InventarnummerM1993/046:002
BeschreibungThe subject of this five-page handwritten testimony, Deborah O'Neill (nee Lotte Wolfsohn) was born in Beuthen, between the border of Germany and Poland. Born in 1923, she was the second of three daughters. Her father, Moritz Wolfsohn, had died in 1932, and by then she became a member of ‘Maccabi Hazaim’. In the beginning of 1939, they were asked to attend ‘Hachscharah’, which was located outside of Berlin.
The purpose of this was to prepare for Kibbutz life. It was through this she was able to obtain a visa to Sweden in July 1939. In Sweden she stayed in Falun for 18 months until commencing the 3 week journey to Palestine. The group she was with left for Finland by ship on April 18. They had made a stopover at the Finnish port of Obu before travelling by train to Helsinki. From Helsinki they were given food parcels by the Jewish Committee and travelled by train to Odessa where they would board a Russian ship to Istanbul. From Istanbul, they would make a stopover to Damascus, where they would finally enter Palestine on its northern border in a place called ‘Ras El Nakura’. They were then stopped by British policemen who believed that they had entered the country illegally, and therefore were taken to Atlit detention camp. Her group were brought to Haifa where they met Josef Baraz, pone of the ‘Daganjah A’s’ pioneers, and were sent to Daganj ah A’, a Kibbutz in the Jordan valley. After two years of work and study she with some other people in her group went to Kfar Hachoresch, a Kibbutz situated on top of a mountain overlooking Nazareth. From there she would be sent to Tel Aviv as a youth worker and about six months later would join a Palestinian platoon in the British army. She would be posted to Egypt as a nurse. Then on to Italy where she would join the 4th British Army Hospital from Assini to Averzo, Perugia and Florence, then down to Rome and Naples. In 1946 they would return to Palestine and demobilise.
The purpose of this was to prepare for Kibbutz life. It was through this she was able to obtain a visa to Sweden in July 1939. In Sweden she stayed in Falun for 18 months until commencing the 3 week journey to Palestine. The group she was with left for Finland by ship on April 18. They had made a stopover at the Finnish port of Obu before travelling by train to Helsinki. From Helsinki they were given food parcels by the Jewish Committee and travelled by train to Odessa where they would board a Russian ship to Istanbul. From Istanbul, they would make a stopover to Damascus, where they would finally enter Palestine on its northern border in a place called ‘Ras El Nakura’. They were then stopped by British policemen who believed that they had entered the country illegally, and therefore were taken to Atlit detention camp. Her group were brought to Haifa where they met Josef Baraz, pone of the ‘Daganjah A’s’ pioneers, and were sent to Daganj ah A’, a Kibbutz in the Jordan valley. After two years of work and study she with some other people in her group went to Kfar Hachoresch, a Kibbutz situated on top of a mountain overlooking Nazareth. From there she would be sent to Tel Aviv as a youth worker and about six months later would join a Palestinian platoon in the British army. She would be posted to Egypt as a nurse. Then on to Italy where she would join the 4th British Army Hospital from Assini to Averzo, Perugia and Florence, then down to Rome and Naples. In 1946 they would return to Palestine and demobilise.
Datum 1993 - 1993
Schlagworttestimonies, kibbutz
Objektbezeichnungtestimonies
Materialpaper
Format
- width: 200.00 mm
height: 330.00 mm
Sprache
- English I was born in 1923 in Beuthen O/S one of the then border towns between Germany and Poland, the second of three daughters. My parents were comfortably off, had German citizenship. In World War I my father had fought on the German side against Russia, where he ended up as prisoner. On his return to Beuthen eventually, he became Secretary of the returned soldiers assoc. there and on his death in 1932 was buried with full military honours. Through the restrictive and prohibitive 1930’s.
Although only in my early teens I became acutely aware of happenings around me. German children waiting with sticks and stones outside our school until we would emerge, friends being badly beaten up, vans with ashes arriving from Oranienburg (K.Z outside Berlin), about which Jews only spoke in whispers. Class mates of mine and their parents of Polish origin and who were named ‘stateless’, chased over the Polish border, where Poles gunned them down. None of them returned.
The destruction of our magnificent Synagogue in 1938. I was asked to transport one of the Torahs to a ‘safe house’ and did so by hiding her in a child’s pram covered with blankets. I had to push that pram slowly as not to arouse suspicion. There were angry hateful crowds on the streets and to this day I don’t know how I got through but I made it.
I never told my mother about above mentioned nor about other incidents in which I was involved. She was a frightened woman with 3 daughters. Only once I mentioned to her that I had defended myself against a Nazi youth but no more. She was terrified of being blacklisted which ultimately meant interrogations etc.
I continued to defend myself and kept my mouth shut. We were not permitted to visit a cinema theatre, swimming pool or public park – an area in the Jewish cemetery was designated for the latter – usually we met there on Saturdays after Synagogue service.
In the beginning of 1939 I was asked to attend ‘Hachscharah’ this particular one being located in Hahnsdorf outside Berlin. There was about 70 of us there, youth from all over Germany, including quite a few from Vienna. This was our preparation for Kibbutz life, working and learning together, it was wonderful.
Once we were visited by the Gestapo and lined up for hours. They picked out a few from the line up for ‘special treatment’ but T.G. I was not one of them.
At that time countries like Sweden, Denmark, Holland etc. issued esc number of visas per month to enable young people like myself to leave Germany, and by being selected to participate in ‘Hachscharah’ you had an extra chance. The visas were promised to the Jewish agency in Berlin, who in turn even advised the various ‘Hachscharot’, who then made their selections.
