Perla Meissner Part I: Early Years in Europe

Perla Meissner is the wife of Werner and the mother of Judith Meissner de Assif and Ronit Meissner de Naor (see earlier entries for more information on Judith, Ronit, and Werner). Perla Meissner (nee Schlomovitz) was born in the former Czech republic on February 11, 1926. This area of the country was called Karpato Russia and was considered both the least developed and the least progressive. A large population of observant Jews, many desperately poor, called this region home.

Perla's parents Yitta and Avram Schlomowitz brought their daughters into a large and religiously observant family. Perla had 15 uncles, 15 aunts, and 30 cousins. She is the eldest of three sisters; Rachel (called Ruchi) was three years younger while Elky was five years younger. When asked about her earliest memories she responded:

My earliest memory. My earliest memory would be (pause) my grandfather kind of teasing my mother, asking her how come she has red hair. He said my mother was blond and my father was threadbare, and how come she has red. She said, “Tati, she’s not red. That’s golden.” But I knew that she was kind of looking for an explanation for my hair not being completely red, because red was not appreciated at that time. There were all kinds of problems among red-haired people —most of them very bad. Most of them are angry. Most of them are not trusted. I have a saying in Hungarian you would not understand, but I’ll translate. (speaks in Hungarian) “A red dog, red horse, and a red person—none of them are good.”

Despite her red hair, Perla was an integral and loving member of her close family. The five stayed in the small Czechoslovakian town of Perla's birth until the family's economic situation forced them to migrate to Prague.

Life in Prague was a mixed bag. Adjusting to a new city and new classmates was both interesting and challenging to eight year-old Perla.

She remembers some of it:

I think I lived in a world of dreams. Reading and going to the movies, basically you don’t have to face reality. I probably didn’t like myself so much, hated going to school, hated seeing myself being a bad student. I don’t know. Ruchi, she was the one who kind of kept an eye on me. (chuckles) We were brought up—the rule was that you respect your elders, especially respect your parents. I would have never, never been disrespectful to my parents, never. But I lied. (laughs) And I remember, I was sent one Shabbat afternoon to visit a very respectful member of the Jewish community in Prague. She had a group of girls who came together and they were talking about Bible stories. I came from a background where they used onions. On Shabbat you had onion with eggs. My German was very, very Yiddish, and I knew it sounded terrible.

The Jews in Prague, the majority spoke German. But I came from a Yiddish-speaking country and had always spoken Yiddish, so it was Kongress-Yiddish. You know what they call Kongress-Deutsch? The first Zionist congress couldn’t decide what language are they were going to speak. The majority spoke Yiddish, and some spoke German, so they decided that Yiddish is going to be called Kongress-Deutsch. So I spoke Kongress-Deutsch. (chuckles) I knew they were kind of making fun of me. I heard one girl remark that you can feel the onion. I said to myself, “I’m not coming back.”

The following Shabbat we were sitting around the table having the Shabbat meal and Mami mentioned that I’m going to go to this shul and I said, “Mami, I’m not going.” She said, “What do you mean, you’re not going?” I said, “I’m not going.” So my father said, “Tell us why.” I didn’t want to hurt them. I didn’t want to— I didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable, so I didn’t want to give the reason.

You couldn’t tell my mother so often no. So she put one hand up and said, “You’re going.” I said, “Mami, I’m not going.” Then Ruchi got up and she said, “Nobody’s going.” I was three years older. I didn’t give in, and I never explained why not. I just said, “I told you I’m not going,” and never told them the reason. I didn’t want to shame them. It’s a funny thing, this memory that I keep, I see Ruchi protecting me. (laughs) And my parents desperate. They’d never seen such a thing. I couldn’t, couldn’t shame them. I always kept that in mind. If a child doesn’t say something, maybe it’s not because he wants to be disrespectful, maybe he’s trying to protect them [his parents]. Those are some of my memories.

Transcription by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC