Izolda Lindberg Suslak, my friend

Izolda Lindberg Suslak

Izolda Lindberg Suslak (31 I 1942 – 12 IV 2019)

Izolda was born in Saratov in Soviet Russia. She grew up in Vilnius, Lithuania and in Katowice, Poland, and in 1969 she moved to Malmö, Sweden, where she enriched our lives and our souls with her bright spirit and wonderful piano playing. On the 24th of April it was time for us, her family and friends, to bid farewell to her.

This is my tale of Izolda. Hopefully you will recognize your Izolda in it.

*

It is a brilliant spring day in Katowice. Two elegant gentlemen are strolling along a path in the city’s large park, accompanied by their wives dressed in their Sunday best. Behind them tumbles a plump nine-year-old boy, watching in amazement an apparition straight out of Lithuania: a tall, slender girl in a white-flowered dress, her braid reaching to her waist. She is taking in her new Polish homeland with the uncertainty and curiosity of a fifteen-year-old. This is my first encounter with Izolda.

Anselm Suslak and Salomon Hirschberg, raised on the same street in the Austrian and subsequently Polish city of Tarnopol, have not seen each other for many years. Their Polish home territories have been incorporated into the Soviet Union. My parents have survived the Soviet and German occupations and the Holocaust and moved west, to the new Poland. Izolda’s parents had fled from the advancing German armies to the Soviet Union where she was born during the raging war. Only in 1957 did they manage to return to Poland. They have now been in my hometown for a few days – the childhood friends want to live close to each other.

Izolda’s Polish piano debut. She plays Chopin at the school closing concert. Resounding applause, of course. I get shoved onto the stage of the concert hall by my parents in order to hand her a huge bouquet of flowers, but at this very moment Izolda disappears back stage. I climb down and my mother sends me back. There I am, standing alone and embarrassed, helplessly holding the bouquet and wishing to disappear through the floorboards while the audience is laughing and continuing to applaud.

The year is 1969 and anti-Semitism is raging again in Poland. Our fathers are resting a stone’s throw from each other in the old Jewish cemetery and thus do not have to depart yet again. I call Izolda: “You cannot stay here. I am taking the train to Warsaw tomorrow morning to start arranging our departure. I hope that you will come with me.” It seems uncertain, but next morning Izolda is standing on the platform when I arrive.

Izolda and her mother settle in Malmö, while I end up in Gothenburg together with my mother and younger brother. If you have become friends with Izolda and do not make a fool of yourself, you will have a friend for life. I manage not to make a fool of myself. The rest you have seen up close: Izolda is working, making music. She marries. She becomes a mother. She becomes a grandmother. One thing in her life is more important than anything else: those closest to her. There were her parents Anselm and Sara. Now there is her husband Roger Lindberg, the fine trombonist, their daughter Katarina along with her husband Scott Pointon, the grandchildren Charlie and Sara-Pearl. They are her life and she is theirs.

Izolda has a gift: an unlimited capacity for friendship. It has something to do with her ability to radiate warmth, show emotions, use words like “sweetheart”, “fantastic” and “ah”. She makes friends, gives them all her love and loyalty and gets it back sevenfold. Whenever I phoned her or came by during the last period of her life, there was at least one friend sitting at her bedside. One of them told me, “We are arguing with each other about who may sit by Izolda next.” It was heart-warming to see, even for her.

I cannot imagine Izolda without her music. I have never met anyone who embodied music in such fullness: it seemed to flow out of her, it was enough for her to hold her hands over the keyboard for the music to start dripping from her fingertips – apart from her I have only ever witnessed this phenomenon with Oscar Peterson. Music was not a subject that you could have lukewarm opinions about – it was either or. It was not appropriate to underestimate Chopin or Tchaikovsky. And it was not necessary to overestimate some others, notably Wagner and Bruckner. Music without feelings and convictions was nothing for Izolda.

