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I was born Chaia Knubevetz (pronounced Hia) around the turn of the century, approximately 1907, in the little town of Lemeschevitz. My parents were Abraham & Esther Knubevetz. The small shtetl (town) where we lived was about a 25 minute ride by horse & buggy to Pinsk, which is in the Province of Minsk in what was then called Bela Russia.
They didn't issue birth certificates in those days because we were all born at home --so when I asked my mother about my birthday she would reply "You were born right before the fall". I have always used August 23rd as my birthday, but no one knows for sure. "Chaia" Means "To Live, Life". "Chaialah" was my family nickname, it is a term of endearment. How I miss being called "Chaialah" by my family!
Happy Beginnings
We had a large, loving family and I was the youngest of 10 children. I think my mother was embarrassed when she became pregnant with me because she was 41 years old at the time. Mama was born in 1866.
Our father Abraham was a Blacksmith by trade, he was successful , respected and considered well to do. He made tools; sickles --for cutting grains such as wheat or rye, shoes for horses and plows. He would bring home a lot of money and count it at dining room table. I had a very happy early child hood and still have vivid memories of being loved, happy & secure. We had a lovely, large home with mahogany furniture, only wealthy people had such things back then.
My mother used to bake bread in a brick oven. Mama would to hide the money my father brought home behind a loose brick that was in the oven. She grew vegetables in the garden.
Every Friday starting early in the day, Mama would prepare food for the Sabbath, which was always a big deal in our house, as with all the Jews. The Sabbath is Saturday, 'the day of rest' . The candles were lit at sundown on Friday evening. It was a big job to cook for all those people. Imagine not having a modern kitchen and having to feed ten people three times a day!Mama would also always prepare extra food and distribute the packages of food to the shtetl's poor families before the Sabbath. Mama would also loan people money, usually 100 rubles, at no interest. She had a very big heart.
After dinner, our family would pull the rugs up and dance and sing and play musical instruments around the large living room of house. Our parents would sit watch --as if they were the King and Queen. My brothers would play the violin.
Everyone would ask me to sing and dance. I loved to sing. But some of my brothers would taunt me about my singing. Mayer, my favorite brother, I loved him so much... he would defend me and say "Why do you bother her? She's fine. She can sing and dance just beautifully. So just leave her alone!"
My sisters would put me to sleep so I couldn't watch everyone dance late into the night. But I would hide and try to watch them. One time I remember falling asleep behind the door, and when they came to open the door they found me asleep and had to nudge me out of the way.
The Russian Revolution
The Russian revolution affected us greatly, indeed our lives were never the same again. Our lives were torn part by the war and to this day I carry a constant ache in my gut and and a scarring from it. I can never hide from it, it is a part of me...the memories of my beloved family dying before my eyes.. I'll never get over it.
When I was about seven or eight years old, the Cossacks (Russian soldiers) invaded our little village. My father was standing in front of our home to plead with the soldiers not to hurt our family. They shot him dead on the spot. My beloved brother, Mayer, ran out to defend my father and they killed him, too. Mayer was married and left behind three little girls, Rose, Molly and Clara. My niece, Rose, passed away a few years ago. Molly and Clara are still alive.
Rose, standing at the grave of her father and grandfather.
They were killed on October 7, 1916. The war started in 1914, my grandmother is guessing that it was 1916. (I can't read the tombstone, if anyone can read it, does it say the date? This grave is in the city of Pinsk or Lemeschevitz, Grandma is not sure.)
Mayer's wife, my sister in law, Michle, passed away a few years ago, near age 100. We were very close. She never remarried. She was a beautiful young woman and when we would say to her "Michle, you're young, you should remarry"; she would say "How can you say that? I must honor the memory of your brother!"
The soldiers invaded our home and raped my mother and sister in front of me. It was horrifying. My life was never to be the same again.
