Perla Meissner Part II: 1930s-1960s

 


Perla's life changed drastically within a short amount of time. When the Germans marched into Prague in 1939, the family decided to move back to the small town from which they came. Yet instead of returning to Munkatch, Czechoslovakia, they were now returning to Munkatch, Hungary.

I stopped schooling even before, because I was very disrespectful to one teacher in Prague who declared that all the Jews should be shot. I said, “I wouldn’t go so far. I would shoot you on the place.” So she wanted to hit me and I hit her and I was thrown out of school. I was eleven, twelve, something like that. She was a gingi and so was I, red hair. I hated her so much, that red hair. Every time she looked at me I gave her the—I don’t know what. And every time remarks about Jews. And by the time I thought that she is going to hit me, I hit her first. I was thrown out of school. I didn’t have to go to school. I didn’t mind.

There was no reason to send me to school [in Munkatch], no Hungarian, no language, I couldn’t. All the teaching was in Hungarian. So my parents tried everything. They hired a Mr. Goldstein to teach, to give me private lessons in English. Mr. Goldstein was a good teacher, but I was a bad pupil and he said, “Mrs. Shlomovic, it’s a waste of my time and a waste of your money.” And he stopped giving me classes.

Then they sent me to see if I could learn some profession making brassieres. My parents paid. And then my Mami came and asked, “How is she doing?” They said, “She has to be taught how to sit first.” (chuckles) So basically they were kind of desperate. I accompanied my father very often. He left every Sunday and came back on Thursday night. I had family almost in every second village, my grandparents in one of the villages. And since I didn’t go to school, I traveled with my father, which I loved very much. I think he was my hero. Lovely man, really.

I think at a certain age, I went away from home to be visiting a cousin of mine in Chust, one of the many places that I had uncles and aunts and cousins. I hated my aunt there. I said to myself, “What the heck am I doing here? I don’t like this place. I don’t like the family except for my cousin. I shouldn’t be running away from home.” That was a turning point in my life, when I started to be aware that life might change dramatically and I should cherish every day. This is when I learned to appreciate and know what family really means. “My parents are so nice, such lovely people, why do I have to be with someone who is so ugly and stupid?” And I didn’t travel except going with my father to Budapest.

I said, “Tati, I would like to go to Budapest.” He said, “Ahh, that’s why you were so lovely and good, because you wanted something.” I was so hurt. How do you know if a child has a change of mind, a change of heart? So they said, “What’s wrong with her? How come she’s so helpful?” (laughs) Nobody would ever know. No one really realized how deeply I had changed.

Shortly thereafter, the Hungarians began assisting the Germans in rounding up Jews from rural areas. Perla and the rest of her family was sent to Auschwitz.

Then we were in the concentration camp for one year. And I think that the whole family in every village was killed, parents and aunts and cousins and uncles and grandparents, so we became a family of two. I was very much aware of my responsibility towards Ruchi. I was maybe too restricted in my behavior and in whatever I did, I felt obliged not to disappoint my parents in my behavior when they were not alive any more. I didn’t do it consciously, but I felt this is not for me, that’s not for me, kind of telling me that they would approve or that they wouldn’t. I remember I was twenty-one or something the first time I put on some lipstick. As if Prague had nothing better to do than to look at me with my lipstick. That kind of thing.

And I don’t have a cemetery or anything, and I don’t think that’s important. I think more of my parents—with the years I never, never stopped remembering them, thinking of them, loving them. It’s incredible. I think if somebody really meant something to you, something deep, all your life they will accompany you. When I came to Israel it was because I couldn’t live among the goyim. I went on the street and I looked at people’s faces. “Is he Jewish or isn’t he Jewish? Is she Jewish?” My resentment toward them was so—I was so disappointed in humanity, what they were capable of doing. And I felt anti-Semitism even more than I felt it before, because before I didn’t care so much. And basically I knew that they didn’t change, and I wanted away. There was a possibility to get to Israel, to Palestine, at the beginning, illegally. I registered for illegal transportation with Ruchi. Then they said there’s going to be a Czech brigade, and that Czech brigade we could join.