There were other things that were important to her. Her Jewish background implied an obligation to remember. Taking a stand against evil, being a mensh was important. Consider this: if it were not for all those inhuman isms to which her parents and she had been subjected – for Nazism which had almost wiped out her family, Stalinism which had held her father in prison for eight long years, anti-Semitism which had chased her and her mother out of Poland – she would have met at least some of her grandparents and had her relatives as well as her schoolmates and fellow students at her side. Now she has had to make do with us and I do not think that she had any complaints – but she was very much aware of where she came from.

She had picked up several languages along the way, but deep down she had a special place for Russian. I think this was mostly due to Russian being more melodious than most other languages. And if you dream and count in Russian, which perhaps she did, then it is necessary to feed one’s emotional soul with poetry. I used to send her poems to read, then we talked about them. There is a poem which I know that she has read. It feels strangely appropriate to quote the closing passage.1

I’m consoling you, of course. Consoling myself also.
Not very much consoled. Trees-candelabra
Carry their green candles. And magnolias bloom.
This too is real. The din ceases.
Memory closes down its dark waters.

“We’ve been close to you, we can never lose you,” said Roger, Katarina and Scott. We are sad, but the joy of having been close to you is greater. In the dark waters of memory there is a streak of intense light. It is an infinitely long, sunlit path in the park, lined with chestnut trees and magnolia bushes. There is Izolda, slender, tall and radiantly beautiful, walking with her parents by her side. She is watching us with curiosity and love. She will always be doing it. She is doing it right now. I know that for sure. Beneath the eyelids there are small memory grains and when you close your eyes hard, they start gleaming like diamonds. Inside them are our memories of Izolda. This too is real.

We see you, Izoldechka.

Jurek Hirschberg

  1. ”Lecture VI”, from Six Lectures in Verse by Czesław Miłosz, translated from the Polish by the Author and Leonard Nathan

*

Listen to the Fantasia in F minor D940 Op. 103 by Franz Schubert, played by Izolda Lindberg Suslak and Robert Bennesh in Husie Church in Malmö on 16 July 2013.

Jurek Hirschberg: Auferstanden aus Ruinen

Johann Sebastian Bach: Six suites for solo cello, BMV 1007–1012
Played by Yo-Yo Ma. The Frauenkirche, Dresden, 31 January 2018.

Auferstanden aus Ruinen

Once, the Frauenkirche was reduced to rubble.
Yet Yo-Yo Ma now plays Bach in the new old church.

His instrument is an orchestra that lives inside his cello.
He has even found room for a baroque organ
and a medium-size boys’ choir.

Music arises from the cello
And fills the room with dense sound matter.
The church aligns itself further
and flakes of misery fall off its walls.

The couple in the front bench try to focus on the music.
They are unsuccessful. He sensually caresses the Stradivarius of her back.
The music can wait. The instrument, though, carries a promise.

The cellist strokes the strings with his bow and tilts his head back.
A strip of lights bombards his glasses
with photons which reflect
and turn into the beams of anti-aircraft searchlights.

What is a pair of glasses against an incendiary bomb carpet?
The saraband bears witness to the city as a lunar landscape.
The dead Christ hangs on the cross, no church for him.
It is accomplished.

The music follows its own timeline. From Köthen, Bach can see
the sea of flames illuminating the horizon where Dresden lay.
Too sad. It wouldn’t be wrong to write down a few cello suites.
Six pieces should be enough to put a rather large church in order.

The front bench couple have missed both the fire and the miracle,
but applaud more eagerly than most.
An important message to the public: All clear.

Dresden, 31 January 2018

Translated from the Swedish by the author

Also translated into Polish

Opinions about treatises by Czesław Miłosz

A few opinions about treatises in verse by Czesław Miłosz, recently translated into Swedish:

“In A Treatise on Poetry there is a short fragment, some forty verses long, that is dedicated to the Spirit of Times. This is the greatest poetic pronouncement that I know. Intellectually it borders to something unfathomable.” – joseph brodsky

“At times, a poem is so powerful that it bursts the bounds in which it was written—the bounds of language, geography, epoch. … Coming upon a poem of that degree of power is a revelatory experience. … [A] Treatise on Poetry seems to me the most comprehensive and moving poem of this half-century. It will be excerpted and anthologized; and its blunt assertions about what poetry must, and must not, attempt will become part of the collective ars poetica of our culture.” – helen vendler

A Treatise on Poetry and A Treatise on Theology have been translated into English by the Author and Robert Hass. Six Lectures in Verse have been turned into English by the Author and Leonard Nathan. A Treatise on Morals remains untranslated.

