Features
Return to Ukraine: searching out the Rosner family past
Introduction: Not too long ago we were contacted by former CBC Manitoba managing editor Cecil Rosner, who asked us whether we’d be interested in publishing a story about a trip he took in 2012 to visit the area in Ukraine where both his parents were born. Although it’s been 10 years since Cecil visited Ukraine, given the current situation in that country we thought it timely to get a sense of what life was like in Ukraine prior to the Russian invasion.
By CECIL ROSNER ““Oi — look at the way the schlemiel drives.”
We are bouncing along the potholed roads of Western Ukraine, heading from Lviv to my mother’s hometown of Buczacz. Our driver and guide isn’t Jewish, but that doesn’t stop him from endlessly whistling Fiddler on the Roof tunes and inserting Yiddishisms into every second phrase.
“These guys are all ganefs (thieves),” he says of the policemen we pass, as he forms his thumb and forefinger into a pistol and slowly pulls the trigger. Alex doesn’t like the speed traps the highway patrols set up, and he appreciates oncoming drivers signalling him to beware of cops just beyond the next hill. It’s an important issue for our driver, who crisscrosses Ukraine’s roads all year-long, ferrying tourists to distant towns and villages in search of their Jewish ancestors.
For Alex, who holds a history degree and is an expert at tracing genealogical roots, it’s an occupation he never dreamed he would have. But in the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse, when jobs were evaporating and everyone was trying to reimagine their lives, it seemed like a useful niche to pursue – especially as foreigners were finally trying to discover exactly what had happened to their relatives during the Second World War.
That’s why I’m here too, along with my wife and a cousin. Both of my parents were born in the region, and both were here when the Nazis occupied the area in 1941. In different improbable and miraculous ways, they both survived the war and emigrated to Canada. But every single other family member was shot, gassed, beaten or starved to death by the Nazis and their collaborators. We came here to see what traces of their lives remained.
It seemed logical to make our first stop the local museum, right across from the old city hall. Buczacz is little more than a village, with about 13,000 people. In the early part of the 19th century, Jews made up two-thirds of the population. While that number ebbed and flowed over the years, Jews were still in the majority when the Nazi occupation began. But that would have been difficult to discern in the museum.
In all the display cases, and in the colourful photo album that the town produces, there is no specific mention of a Jewish population. There is scarcely any reference to the Second World War, except for a notation that the town “was released from German invaders and captured by the Soviet Union.” Wouldn’t a town’s museum want to address what became of the majority of the population? What happened to thousands of farmers, shop owners, tailors, tinsmiths, doctors, lawyers and politicians? Doesn’t the mass roundup and extermination of most people in town even rate a mention?
The only hint of any Jewish presence came in the form of artifacts from the life of Shmuel Agnon, a Jewish writer born in Buczacz who won the Nobel Prize for literature. But the entire fate of the people Agnon wrote about had been erased.
Alex had little luck getting the museum’s employee to throw any light on what the town was like in the immediate pre-war period. She genuinely seemed not to know. But there were a few things I already knew.
My mother, Mina, had been born here in 1913, and her family owned a wholesale distribution company. They carbonated water and stored it in big, forty-litre copper cylinders, shipping them along with ice to shops throughout the area. When she was 25, she married my father, Michael Rosner, who came from nearby Kolomaya. In 1939, they opened a small retail store on the main town square, probably within metres of the present-day museum.
When the war broke out in September 1939, there was a reprieve. The region came under the control of the Soviets, and Jews were under no immediate threat. All that changed when Hitler marched eastward in 1941. My father was conscripted by the retreating Soviets, and my mother was trapped behind Nazi lines for the remainder of the war.
For the next three years, every member of my mother’s family – her parents, five brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins – were dragged from their hiding places, bludgeoned or shot, or sent off to be executed. They were all dumped into unmarked graves. My parents’ first-born child – my brother – also fell victim, dying at the age of three in 1942.
My mother’s survival defied any normal odds. She fled from one hiding place to another, escaping just in time to avoid capture. She spent 11 months in the attic of a Polish family along with five other Jews. She took an assumed name and boldly convinced the Nazis she was Christian. Finally, after Buczacz was liberated, she re-united with my father and they came to Canada to start anew in 1948.
