The winter of 1943 was a sad one. The war in Europe was
raging and the terrible news from abroad reached us daily.
Here, in Yerusholayim, we feared the Germans conquering us,
a horror which was compounded by tales of what was being
done to fellow Jews abroad. Helpless and unable to change
things in any way, depression settled into the hearts of
people. And so the cold winter dragged on and on...
Purim arrived and the sun shone brightly. The clouds
dispersed and spring was in the air. However, the bent backs
of people in the Holy City did not straighten. The cold hand
of winter still gripped their hearts. It was a sad Purim for
us, but life went on and now people began thinking of
Pesach. Food was rationed as dictated by the ruling British
government, and all knew that the ration of a few eggs and
potatoes and a scant slice of meat would not suffice for the
holiday needs. The Shimony family was determined to find
means of purchasing more food, and Abba and Ima Shimony
planned ways of earning some money to buy necessities.
Shabbos after Purim arrived and we, sad girls of the Shimony
family, huddled together in the big room and tried to pass
the time in a way suitable for the Shabbos atmosphere. In
the twilight of the fading day, at shalosh seudos, we
sang. The singing was sad as Abba taught us a new song
called "Hareinu Hashem chasdeicha." "This song," he
told us, "was brought over from the European concentration
camps." He sang it with great ecstacy.
We girls sang it together when he went off to shul,
and taught it to some of our friends who had come over.
After havdola, after the chores were done, we went to
bed, not knowing the changes which would take place very
shortly.
"Get up, Yisca! Chedva! Get up!" Tzila called.
"What is it?" Chedva mumbled sleepily.
From the big room we heard moving of furniture. "What's
going on?" I was fully awake by now.
It was extremely early, and dark. Why was Ima bustling about
and moving furniture around in the front room? The commotion
soon brought us all to see what was going on. We jumped out
of bed, washed our hands, and ran to see the action.
Ima was pulling and pushing the beds out to the courtyard.
The wooden chest of dishes followed soon after.
"Erev Pesach?" Chedva volunteered with half closed eyes.
"No. Go get dressed and clear out all the clothing, sheets
and quilts into the courtyard," Ima ordered. "And be quick.
I have no time for explanations."
We did as bidden and soon the big room was empty. Bare.
Mother was extremely busy and would volunteer no hint of
what was going on. Soon a big truck arrived and through the
back entrance and into the big room began a trek of workers
hauling in boxes and boxes of matzos. These boxes soon
filled up the entire big room and we all stood there
watching, bewildered, at the fast paced workers. In less
than an hour, the huge room was filled to capacity, from
wall to wall.
Ima stood there smiling. "We did it!"
"We did what?" asked Chedva.
"We rented out the room as a storage place until Erev
Pesach. The money will help us cover the extra expenses for
yom tov," Mother finally explained. As soon as Abba
returned, we began organizing the front room. We placed our
extra belongings on a neighbor's porch, hoping that neither
the sun nor the rain would ruin them. We bundled up the
bedding and took it into the front room. We piled it high on
top of mattresses and arranged the bed frames sideways
against the walls. There was barely any space to move, but
Abba and Ima were happy. We girls were not very happy about
being evicted from the big room but we kept our feelings to
ourselves.
Soon another piece of news took our minds off our crowded
conditions. A group of children from Teheran, escapees and
refugees from the European concentration camps brought to a
way station in Teheran, arrived. All winter long we had
heard of efforts to save these children and now they were
here! They were placed in a temporary residence not far from
our home.
We went to visit the girls amidst mixed feelings. They were
a sad sight. Most looked gaunt and ghostly, their heads
shaven to prevent lice. Some looked skinny, their bones
protruding, while others actually looked fat. We were told
that they were swollen from famine. But their faces and
hands looked pale and sickly.
Chedva, my oldest sister, brought some of these girls home
to our crowded front room and mother showered loving
attention on them. Milk and cookies were served, out of our
ration, of course. Chedva suggested to let them sleep in our
place but they refused.
Not knowing their language, we were helped by our parents,
who spoke Yiddish fluently. Sarah was a tall, good looking
girl, but she never smiled. A permanent sadness seemed to
have settled on her face and in her eyes. She refused to
take part in our singing and when we coaxed her, she said,
"How can I sing or smile? I can't forget my mother's last
words: `Give me water...' But I had no water to give her.
And she died shortly after."
We managed to communicate, somehow, mostly by sign language
and pantomime. Much singing took the place of regular
conversation.
It was Henya, one of the girls with a beautiful and powerful
voice, who taught us the song, "Habeit mishomayim
urei... -- Look down from Heaven and see how we have
become a laughingstock for the goyim..."
Being busy entertaining the group and being entertained in
turn, we completely forgot the crowded conditions in our
home. A few days before Pesach, we got back our big room
along with a sum of money which enabled us to celebrate
yom tov with more than the starvation budget.
Somehow, Pesach was a happy climax to a very sad winter. We
felt that the welcome we had given the girls had enabled us
in some way to offer indirect aid to our fellow Jews in
Europe by helping and encouraging those who had managed to
escape. Our guilt feelings were eased. The Festival of
Liberation was upon us, and we felt the freedom of our newly
appreciated expanded quarters.