All treatises in verse by Czesław Miłosz have been rendered into Swedish by Jurek Hirschberg. Read more here.

Treatises in verse by Czesław Miłosz now in Swedish

The translations of all treatises in verse by Czesław Miłosz have been published in a bilingual Polish-Swedish edition (Czesław Miłosz, Traktater på vers, introduction and translation by Jurek Hirschberg, Bokförlaget h:ström – Text & Kultur, Umeå 2016).

Treatises in vers

The volume is comprised of:

  • A Treatise on Morals,
  • A Treatise on Poetry,
  • Six Lectures in Verse,
  • A Treatise on Theology,
  • Author’s notes on A Treatise on Poetry and A Treatise on Theology,
  • Author’s conversations with Renata Gorczyńska, Aleksander Fiut and Andrzej Franaszek on the subject of A Treatise on Morals and A Treatise on Poetry.

See the details (in Swedish) on the publisher’s webpage, or see how others felt about the poems.

The Tarnopol pogrom 4–10 July 1941

In 1948, Salomon Hirschberg testified about the mass murder of Jews that had been perpetrated by the Germans and their Ukrainian henchmen in Tarnopol in July 1941, immediately following the withdrawal of the Soviet occupation forces and their replacement by the German ones.

See an annotated English translation of the minutes of my father’s Polish language testimony. The original document is in the collection of the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw. I hope that the availability of an English translation will contribute to the preservation of the living memory of those tragic lessons of history.

Also, see below a few additional details of my father’s experiences during the July 1941 Tarnopol pogrom. I wish I were able to convey the tremendous impact of the stories of plight and survival upon the minds of the children of Holocaust survivors, as exemplified in my own family.

About Salomon Hirschberg’s account of the Tarnopol pogrom

Salomon Hirschberg was born in 1903 in Tarnopol, a town on the eastern border of Austrian Galicia, now in Ukraine. He studied law in Lwów and obtained his doctorate at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków in 1928. He practiced law in Tarnopol.

During the Soviet occupation he worked at the Regional Health Administration Department. He survived the German occupation, first in the Tarnopol ghetto, then in a forced labour camp and finally hiding for eight months in an earth cellar of the house of Kazimierz and Julia Zięcik, the Righteous Among the Nations, and their family. There he met Róża Schapiro née Bernstein from Skałat, widowed since 1941 after a few weeks of marriage to Wilhelm Schapiro.

My parents survived, as opposed to almost all their relatives. They settled in the Polish town of Katowice where my father re-established himself as a lawyer. He died in 1964 of a heart condition. My mother, my brother and myself left Poland for Sweden in 1969, escaping the vicious demonstrations of official and popular anti-Semitism of the period.

In 2011, while looking for information about the German occupation of Tarnopol, I stumbled over a testimony that my father gave in 1948, seven years after the deadly pogrom he described that had claimed more than four thousand Jewish lives. I recall my father years ago telling me about some of those incidents in more detail. The fragments that brought back my memories appear at the very end of his account.

My father’s testimony:

On 11 July I was caught by a Ukrainian who turned me over to the hands of a German together with a group of other Jews. The German then led us to close to the prison and ordered us to wait. Once he was some distance away, I took a chance and escaped. He caught me though, and shot at me, but missed for some reason.

My father told me that the German ordered the group to wait while he went away to catch two more Jews whom he had spotted at some distance. Anybody who attempted escape would be shot. Still, my father calculated that he would be better off taking a chance to escape. The German saw him do it, lost interest in the two Jews and started chasing him. Father ran into a courtyard, down a passage into a cellar, and along a corridor until he came to a locked door and no other path to follow. The German pulled his gun and shot at him point blank barely missing (my father told me that he could still feel the scar at the very top of his skull). Father wrestled the gun from the German and pointed it back at him when he heard, unmistakably, the steps of another German running along the corridor in their direction. On an impulse he handed the gun back to the German. At this very moment the other German appeared and saw his colleague standing in front of a defenceless Jew, holding a gun. The Germans, incredibly, led my father back to the group.