I had been to Buczacz once before, with my mother, in 1990. We came with a documentary crew to record her first visit back home since the war. It was an emotional trip and a difficult one for both of us. But we learned very little of the actual events that had transpired in the town, or the exact locations where they happened. That’s why, nearly 15 years after my mother’s death, I was returning for a second time.
I convinced Alex that our best strategy on this trip would be to find older people and ask them what they knew about the 30s and 40s. Alex seemed skeptical. For one thing, the war had begun more than 70 years ago, so it was unlikely there would be any useful first-hand witnesses at hand. And there was also the collective amnesia that pertained to inconvenient truths.
After all, a segment of the population had actively collaborated with Hitler. They were instrumental in helping identify and round up the Jews, the Communists, and all the other elements the Nazis wanted to destroy. Some might still be living in Buczacz and surrounding areas. Their children and grandchildren almost certainly are here.
The museum’s employee finally gives us a sliver of hope. There is someone in town we should visit – someone who knows the history and might be able to help us. His name is Mykola.
We drive for a few minutes and stop at Mykola’s house. I am expecting to find an elderly man who may have been a teenager during the war. Instead, we come upon a 40-something man in sweatpants and a Maple Leafs T-shirt. He is clutching a handful of papers and photographs. One of them shows a photo of Buczacz’s surviving Jews standing beside a memorial gravestone in 1944. Out of the original population of 10,000, no more than 100 survived. One of the people in the photo is my mother.
Mykola has taken an interest in wartime history, and now helps visiting tourists locate family remnants. He has a variety of interesting documents, including a map of pre-war street names, and a mid-19th century register of townsfolk. It turns out that he knows about some of the Jewish families that lived in Buczacz during the war – a handful of them have returned over the years, and he has helped them find their old homes and landmarks.
We ask Mykola if he could help solve a puzzle my mother and I couldn’t figure out on our previous trip. Her family had lived on a street called Zeblickevicie, which had changed names several times after the war. From her description, though, we knew it was beside a stream that ran into the Strypa River, a subsidiary of the Dniester.
We pile into the car along with Mykola and he directs us to the location. The stream had been covered over, except at the point where it emptied into the Strypa. Though the original home was no longer there, he shows us the exact location where my mother’s family had lived. I saw the idyllic surroundings, the lush vegetation around the quiet river, and for the first time I had an inkling of the peaceful life my mother experienced before the war changed everything.
While we were all walking along the old Zeblickevicie street, Mykola bumps into a friend and exchanges a few words with him. As we walk on, the friend stops my wife, Harriet, and our cousin Nina and says: “Mina Rosner – I am a Witness.” That is the name of my mother’s book. Alex is impatient. He had rich experience of locals trying to pester visitors, and he was eager to move us all along. But Harriet and Nina persist. It turns out the man on our chance encounter knows all about my mother’s story, and offers to take us on a tour of where she lived, where she went to school, where she hid during the war, and where her family members were killed.
Over the next 24 hours, Alex grudgingly admits he was wrong. Our serendipitous encounter has linked us up with Jura, a 60-year-old retired computer technician, astrologist and local historian. He knows my mother’s exact birthdate, and, it appears, everyone else’s in town. He has a photocopied version of my mother’s book, and he has pieced together her recollections with precise locations of many of the events she describes. If photographic memories actually exist, we figure he has one. He is a visiting tourist’s dream come true, and Alex has to take a back seat while Jura takes us on a remarkable tour of my mother’s life.
The first stop is just around the corner, on a street that used to be called Chechego Maya. I remember it from my mother’s stories, but we could never pinpoint it on our previous trip. Jura shows us the building where my mother’s sister and her husband ran a hardware shop. He knows the address because it’s listed in trade publications of the era. Though my mother’s original house and her parents’ store no longer existed, I finally had an authentic touchstone of some of her family’s life at the time.
