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Nov. 10, 2006
Heroes were those who saved us
Recognition is given to an Italian family who sheltered Ukrainian
Jews during the war.
RACHEL SHERYAEV
Before the war, our family, consisting of my parents, myself and
my older sister, Sara, lived in Lugansk, Ukraine. The Nazis began
their occupation of our city in July of 1942. We did not evacuate
because Sara worked in the trenches and we wanted to wait for her
return home. However, the happenings on the front line were moving
along much faster then my parents hoped and we ended up being left
behind in an occupied territory.
Within days of the complete occupation, there were posters everywhere
commanding all Jews to register with the authorities. Once a household
would register, the police would arrive and remove absolutely everything.
Everyone registered, including me, since I was already 15 years
old. My sister and I were put to work cleaning up rubble from bombed
sites. One of our sites was a train construction plant. On the plant's
territory was also a base for a unit of Italian soldiers. During
our brief lunch break, we would go to a half-destroyed room that
miraculously still contained an old piano. One time, my sister approached
the piano and began to play – she previously attended a conservatory
and played very well. The Italians heard her and came over. They
asked her to play their favorite melodies. We formed a friendship
with them in this way.
Sara used to perform for the Italian soldiers whenever there were
no Germans around. The Italians knew of our Jewish descent. Their
leader, Capt. Beni, warned us that if the Germans were to start
gathering people to send off to the ghettos, that we were to come
straight to the Italian base and they would attempt to hide us.
Such an announcement came on Oct. 30. On the following day, all
Jews were to report to the gathering point to be sent off to ghettos.
However, we all knew what really awaited us. That night, my sister
and I left our home and went to the Italian base. The soldiers hid
us within their clinic. The following morning, German soldiers came
looking for fugitives, but they did not find us.
The next day, a division of the soldiers headed for Stalingrad and
they took us with them to work as cooks. On that same day, our parents
and relatives headed for the city of Krasnodon. But after spending
one night on the run, they decided to return to Lugansk in fear
that we may not have been able to find a hiding place. Our parents
stayed with some Russian neighbors and attempted to find information
on our whereabouts. Their attempts were unsuccessful and they assumed
that we had died.
However, our aunt and cousin headed further from our home city of
Lugansk. One night along their journey, they met a policeman and
they suddenly feared that this was likely to be their end. He asked
them, 'Are you Jewish?' and they replied, 'Yes.' 'Then try to not
run into anymore filth like myself. Head east instead," said
the policeman. They finally reached a village close to Stalingrad,
in which 15 Jews were shot right in front of local residents.
Before the killings, these Jews were living in the village for about
a year and gained the reputation of being hard workers and good
people. Seeing the shooting disturbed the locals so much that when
my aunt and cousin passed through, they were immediately taken into
hiding and forbidden to go further, out of the villagers' fear that
they may be killed. It was also in this same village that our relatives
much later welcomed the Soviet troops.
After the bombing of the Nazis near Stalingrad, the troops who took
us into their unit were assigned to transfer over to Gomel. The
troops took us with them and during the winter of 1942-1943, we
made the long journey from Stalingrad to Gomel. The entire journey,
we hid out underneath the tarp on top of one of the army trucks.
Even after the years have passed, I am still unable to comprehend
the kindness and care that those Italian troops provided for me
and my sister.
From Gomel, the soldiers were instructed to return back to Italy
and Beni suggested that we speak to Gomel's troops' chief in command
about getting approval for a deportation to go along with the men
to Italy. Sara went to him and after he heard our story, the chief
gave us permission to enter Italy. After Beni heard of the good
news, he gave us a letter for his wife, which asked her to take
us in.
Upon our arrival in the northern Italian city of Udine, we were
placed in a monastery. There, we went through a quarantine and completed
various household tasks. After a short time passed, Sara wrote a
letter to Beni's wife and, with it, she attached the letter from
Beni. We soon received a reply with an invitation to come and live
with her and some money to cover travel expenses.
The captain's home was situated in a mountaineous region, in a town
called Gromo. The family moved there in order to avoid the bombings
of the Nazis. We took on all the household tasks of the Beni family
and watched over their youngest son, Berardo. However, soon we realized
that this family was not in need of two nannies, so Sara travelled
to Florence to look for work there.
In the beginning of 1945, the American troops liberated Italy and
I began to anticipate my return home. With the assistance of partisans
and the local office of the Communist party, I found my way to the
Soviet consulate. The employees aided in my return to the USSR.
Sara and I had agreed that we would both return to our home town
after the war was over, and here I was on my way home.
While my sister was in Florence, I lost touch with her. Only later
did I find out that during a Nazi occupation, she was arrested and
imprisoned. When the Americans liberated the city, she was miraculously
found alive and well. She was transported in 1945 to Odessa with
the Soviet prisoners of war and placed in a labor camp. By being
able to sneak a telegram to a passerby, she let our Lugansk neighbors
know of her whereabouts and that she was alive.
After the liberation of Lugansk, our parents returned to our home,
which somehow remained intact. Because they had not heard any word
of either me or my sister since our disappearance during the night,
our parents were certain that we were deceased. One can only imagine
the look on my mother's face when the neighbors brought over the
telegram from my sister. From that day onwards, my father would
go to the train station's Odessa terminal every day to await my
sister's return. Of course, when she finally did arrive on May 1,
he did not recognize her. I returned to Lugansk on Aug. 26, 1945,
to my unharmed family and my childhood home. We were all beyond
happiness to be with each other again, all thanks to the kindness
of the many people who helped us.
On Sept. 1 of the same year, I entered the eighth grade, after which
I was accepted into a musical academy that became my place of work
for the next 32 years. Relatives and close friends knew of our journey
during the war but I have never officially written anything. When
asked the question, "Where were you during the war?" I
would simply reply, "in evacuation." My sister went on
to the Conservatory of Music in Kiev and later to the Gnesin Institute
of Music in Moscow.
Ever since being rescued, my sister and I had wanted to thank our
Italian rescuers but were not able to do so until my immigration
to Israel in 1991. I coincidentally was acquainted with a gentleman
who also turned up in Italy during the war through the assistance
of the Italian army. This gentleman wrote a letter to the mayor
of Gromo, telling him about my story and, to my surprise, I received
a return letter from Berardo Beni. He invited me to visit him in
Italy and even included return plane tickets with his letter. I
accepted and met him in the Milan airport, from which we headed
to Gromo.
Capt. Beni and his wife had passed away and Berardo had become a
doctor. To celebrate my arrival, the people of Gromo held festivities
and the people of the town welcomed me with flowers and banners.
The city organized a festival of humanitarianism. I was invited
to speak at schools and even participated in a televised program.
Many of the school kids gave me flowers and poetry. A memorial was
put up in memory of the Beni family and what they had done for me
and my sister. These were an unbelievable two weeks.
On my return to Israel, I wrote our story to Yad Vashem. I also
made a request to proclaim the Beni family as Righteous Among the
Nations – a title given to non-Jews who helped Jews during
the war. Yad Vashem granted my request and the documents were presented
to Berardo in a ceremony in Gromo. I also attended this ceremony,
after which I visited a memorial that had been erected for the Beni
family for their aid in saving two Jewish girls, Daria (Sara) and
Rachel Turok. In 2003, Berardo and his family visited Canada and,
of course, he visited my home as well.
Rachel Sheryaev is a Vancouver resident. This account
was translated from the Russian by Julie Rubin.
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