He continues:

He led me to the Town Hall courtyard where Jews were at work. I worked all day long, too. The German tormented me, ordered me to clean lavatories with my bare hands, to carry 100 kg packs and to clean shoes, in order to humiliate me.

I recall my father telling me that during the very first days of the German occupation he was caught and ordered to water the lawn in the vicinity of the Town Hall under the supervision of a German. Several Poles who passed by would stop to shake my father’s hand and a few of them even symbolically helped him with the watering. The German realised that this was not a sufficient humiliation. As a result of something that in my father’s opinion could have been a shadow of dawning respect the German offered him a chunk of a sandwich that he was about to eat. For my father, it was unthinkable to accept it. Humiliation turned out to work in reverse; the German was angered. He started tormenting my father, which included making him carry 100 kg packs. This went on for hours, until his release.

His testimony proceeds:

I was released in the evening but unfortunately I was caught by the SS on my way home and transported along with a group of other Jews to the old Catholic cemetery. There, by whatever means we had – and in my case with bare hands – we were to dig a grave for the bodies of Soviet soldiers that lay there. Finally, I was released to go home.

I remember my father telling me that on the day of the cellar incident he was caught again and taken to a cemetery where Jews were ordered to dig pits. An Orthodox priest was there and had some kind of official function. Father recognized him as a former client. He stood in the pit and dug when the priest approached him and ordered in a sharp tone of voice to follow him. The priest walked my father past the Germans and Ukrainians and told him to run home. Father learned later that many of his cemetery co-workers were killed that day.

I was not aware that the purpose of digging the pit at the cemetery had been to bury the dead bodies of Soviet soldiers. Now that this is understood, it seems plausible that a Russian or Ukrainian Orthodox priest would have been present in some kind of religious function.

*

This is what I remember having heard in my childhood. I do not have any memory of my father ever having mentioned the actual pogrom. In fact, I am not even sure whether at that time the word pogrom was in my vocabulary, considering that I was young and that classic anti-Semitism along with its basic terms was not considered important enough to be part of the school curriculum or the public discourse.

Hearing my father’s voice sounding from the pages of his testimony half a century after his demise is both unexpected and overwhelming – the more so, since among the thousands of pages of the history of my parents’ plight and survival these are probably the only ones that have ever been written.

Jurek Hirschberg

Read Salomon Hirschberg’s testimony here.

Salomon Hirschberg’s account of the Tarnopol pogrom

Minutes of a witness testimony1

[Read the original testimony in Polish here.]

Dr. Salomon Hirschberg, attorney, born in Tarnopol on 30 April 1903, son of Dawid and Fryderyka née Goliger, living in Katowice at Mickiewicza Street No. 2, Flat 4.

Recorded by Natan Szternfinkiel, MA

 

The Germans entered Tarnopol on Wednesday 2 July 1941. For the first two days after their entry they kept a low profile and there was no talk of anti-Jewish incidents.

On 4 July 1941 at about 10 o’clock in the morning gunfire was heard and, at the same time, I heard a terrifying rumble. Together with all the other men in our family I went into our hiding place; only the women stayed home2. During this and the following days the SS, the soldiers of the Wehrmacht, and Ukrainians with yellow and blue armbands turned up several times looking for men. According to what I have heard, a council was held on 3 July 1941 by the German military authorities with the participation of local Ukrainians, at which they decided to avenge the deaths of prisoners at the Tarnopol prison.

From the early morning hours of 3 July 1941, crowds of local people arrived at the prison to see the remains of some twenty prisoners. There were two Jews among those prisoners but, notwithstanding, locals spread rumours that “the perpetrators were Jews, all of them communists”. I learned later that some Jews had been forewarned by their Ukrainian friends that repressions against Jews were expected to start on 4 July 1941.