Jura takes us to the pre-war building on Kolejowa Street that served as the cheder, the religious school, where Jewish kids studied. We visit the girls’ school and middle school where my mother was a student, and walk into Buczacz’s Sokol theatre, where she watched dramatic performances and movies as a teenager. A group of children is rehearsing a musical concert on stage, and I can imagine my mother sitting in the auditorium with her brothers and sisters and friends.
Just down the road, near an orchard, Jura shows us the garden of a long-ago demolished home where my mother hid during one of the Nazi aktions, or periodic killing sprees. A bunker had been constructed in the cellar, and this helped shield her and other Jews from capture. The Nazis conducted four major aktions during their occupation of Buczacz before declaring the town Judenrein, or completely free of Jews. But the declaration turned out to be false. My mother, along with dozens of others, managed to survive with the aid of courageous gentile families who risked their safety to shelter them.
In the middle of our travels, Jura pulls out a sheet of typewritten names – people who had served as policemen, gendarmes and SS officers during the war. I recognize some of the names. Some of the Nazi war criminals and their collaborators have been brought to justice, but the vast majority remain undetected and untried for their crimes.
We go to the Jewish cemetery, where many of the town’s Jews – including my mother’s parents – were taken to be executed. The place is untended and overgrown, a jumble of brush and junk, with headstones in various states of disrepair. We find my great-grandmother’s grave. It’s significant, because two plots over my mother buried her first-born child, Isaac, in an unmarked plot. I clear away the branches and debris from the group of headstones in the area to get a better view. I bend down and touch the ground where the brother I never met is buried. Exactly 70 years later, someone has come back to this place to remember.
Jura takes me down a path through brambles to a spot where survivors had erected a memorial to the war’s victims. The place is overgrown with trees and bushes now, but he says there was nothing here before the war. The marker no longer survives, and even if it did, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to find it without an expert guide.
Our next stop is Fedor Hill, another killing ground where thousands perished. It’s difficult to see traces of anything here, but Jura once again guides us to a marker commemorating the killing of 450 people during the early days of slaughter in 1941. It had been erected by a survivor’s family well after the war.
A far more prominent memorial on Fedor Hill is dedicated to the UPA, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the military wing of a movement that initially collaborated with the Nazis in hopes of winning an independent homeland. In fact, throughout our travels in Western Ukraine, there were numerous new memorials to Ukrainian nationalist fighters in places where it might have been logical to place markers noting the victims of the Nazi era. We saw this on the side of a synagogue in Ivano-Frankivsk, near the Jewish ghetto entrance in Lvov, and many other places. In my father’s hometown of Kolomyia, it was a similar story — no mention of Jews or Nazi victims in the local museum, no remnants of the huge Jewish population, and a patriotic memorial to Ukrainian nationalist figures on the site of a former synagogue. In the re-written history of today, the UPA and its related Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists are presented as groups that fought both Soviets and Nazis; no mention is made of the collaboration in 1941 that led to so much destruction during the war.
Throughout our trip to Ukraine, we were reminded of the upcoming election campaign and the ever-present imagery of Ukrainian nationalism, especially in the Western part of the country. In a land that was exercising its brand of democratic activity, we had to wonder how thoroughly the country had come to grips with its recent history. Many countries are wrestling with related questions, trying to reconcile horrendous events of the past with a way forward. But as in any process or truth and reconciliation, there needs to be an initial recognition of what took place. Erasing and denying the past is rarely the path to building a healthy future.
At the end of our tour in Buczacz, Jura wanted to know the exact date of my mother’s death. He also was interested in our birthdates and any other information he could glean from us. In a country that chooses to forget so much, he was something of an anomaly.
Features
Shall We Live by Our Swords Forever?
By ORLY DREMAN (Oct. 4, 2024) t is hard to believe a year has passed… the worst year of our nation… a year of grief, nightmares, sorrow, crying, pain, bereavement, anger, desperation, frustration, hurt and anxiety because of this horrible endless war. Every person in the country knows people who were killed. When an old person dies naturally one receives it with understanding, but when young people die it feels like Job.