Our world was shattered
Our neighbors, a very nice gentile family, hid me from the Cossack soldiers who were searching for Jews to kill. They dressed me up like a babushka. They hid me and fed me and cared for me as their own for about two weeks...Then they received word that my family had found a safe house in another village and were instructed to send me to reunite with my family. I was sent out into the night, to walk through the woods alone for miles. By some miracle of God, I actually was able to find this house.
I was herded into a secret room in a cellar. I was so excited to see my mother and brothers and sisters and their kids! But immediately I was told to "Hush! You must not yell or scream. You have to be quiet so the soldiers do not hear us!"
And then something happened that I will never forget until the day that die... The soldiers did come to the house where we were hiding and we had to be still and quiet... we could hear the soldiers harsh voices inquiring of our hosts..."Are you harboring any Jews here?"
My sister-in-law had a newborn baby...a small infant and the baby was crying... so she tried to breast feed the baby but that would not stop the baby from crying... My dear sister-in-law... may her soul rest in peace... she had a decision to make... a split second life or death decision...all of our lives hung in the balance. She had to suffocate her baby in order to save us all from certain death... I will never forget...as tears streamed down all of our faces... and we sat there stonily watching her do this...I will never forget...She did not live too long after that. She went crazy, she was never the same again and died a few short years later of an illness...I think she willed herself to die to be with her baby.
America, Land of Peace, Hope and Freedom
At fourteen years old I came to America with my mother in 1921. We sailed on a large ship filled with other immigrants. The ship was called the "Lapland". Our destination was "Ellis Island" in New York. The first thing we saw as we neared land was the Statue of Liberty. The fighting and death we had witnessed was over for us. We were now about to start a new life. All my brothers and sisters were grown up and had their own families. My mother lived with me (and my future husband, Sam Brownstein) in America until she died.
A few of my brothers had preceded us to America. When they arrived at Ellis Island, the immigration man asked them their names. "Knubevetz, sir." "No, no, that will not do. You need an American name now, your new last name will be Cohen".
My brothers instructed us to say that our last name is "Cohen", so that we would all have the same name. It was common practice for the immigration officials to rename you. We spoke no english when we arrived, but my mother put me into school and I learned the new language quickly. I remember my brothers helping me to lose my thick Russian/Jewish accent.
This story to be Continued................. Note: My grandmother recently celebrated her 90th birthday. The story above has been told to me in bits and pieces over the years. It does not take much to prompt her to talk about her past. Her long term memory is sharp and she gets great comfort in remembering her long lost, beloved family.
(This page was written in 1998. Grandma passed away on February 9, 2000, at age 92.)
August 1997
Grandma Ida and Sean, almost 5 years old.
Grandma's 90th Birthday Party
Grandma Ida with my boys, David and Sean.
What are your thoughts as you
visit this page?
Tell me.
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Name: Barbara L. Pavelka |
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Name: Karen |
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Name: Margo Ybarra |
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Name: daniel bloom |
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Name: Marcia
Bailey My mother spoke and understood several languages, but knew no English. She learned quickly and eventually became an elementary teacher with no trace of accent. She told me so many stories, but regretfully I didn't record them. I remember the basic information, but little of the specifics of time and place. Having heard so many tales of horror and hardship in those last years in and around Pinsk, I have frequently reminded myself that my problems have all been minor by comparison; and how fortunate we are to be Americans. Aside: While still in Pinsk, my mother had her leg very badly cut by a boy swinging a sickle, and had a very large scar. Maybe it was a sickle made by your grandfather. |
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Name: Gaynour |
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Name: Bernice Campbell |
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Name: Helen (Mil) |
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Name: Kathy Rudd |
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Name: Karyn |
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Name: Rosie |
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Name: Carl |
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Lucian Millis |
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Name: Hedy Kirke |
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Name: Jessica Honikman |
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Name: Marion Wardrick |
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Name: Julie (Honikman)
Sullivan |
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Name: Terry Honikman |
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Name: Cynthia |
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Name: Mike Dandurand |
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Name: Bernadette |
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Name: Sheila / Scheherazade |
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Name: Virginia Hicks |
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Name: Joanna Honikman |
Links:
Visit Mil and her astoundingly great site:
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