On 4 July at 10 o’clock in the morning a pogrom started in Tarnopol. Simultaneously in almost all streets, especially in those inhabited by the Jewish population, Germans and Ukrainians started shooting at Jewish passers-by and at those who tried to save themselves by escaping. They entered houses and pulled Jews out of their homes. Some of the Jews were led to the prison and ordered to excavate cellars in search of human skeletons. Ukrainians and Germans stood above the digging Jews and hit them with rifle butts and iron crowbars. The Jews had to work without rest, water, or food. Anybody who paused for a moment was massacred to death. Following German orders, the Jews had to carry the dead bodies into the prison courtyard and heap them in a pile. Simultaneously, the Germans and Ukrainians brought into the courtyard groups of Jews from the city and shot them on the spot immediately upon arrival.

A certain Hołejko, aged over forty, former clerk at the Social Security Office and later Chief Bookkeeper at the Oblzdrav (The Regional Health Department in Tarnopol), was now the commandant of the Ukrainian police that conducted this pogrom together with the Germans. The deputy commandant of the police was a legal apprentice whose name I do not recall today, a son-in-law of Dr Dymitr Ładyka who was an attorney and former member of the parliament of the Polish Republic. Immediately before the outbreak of war in 1941 Dymitr Ładyka gave a speech that was broadcast from Kraków as far as I remember, urging the murder of Jews.3

At the same time, the Germans and Ukrainians led groups of Jews to Majka’s house at Baron Hirsch Street and Rynek (formerly the Garfein School) and shot them systematically inside the house. Jews were also led out of their homes and shot in nearby courtyards and squares.

The Ukrainians who took part in the pogrom were from among the local population and also from the nearby villages. Those who pulled the Jews out of their homes were assisted by local inhabitants who pointed out Jewish homes and hiding places.

On 4 July 1941, on the first day of the pogrom, a very large number of Jews were murdered. However, a Ukrainian whose name I presently do not recall intervened with the German authorities and in the evening, those Jews whom the executioners had not murdered as yet were released from prison.

On 5 July the pogrom continued in the same manner. In the evening of 5 July the Germans and Ukrainians led the surviving Jews from the prison to the building of the Municipal Communal Savings Bank at Sobieski Square, where they lined them up and ordered them to stand at attention the whole night. Anybody who moved was murdered in an atrocious manner, and finished off with crowbars and butt ends. The victims were frequently shot. Among the victims was my nephew Marceli Saphir, a student at the Institute of Technology. He was caught the previous day for “work” in prison but released in the evening; he told my sister what transpired at the prison. The next day he was caught again and never came back.4

On the third day of the pogrom, that is on 6 July 1941, the Germans started organizing a so called Nationalrat, engaging to this end Marek Gottfried, headmaster of the Perl School. People said that once the Nationalrat has been established, it would become the intermediary between the Jewish population and the Germans, and the pogrom would come to an end. According to German instructions, the Nationalrat was to consist of a hundred (100) persons. A candidate list of members of the local working intelligentsia was composed by Gottfried, complete with their given names, surnames and addresses, in accordance with the instructions issued by the Germans.

The Germans visited each person on the Gottfried list in order to recruit them to the Nationalrat. Several people joined voluntarily, assuming that participation in the Nationalrat would guarantee their safety. However, the majority of people on the list were either hiding or dead, and so the Germans filled the quota with other Jews caught for work.

Already on 6 July 1941 the Germans would also pick up Jews for various work assignments; some of these groups were brought to the new Gestapo headquarters in the building at 11 Listopada Street.5 There, a selection was made and members of the intelligentsia were separated from the workers, while those with knowledge of the German language were designated for the Nationalrat, loaded onto trucks by the Gestapo and the SS, and taken to the vicinity of the brick factory on Tarnowski Street. A few weeks later, permission was obtained to excavate the remains of several dozen members of the so called Nationalrat who were murdered there.6 Most of them had been buried alive as indicated by the following evidence: the body of my cousin Izydor Hirschberg, an engineer, after exhumation did not bear any marks of having been shot, while the shape of his mouth suggested suffocation.7 Dr Salomon Horowitz, a lawyer in Tarnopol, had been buried in an upright position holding a shovel in his hand.8 Numerous other people showed signs of suffocation. Most Nationalrat members murdered there were members of the intelligentsia. Among those was another cousin of mine, Eliasz Hirschberg, a student at the Institute of Technology.9

A few Nationalrat members were spared; the Germans released them “due to old age”. Among those released was Gottfried who had authored the list, the teacher Kapan10, and Luft; they were released by the Germans from the assembly at the Gestapo quarters. Another Jew, from Berlin, was released from the site of execution on the grounds of being from Germany. He is the source of the above information. He was not willing to provide any details, claiming that the acts of murder had been so atrocious that he was not able to talk about them. The Germans brought in the members of the Nationalrat and murdered them on 7 July 1941.

