The air conditioning in the minibus has long since broken down; the open windows have to suffice. Some of the main roads, frequently used for exporting wine and fruit, are paved; for the remaining kilometers, the vehicle rattles like a freight train over the edges of the Soviet-era concrete slabs or weaves around the potholes on unpaved tracks.
It's slowly becoming clear to me why there are so many tragic stories among the candidates for our program. Just like in the Ukrainian villages, there was hardly any war-essential industry here that needed to be evacuated eastward and would have offered a means of escape. The Holocaust overwhelmed the rural Jewish population unprotected.
“We’re so far away, hardly anyone comes here,” the people from the small Jewish community in Kagul tell us. Our visit is a big event. The community members can now be counted on two hands.
From Kaunas to Kagul
Sofia greets us at the garden gate with open arms and immediately invites us onto the terrace. Her housekeeper has baked piroshki. Sofia insists that we taste the raspberries and strawberries from her garden. Her particular pride and joy is the pomegranate tree, which is covered in orange blossoms. The fig tree has also set fruit.
“My Jewish name is Sara,” Sofia confides in us. “I come from Lithuania. We lived in Kaunas – my father Selig, my mother Ester, and I. There were many Jews there.”
We asked Sara-Sofia how she survived the war. “I came to the ghetto with my father. I was four years old at the time. One day they took him away. I never saw him again.” And her mother? “She was killed in a bombing raid right when the war began.” Sofia remained in the ghetto until its liberation in 1944. Then she and the other ghetto orphans were taken to a state-run children’s home. Gradually, foster parents were found for the traumatized children.
“One day, a couple from Odessa came,” Sofia continues. “They took me in and adopted me. My adoptive father, Grigori, was also Jewish. He had to watch as his wife and children were deported before his very eyes. He never saw them again. And he took me in with his second wife, who was from Moldova. They gave me a new home.”
Another pearl in God's crown. I brought a single blanket with me from Germany – hand-knitted by Lisbeth. It took up half my suitcase. We drape it around Sofia's shoulders. "I immediately notice the warmth radiating from it. I feel so safe and secure," says Sofia. "I wish all these lovely people in Germany good health and all the best!"
betrayed by the neighbors
The path to Tatiana's little house leads through her vegetable garden, where everything grows that one could imagine on a summer menu. "I do it all myself," says Tatiana with a modest smile. "The Dedushka helps a little." The Dedushka is Stepan, who has shared Tatiana's life since her husband died. We enter a house that breathes history.
“Everything here belonged to my parents; I didn’t buy anything new,” Tatiana explains. Her father came from a large family with five brothers and two sisters. They lived in Vertiujeni, a shtetl in northern Moldova. Her grandfather’s name was Avram-Srul, her grandmother Tuba. “I got her name,” Tatiana explains. Another name decoded: Tuba-Tova-Tatiana.
“The brothers had to go to the front. The grandparents, along with the women and children of the family, were evacuated to Krasnodar in a freight train,” Tatiana continues. But the area on the eastern side of the Black Sea wasn’t far enough away. “Then the Germans advanced further, and the neighbors betrayed Papa’s family. They were all murdered and lie in a mass grave outside the city. Papa and one of his brothers survived because they were at the front… I was Papa’s girl; he loved me so much.”
A scarf from Germany brings a radiant smile to Tatiana's face. And Stepan makes us smile with his accordion.
Alexander Avrum Motel Goldberg
To conclude our visit, we invited the still-mobile senior citizens in Chișinău to a joint lunch – 15 new candidates for our sponsorship program. I had my first conversation on the way – with Alexander, who joined us at the Jewish community center. Alexander Goldberg. “I was actually supposed to be called Avrum Motel,” Alexander explained. “But the Soviet authorities wouldn’t allow that, and Dad didn’t want me teased about my name my whole life. So I became Alexander. But Avrum (Abraham) is really my Jewish name.”
I'm always learning something new. The constantly recurring Soviet names of the Jewish elderly aren't so boring after all. If you listen closely, you can gradually deduce the watermarks in the paper: Mikhail stands for Moishe or Motel, Alexander for Abraham, Faina for Fanya or Fejgele, Raisa for Rebekah, and so on.
Alexander-Avrum-Motel walks with a slight stoop. For the occasion, he has put on his worn black jacket. He has worked as an accountant all his life. But when he begins to speak, you would think you were listening to a scholar.
"Magdeburg – yes, that's in East Germany. Karl-Marx-Stadt, of course I know that. I know all the German chancellors, starting with Adenauer. I always listened to the news. I was simply interested. And I listened to different channels. I believe you have to listen to different sides to get a balanced picture. At night, besides the Soviet news stations, we always secretly listened to Deutsche Welle and the BBC. I still remember Willy Brandt kneeling before the Warsaw Ghetto Memorial. He made history with that; but he didn't receive applause from everyone in the SPD for it."
It quickly becomes clear to me that we need to dedicate a whole day to Alexander. He tells us that there were 77 synagogues in Chișinău between the world wars; one of them has survived and is still in use today.
Alexander's father was sent to the front; his mother, heavily pregnant, fled with her parents and in-laws to Central Asia. Alexander's newborn brother lived for only a month; the hardships of the escape also brought an early end to the lives of his grandparents. Alexander was born during the famine years immediately following the war.
“Eleven families lived in our courtyard,” Alexander recalls. “One of the eleven was Moldovan, all the others were Jewish. Going to the synagogue was dangerous if you were caught by the authorities. But on holidays, all the Jews went to the synagogue.”
Alexander never had a family. It's easy to see that he has to save on everything. "It's such an honor for me to be able to attend this meeting today," says Alexander.
I share why we are here and what God can make of our story if we give Him space. This time, I feel it is important to share God's words from Isaiah 49 with the survivors and their descendants: “But Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me; the Lord has forgotten me. Can a mother forget her nursing child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Though she should forget him, yet I will not forget you; behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.’”
Like a celebration after a long period of mourning
Vladimir watches us, taking everything in attentively. When I sit down next to him, he says: “The longer you talk, the more moved I am. What a privilege to be invited to this meal! It feels so good to hear what you do and why you do it. It has shown me that we, too, have a responsibility to do good with the means at our disposal.”
Roman isn't someone who likes to talk. Schejnfeld, Roman. He's wearing a cap that shades part of his face. When I catch a glimpse of his eyes, I can read volumes in them. It seems to take effort for him to reveal anything about himself, and at the same time, it seems to do him good that someone wants to know something about him. I try to understand his quiet voice.
“Mama had a large family – four sisters and nine brothers. They lived in eastern Ukraine. Some were sent to the front. Mama and her two sisters went into hiding. Someone betrayed them. They had no fingernails left, so they were tortured. Then they were sent to a concentration camp in Germany. Papa was later in the unit that liberated them. Mama may have escaped before then, because somehow she made it to Uzbekistan, where she met Papa. My grandparents hid with their younger children. There were caves nearby where they lived. They spent the war years there. The locals brought them food. That's how they survived. An aunt of mine made it to Palestine after the war and helped build the State of Israel.”
"You wouldn't believe what a special day this is for our senior citizens," said a staff member of the Jewish community. "Since the pandemic, many have hardly gone out. This gave them a reason to dress up again. Two of the older gentlemen exchanged contact information and want to stay in touch. You gave them a piece of family today!"
We are still looking for sponsors for several dozen elderly Jewish people in Moldova who can support them with €25 per month and show them a little bit of love from Germany. Perhaps you know someone who would like to take on a personal sponsorship?
More information about our sponsorship program can be found here.