I remember I was lying in bed and Ruchi was next to me. I couldn’t sleep. It was such a terrible dilemma I figured because I’m going to Palestine. There’s war, and what if something happens to Ruchi because she’s going because I’m going? I heard her say, “You can’t sleep?” I said no. She said, “You think I don’t know why you can’t sleep? You can’t sleep because you don’t know what to do with me. Let me tell you: If you are going or not going to Palestine, I am going. You can stay here.” She knew exactly what I was thinking.

So we went through the Czech brigade. We had a chance to go to the States. I told you I have a large family from my father’s side and my mother’s side. The uncles went out, left home before Hitler. So I would have received the affidavit. I didn’t want to go.

It took a long time. We were in the Czech brigade. We were preparing to come as soldiers. We were soldiering. There was a Czech village that was restricted to the people getting prepared for the war. That was already under the communist regime. The Russians believed that this large group of Jews would come to Palestine and then they would work for the communists, for the Russians. They didn’t know that everybody who left was anti-communist. It wasn’t so much anti, it was anti-anti, the Gentile world they couldn’t face.

We arrived the first of January 1948 and went straight to the army. I told you, I don’t know if I told you before—no, I didn’t mention it yet. I didn’t have any profession. I didn’t know what to do. When I came out of the army I already spoke some Hebrew. I did not want it to be known— here I am in the uniform and I don’t know how to speak Hebrew. How ridiculous! People used to speak to me and I didn’t understand.

As time went on, Perla left the army and moved to Haifa to begin working. She started working as a nanny for a small child and eventually enrolled in a teacher training course.

Then I met Werner. I knew about Werner. I knew about his friends. I knew some other things. I heard about him. I even read some of his letters. That was very unusual, to know a person without knowing that you are ever going to meet him. (chuckles) And when I met him, I felt very comfortable. And because I was so unsure of myself, I said to myself, “This is a person I could grow old with. I would not be afraid to grow old with him.” (laughs) Well, we grew old enough, we both grew old.

Leaving Israel, that was so traumatic. I think the first ten years in Salvador, I did not permit myself to enjoy what Salvador offered. I know how difficult it was for Ruchi, and I didn’t feel that I can ask for money to send, because that wasn’t my money, even if I was married. So we got a mixer as a wedding present, and I didn’t use a mixer as long as Ruchi didn’t get a mixer. Things like that. I cried a lot, felt very much that I betrayed my ideals. And yet, I was very lucky. I’m lucky with people I met. And because I came from Israel, they said, “Why don’t you prepare a Hanukah celebration?” I didn’t know how to say no. Then they asked me to prepare a Purim celebration. I just know that at the time I was very, very busy. I had so many students for Hebrew and my Hebrew wasn’t perfect. Neither could I explain grammar. But I am a very good teacher. But I would be a very bad teacher if I had to teach in school. You have to plan. They give you a program. I was teaching Israelis Spanish. In the meantime I learned English, then Spanish. I was teaching the children Hebrew, and grown-ups Hebrew, like your grandfather. Then Rabbi Granat had a heart attack and I was teaching kids about the holidays. I had a large, large group of non-Jews who wanted to learn Hebrew. I had a group of women who wanted to learn about the holidays, celebrations, songs —Jewish, non-Jewish, half-Jewish, married to Jews. I was very, very busy. But I loved it. I really, really loved it.

Even so, I used to dream the same dream again and again and again. Whatever I dreamt, it was always the same one. The dream was that I’m walking on a parched land. There was not even one blade of grass, completely—I don’t know what—it wasn’t even a desert. It was parched, burned. And a huge burning sun, like a big, big boiler. I was walking towards the sun. I remember that I felt tired, falling asleep, walking up. This dream never left me, not till Judithka was born. And then I was fulfilled. I enjoyed the day she was born. And I enjoyed the day Ronit was born. I enjoyed taking care of them......


Photo from Meissner family collection. Perla in the Israeli army after WWII.
Transcription by Sandy Adler, Adler Enterprises LLC