Round-ups continued on 8 July 1941, mostly from the prison where Jews were murdered in the same manner as described above. On 9 July 1941, I saw out of the window of my flat several carts loaded with dead bodies, heading in the direction of the cemetery. Jews with shovels walked close to each cart while Germans and Ukrainians formed their escort. Some of the carts were taken to the old Jewish cemetery, the rest to the new Jewish cemetery. During the burial the executioners murdered almost all those who were engaged in burying their brethren. Most of those Jews were not even shot; they were finished off with iron crowbars and rifle butts.

About two weeks later, the remains of the Jews buried in the old Jewish cemetery were partially exhumed. Some twenty bodies were exhumed, moved to the new Jewish cemetery and buried there.11 The exhumation process was interrupted on German orders because, as it happened, some errant officers had turned up in Tarnopol; having taken interest in these activities, they photographed the dead bodies, the mass graves, and the assembled families.

On 10 July 1941 the Germans and Ukrainians led about 60–70 people to the Jewish cemetery and murdered them there. Among those murdered were Max Faden12, Herman Bielfeld13, Rosenfeld the son of Mojżesz Lejb Rosenfeld14, and others.

On 11 July I was caught by a Ukrainian who turned me over to the hands of a German together with a group of other Jews. The German then led us to close to the prison and ordered us to wait. Once he was some distance away, I took a chance and escaped. He caught me though, and shot at me, but missed for some reason. He led me to the Town Hall courtyard where Jews were at work. I worked all day long, too. The German tormented me, ordered me to clean lavatories with my bare hands, to carry 100 kg packs and to clean shoes, in order to humiliate me.

I was released in the evening but unfortunately I was caught by the SS on my way home and transported along with a group of other Jews to the old Catholic cemetery. There, by whatever means we had – and in my case with bare hands – we were to dig a grave for the bodies of Soviet soldiers that lay there. Finally, I was released to go home. During the work the SS men beat us with whatever turned up, kicked us, not allowing us to catch our breath even for a moment.

Casualties of the pogrom were recorded by the Ukrainian Health Department based on reports by Jewish families. The number of recorded deaths exceeded 4 000 (four thousand) people.15 Such was the effect of the pogrom that went on in Tarnopol between 4 and 10 July 1941. There continued to be casualties among the Jewish population almost daily for a long time after 10 July 1941.

Recorded by Szternfinkiel,

Katowice, 20 July 1948

 

Translated from the Polish and annotated by Jurek Hirschberg

Read the original testimony in Polish here.

See the translator’s comments here.