The average life span of Israelis is going down every day. We try to relax, breath deeply, do mindfulness, exercise, meet friends. Israel suffers four times more from anxiety and depression than any other place in the world. I feel I just want to sit down one day, cry and release, and not be strong all the time. All our souls are already in reserves for a year . Since our army’s survival depends on its reserve soldiers it means they are tired, have lost their jobs, and wives are heroes and have to quit their jobs because the husbands are not there to help with the kids. Children see their parents recruited, they see people with weapons in the streets, they hear the word “hostages”, they hear war planes in the sky twenty four seven, they are scared, and no wonder there is regression in their behavior.
We are an injured society in a war routine- every new death swallows up the death from the day before.
When the six young hostages were murdered in the tunnels in September and the bodies were brought back by our soldiers, many people in Israel felt it is like the day their own parents passed away- it was so sad. It was revealed they were starved- the bodies weighed 35 kg. (close to 80 pounds). In the tunnels with no air, no light, low ceilings so they could not stand up, no sanitary conditions – tortured by Satan. They urinated in bottles that remained next to them. We all feel responsible for their deaths. Did we demonstrate enough? Did we pray enough? The members of the cabinet who voted with Bibi not to make a deal to save them – how can they live with themselves? What if the nightmare came true and there are babies who were born in captivity and survived? Then we have more than 101 hostages. Our country was established on social solidarity that we do not leave bodies and injured behind. We are going to pay a heavy price if we do not do the just and correct thing and bring them back home.
I recommend you read the book “One day in October” – forty heroic stories from that day told by remaining relatives and friends about the heroic citizens who saved the country. Who is a hero? A person who cannot stand aside if someone is in distress; hey come to help, like those who jumped on hand grenades to save the rest. The injured who continued to fight. Men who stalled the terrorists in order to enable women and children to escape until they were murdered. Women who ran out of their homes while the shooting was going on to pull the injured into buildings. Five young women and men soldiers who saved one hundred new recruits in their base till they themselves were killed. The paramedic Amit Mann in Kibbutz Be’eri who stayed to save many lives when she could have escaped until she was killed. (in that kibbutz out of 1000 residents 100 were killed.) Aner, who was at the “death shelter” and managed seven times to catch the hand grenades the terrorists threw inside; Aner threw them back out, until the eighth time he was killed while his friend Hirsh Goldberg Polin lost his hand and was kidnapped to Gaza where he was murdered 11 months later. The few survivors of this shelter survived because bodies fell on them and hid them. So many who already got to safety with friends, but drove back again and again to rescue young people from the festival until they themselves got killed. How parents had to close their babies’ mouths so they did not cry and be heard, with the risk of choking them to death. Even for those who held a gun, it was not enough against groups of hundreds of terrorists. The families in the center of the country heard their dear ones on the phone screaming they are burning us and they have RPGs (rocket propelled grenades). There were some who wanted to do like in Masada- kill their families and then kill themselves – just not to be kidnapped.
The first eight hours of the war the terrorists were stopped only by citizens and some police. The army was not there. Every person who in his lifetime had taken a first aid course – even people in their seventies, bandaged and put tourniquets on the wounded while they were without water, with no electricity. In the book, an officer of the “Zaka” organization- whose members are always on scenes of unnatural deaths to collect body parts and who have seen all possible atrocities, said that if he would have known what he is about to see on Oct. 7th he would have asked God to make him blind. Another story in the book is of a Holocaust survivor who said it was worse than things they have seen during the Holocaust.
Whole families on the kibbutzim on the border were murdered- children, parents, grandparents. A friend of my seven-year-old granddaughter told me her grandparents lived on kibbutz Be’eri. I asked her if they were evacuated and she answered yes. I was told later that the grandfather was murdered while protecting his wife, who survived. The seven-year-old is in repression and denial. We have friends who live on the Gaza border who told us how the father, the son and a friend left in two cars to return and rescue people, but in the chaos our army mistook them for terrorists and they shot at the cars. The friend of the son was killed while the son managed to roll out of the car. The father who was in the second car describes the car being riddled with bullet holes and he still does not understand how he survived. Unfortunately, there were quite a number of these incidents.
There are evacuees who moved almost 10 times this year with their families from place to place. They cannot hold a job, the children change schools and change friends. What is nice about “the good Israeli” is one sees requests on Facebook from evacuated families asking for a place to live because the government does not pay for some of the hotels anymore, or those people live in areas that were not officially evacuated by the army/government, but still are in the rockets’ range. Other Israelis open up their homes to host these people.
We are now fighting seven fronts. We just started in Lebanon and we already have eight soldiers killed there in one day, but the damage from Hizballah was growing every day and they were crushing us. If Hizballah would have joined Hamas in sending 6000 terrorists through their tunnels into Israel on Oct. 7th in addition to the 4000 terrorists Hamas sent, it would have been the end of Israel. We’d have hundreds of thousands dead. The tunnels we discovered now in Lebanon are bigger than those in Gaza and cannot be blown up because of the terrain; it will only make them wider. Iran lost again in this second round of 200 rockets on Oct. 1st. Our air defense systems shot down most of the ballistic rockets. We must retaliate with a strong hand. We cannot live by our sword forever.
Our challenges today are not just against our enemies, but also against others who have different moral and ethical values. How can Bibi even think of replacing our excellent defense minister in the middle of the war – only for political reasons? Instead of making a deal in the south- returning the hostages, making peace with Saudi Arabia, forming a coalition against Iran, he is busy eternalizing his coalition. We deserve an empathetic leadership which sees the good of its people before themselves.
We have thousands of new disabled servicemen and women. It is no wonder that at all the Para Olympic games we win the highest number of medals. For organ donors today doctors are especially asking for cartilage because we have 20,000 new wounded ; this is something they did not do in the past.
It has been a very challenging year and we learned how strong we are. For the New Year may we blessed to see the return of all our hostages, start to rehabilitate them, put a smile back on our faces, sleep at night, worry less and feel safe again.
Features
New documentary about expulsion of Jews from Arab lands
On Monday, October 7 at 9pm ET, VisionTV will present the world premiere of Forgotten Expulsion: Jews From Arab Lands, a new documentary from filmmaker Martin Himel specially commissioned by Executive Producer Moses Znaimer.
ABOUT FORGOTTEN EXPULSION: JEWS FROM ARAB LANDS
On October 7, 2023, Palestinian Hamas terrorists massacred 1,200 Israelis and took some 250 hostages in an invasion marked by methodically planned unprecedented levels of barbarism.
Not only was it the most extensive slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust, it also sparked a wave of Pro Palestinian/Antisemitic protests worldwide. The protestors claim Israel should be destroyed because it is allegedly a colonial state artificially created by European and North American Zionists.
The documentary Forgotten Expulsion: Jews From Arab Lands shows that these Zionists are Jews, and that Jews have been indigenous to the Land of Israel and the Middle East for the past 3,500 years. Jews are, and have been an intrinsic part of the Middle East long before the Arabs conquered the region 1,400 years ago; 1,000 years before Christianity, 1,500 years before Islam.
In 1947/48, it was not only 700,000 Palestinians who were displaced during the Israel war of Independence, but 850,000 Jews were also expelled from their ancient homes in Arab countries by Islamic regimes + their murderous mobs. The film argues that if Palestinians are to be repatriated and to receive compensation for their loss, then Jewish refugees from Arab Lands should also be repatriated + compensated.
Forgotten Expulsion also highlights the strange case of the Palestinians, the only refugee population in the world that never declines. That original refugee population of 700,000 now numbers 5 million. Some genocide!