In July ’39, I was told that a visa for Sweden would be allocated to me. I was not given a definite date. A sixth sense told me to hurry on or I would miss my chance. I travelled back to Beuthan and set about getting necessary documents together. Obtaining a passport was a humiliating. Queuing for hours on end with my only identification a ‘Judenkarte’, and for ever to be told on reaching the counter to go to the end of the queue, but I got my passport eventually. The following evening a German man stopped me in the street and started apologising about the treatment I had received from his colleagues in the passport office the precious day. What a heart-warming experience that was for me.
I farewelled my family and friends and once again travelled to Berlin with only a rucksack on my back and D. 14. 10 in my pocket. I had not received permission to take jewellery out of Germany, but a suitcase with some of my clothes reached me months. In Berlin I stayed with a girlfriend from ‘Hachscharah’ who came from a mixed marriage and her parents’ home provided a certain measure of security.
Every day I went to Meinecke St. 10 (H.Q) of the Jewish agency) to check if my visa had arrived – and one day it was there – and two days later we were off to Sweden by train, ten of us in all. It was the 17th Aug. 1939.
After eighteen months of thereabouts of community life in a disused hunting lodge outside Falun (northern Sweden) there were about seventy of us there, thirty five visas for Palestine arrived and once again I was chosen to receive one of them. By that time it was April 1941 with most European ports closed (warships only), but our luck held and we received transit visas for Russia.
I think it was the 18th of April that we left Stockholm on a Swedish ship bound for Finland. 1940/41 had been a harsh winter and only hours after leaving Stockholm we were joined by an icebreaker, which cleared the way for us to the Finnish port of Obu. The Finnish/Russian war had just ended and what I saw of Finland lay in ruins. The only overnight accommodation available to us was a home for destitutes but still we had a bed and a blanket. Then by train to Helsinki where a Jewish committee was waiting for us at the Central Railway station. They pressed food parcels into our hands and we were thankful for them. Then on to Leningrad for a three day rest in an ex Czarist era hotel, absolutely magnificent, but had little to offer in the way of food. This took place approximately five weeks prior to Russia entering the war and we were warned not to speak any German.
Luckily we knew some Swedish, and when we had to resort to German, we did so in whispers. Into the train again and on to Odessa. I can’t remember as to how long the journey took, perhaps only three days. What does stay in my mind are wooden benches, dirty toilets and little food. Odessa was magical, palm trees and warm breezes, a foretaste of the Middle East.
We were there for one day only and were warned not to speak to anyone, well how could we as none of us spoke Russian, and then an odd thing happened, which I shall not forget to my dying day.
We were walking in groups along one of Odessa’s streets, when an old man sidled up to my group and whispered ‘B’ Shanah habah B’ Jeruschalayem’. I have him a wink and whispered the same.
That night we boarded a Russian ship for Istanbul. It took three days and nights to ferry us across, the Black Sea was at its worst as we were told afterwards, and like many others I was terribly seasick. On arrival in Istanbul we were taken to some large house atop a mountain, but have no idea as to its location. After a couple of days we had all recovered. I remember seeing minaret’s in the distance and hearing the calls for prayer to the faithful.
Once again we boarded a train. There was little water available. On reaching a railway station somewhere we would all rush toward the water pumps for a drink, a wash and as Senegalese soldiers were watching us intently only baring the absolute minimum of our bodies. There on to Damascus we were not permitted to leave our hotel as some riots had taken place that day.
We entered Palestine from its northern border, a place named ‘Ras El Nakura’, and where we were thoroughly searched by border guards, then on to a bus, and now we were in Palestine.
We had travelled only a short distance when we were stopped by British policemen who took us to Atlit detention camp, assuming that we had entered the country illegally. In that camp I met many young people from my old home town, who somehow or other had reached Palestine, and in some way it was like a home coming for me.
Our accommodation were Nissan huts furnished with dirty mattresses. At meal times we had to line up with tin plates and worst of all we were surrounded by barbed wire.
I was told by my friends that we would most likely remain there until war’s end however after three days we were released – we had entered the country legally – but somehow or other I felt like a traitor as my old friends were kept behind in Atlit. In later years I met many of them in various Kibbutzim around the country.
We were brought to Haifa where we were met by Josef Baraz, one of the ‘Daganjah A’s’ pioneers, and once again luck was with me as together with most of our group I was sent to ‘ Daganj ah A’ one of the most beautiful Kibbutzim in the Jordan valley.
After two years of work and study there some of our group went to Kfar Hachoresch a Kibbutz on top of a mountain overlooking Nazareth. From there I was sent to Tel Aviv as a youth worker and about six months later I joined a Palestinian platoon in the British army, was posted to Egypt as a nurse or nursing aid I should say as even qualified Jewish could not get commissions. We were treated as second class citizens, such were the times.
Another posting to Italy where I joined the 4th British Army Hospital, but at least we had a Jewish C.O. I went with that hospital all the way from Assini to Averzo, Perugia and Florence, then down to Rome and Naples. In 1946 we returned to Palestine and demobilisation.
As all these events took place prior to 1948 I have intentionally used the name Palestine, as only with the country’s independence did it become Israel. The journey from Sweden to Palestine took approximately three weeks. On arrival all of us adopted Jewish names. I took Dvorah (Deborah in English). Didn’t I leave a charmed life! My younger sister Irene escaped to Denmark and is living there today.
Transcribed by Yasmin Tegen Anderson 20.07.2018
Credit lineSydney Jewish Museum Collection, Donated by Mrs. Deborah O'Neill