Notes

  1. Testimonies of Surviving Jews. Recorded on 20 July 1948. Hirschberg Salomon. Original 10 pages manuscript in Polish, 6 pages typed copy. The ŻIH (Jewish Historical Institute) Archive. Signature 301/3774. Film No. N 0757.
  2. The family had lived since 1911 in their house at Szeptyckich 4.
  3. Dymitr Ładyka (1889–1945) was a Tarnopol lawyer, a Ukrainian politician during the interwar period, and member of the Polish parliament 1928–1935. He moved to Germany at the end of the war and died in the bombing of Dresden. Biblioteka Sejmowa, bs.sejm.gov.pl, entry 885.
  4. Marceli Saphir (1920–1941) was the son of Salomon Hirschberg’s sister Fryderyka (1891–1943) and her husband Hermann Saphir (1887–1938), an engineer in Tarnopol.
  5. The Gestapo headquarters in Tarnopol were situated at Listopada Street – the former 29 Listopada Street.
  6. The Central State Historical Archives of Ukraine in Lviv have in their holdings part of the preserved vital records of the Jewish community of Tarnopol, including a partial list of death records between 4 July 1941 and 30 August 1942. Among those records, 349 refer to deaths dated between 4 and 10 July 1941. Films of these records are in the collection of the Genealogical Society of Utah, Salt Lake City, Utah. GSU: microfilm # 2405431, batch # 3. According to those records 19 bodies of those murdered on 7 July 1941 were examined on 14 August and additional 18 on 18 August 1941. GSU No. 204–222, 224–241.
  7. Izydor Hirschberg, residing at Tarnowskiego 23, aged 35, male, married, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 15 August 1941. GSU No. 205. Izydor Hirschberg (1906–1941) was the son of Salomon Hirschberg’s cousin Jakob Scharje Hirschberg (1874–?) and his wife Rebeka née Barbasch (1876–?).
  8. Salomon Horowitz, residing at 3 Maja 2, aged 49, male, married, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 15 August 1941. GSU No. 212.
  9. Eljasz Hirschberg, residing at Brücknera 12, aged 20, male, single, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 15 August 1941. GSU No. 211. Eliasz (Elijahu) Hirschberg (1922–1941) was the son of Jakob Scharje’s brother Chaim Hirschberg (1888–1943) and his wife Ester (1898–1943).
  10. Kapan the religion teacher was shot by Herman Müller on 18 April 1943. Testimonies of Surviving Jews. Żaneta Sas. The ŻIH (Jewish Historical Institute) Archive. Signature 301/4196.
  11. 18 bodies of those killed in the first days of the pogrom were examined on 21 July, 33 bodies on 23 July and 45 bodies on 25 July 1941. The remains of those exhumed in the old Jewish cemetery may have been among them. GSU No. 75–92, 95–127, 128–173.
  12. Max Faden, residing at Podhoreckiego, aged 37, male, single, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 9 September 1941. GSU No. 270.
  13. Herman Bielfeld, residing at Kotlerewskiego 26, aged 39, male, single, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 9 September 1941. GSU No. 268.
  14. Wolf Rosenfeld, residing at Kotlerewskiego 26, aged 27, male, single, died on 7 July 1941 due to sudden death. The remains were inspected on 9 September 1941. GSU No. 269. He was probably the son of Mojżesz Lejb Rosenfeld.
  15. This register was apparently unrelated to GSU.

A new service: sworn translations from English

I have become authorized by Kammarkollegiet, the appropriate Swedish government agency, as a sworn translator from English to Swedish. I had previously obtained certificates as a sworn translator from Polish to Swedish and vice versa.

Let me inform you about my language services.

Sworn translations now also from Swedish to Polish

Kammarkollegiet, the appropriate Swedish government agency, has authorized me as a sworn translator from Swedish to Polish. This authorization complements my earlier certificate as a sworn translator from Polish to Swedish. I am thus one among very few translators who have been authorized by the agency to perform bi-directional sworn translations between Swedish and a foreign language.

You are welcome to read more about my language services.

About Grażyna Wojcieszko

She lives in Brussels where she is composing striking, unexpected, sensual poems in Polish whenever she gets time away from her work at the European Commission. Grażyna Wojcieszko has published four collections of poems. A selection of nine poems from the third one, Les abattoirs de Bruxelles (2008), has appeared in my translation to Swedish in the Suecia Polonia issue of 2-2011.

I am presenting a few new translations of poems from this collection as well as from her latest one, The Dream about a Tram (2012), on my Swedish and Polish pages. Read more poems by Grażyna Wojcieszko on her own site.

Pages with a view

The pictures displayed on these pages were taken in places that are worth visiting at least once in your lifetime, and preferably more often.

  • Agrigento, Sicily: the Greeks were here.
  • Castle Stalker at the mouth of Loch Laich, Argyll, Scotland: Monty Python was here.
  • The Dead Sea from Masada: there is Edom , her kings, and all her princes.
  • The Main Square in Cracow: future poets munching on doughnuts.
  • Lake Edsviken just north of Stockholm: home sweet home.

While identifying the sights, keep in mind that sailor suits are rarely seen at the Dead Sea.