Featuring:
Rabbi Elie Abadi, Senior Rabbi for the Jewish Council of the Emirates in Dubai, UAE, prominent Sephardic Judaism scholar
Avraham El Arar, President, Canadian Sephardi Association
Judy Feld Carr, Rescuer of 3,228 Syrian Jews + Human RIghts Activist
Professor Henry Green, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Miami
Eylon Levi, Former Israeli Government Spokesman, Current Leader of the Israeli Citizen Spokespersons’ Office, prominent figure representing Israel internationally since the start of the October 7 War against Hamas
Simcha Jacobovici, Canadian-Israeli Emmy Award-winning documentary filmmaker
Professor Shimon Ohayon, Head of the Dahan Center for Culture, Society & Education in the Sephardic Heritage, Bar Ilan University
Ambassador Mark Regev, Chair Abba Eban Institute at Reichman University, Former Senior Advisor to the Prime Minister for Foreign Affairs + International Communications
Eli Sadr, Former Jewish Refugee from Syria
Dr Stanley Urman, Executive Vice-President, Justice for Jews from Arab Countries
Levana Zamier, Former Jewish Refugee from Egypt
Features
The Issue with Anti-Zionism
One narrative that has grown more dominant in the past few months is that which seeks to target, discredit, and harm “Zionists.”
I worry that many Canadians do not actually know what “Zionism” means, nor do they understand its origins, or how its sudden weaponization is concerning to Jews everywhere, and should be concerning to you, too. I write this piece with the hope that it may provide some clarity to those looking to delve more deeply into discussions they are seeing emerge online and in our public discourse on this topic.
This week, I made a post on social media that took exception to a group trying to garner support for the boycotting of “Zionist Restaurants” in Montreal. In my response, I said the following: “Don’t be fooled by what this means: it means don’t buy from Jews. Don’t associate with Jews. Don’t be near Jews. This is antisemitism. This is hate. Call it out for what it is.”
“Remember to ask yourself this”, I said: “Why should my Jewish friends, colleagues, neighbours and fellow Canadians be the subject of targeted attacks because of how some feel about Israel?”
Why do I believe the demand to boycott or target “Zionists”, whether that be businesses or individuals, is problematic? I’ll explain.
Those who suggest anti-Zionism is not antisemitism will point out that Judaism and Zionism are different. They are correct in that one is a religion, and I would argue, a people (or culture for some), and the other is simply a belief that Israel, as a Jewish homeland, should exist. By critiquing Zionism, they say, they are taking issue with the Israeli Government, and not Jews.
Here is the problem with that: the vast majority of Jews identify as Zionists. Again, this just means that they believe in a Jewish State or homeland. Some hold this belief because they see Israel as the ancestral homeland of Jews. For others, it is because they feel as though the treatment of Jews, as destructive as it has been over history, merits a safe place for them to live as a collective.
Whatever the reason one calls themselves a Zionist, the important thing to know is that the view pertains to the existence of the State as a homeland itself, not the way the state conducts its affairs.
Zionism has absolutely nothing to do with a predetermined set of views about what the Israeli Government of the day decides to do on any issue, whether that be about Gaza, or policies related to education, or the environment.
Zionism does not presuppose a singular position on the actions of the government of Israel or of the Jewish people. When the Zionist movement began in fact, there was no Government of Israel.
Some Zionists will support elements of Israeli Government policy, and others, such as the over 500,000 protesting in the streets of Israel itself, will have a different view. At any given moment, Zionists, just like anybody else, will hold a range of views on various topics to do with both Israel and beyond.
So, when one says “boycott Zionists”, presumably on the basis of some objection that they have to Israeli’s military campaign in Gaza, they make an assumption that all Zionists are supportive of those actions being undertaken by the Israeli government. As such, they say, the “Zionists” should be punished through boycotts and public shaming.
The main point here is that one can be a Zionist while at the same time disagree with the way Israel responds to conflict. So why treat all “Zionists” the same?
Therein lies the problem. If one wants to call out people who support the actions of the Israeli government in Gaza, so be it – there is plenty to object to in my view – but don’t use the label of Zionism as the pretext that serves as the foundation of those criticisms. When one does that, they are crossing the line into antisemitism.
If one doesn’t believe Israel has a right to exist, they should say that instead. Do not universally categorize a group of people as being responsible for the actions of individuals or governments; that is what we call “prejudice.” Do not be prejudiced towards Jews by assuming they are all the same, that’s called antisemitism.
To call for the universal boycott and targeting of “Zionists” is really just a call to boycott those that believe Israel has a right to exist, and that, as it were, just so happens to include the overwhelming majority of Jews, too.
Ben Carr is the MP for Winnipeg South Centre
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