Violins of Hope Read online

  “I play everything.” Feivel stretched the truth, eager to secure employment.

  “Find another musician who plays another instrument,” the landlord instructed. “I’ll let you know when the wedding takes place.”

  Feivel had a friend in the Shargorod Ghetto who had played accordion with him prior to their exile. When the accordionist had been forced out of his home, he had stuck a small harmonica in his pocket.

  Two days later, the landlord brought Feivel and his harmonica-playing friend to a wedding in a nearby village, where they saw two large tables that were filled with food. When Feivel and his friend were given permission to eat whatever they wanted, they devoured chicken cutlets, dough with milk, and lots of bread. Stuffing their empty stomachs with such rich food made them both sick for four weeks. A doctor in the ghetto told them that it could have killed them.

  The wedding was a traditional Ukrainian celebration that lasted three days and three nights. Feivel and his friend played nonstop, one waking the other if he dozed off. They had never heard the Ukrainian folksongs that the partygoers requested, but they had good ears and quickly learned the tunes as they were sung to them. In exchange for delighting the wedding guests, they each received a five-pound loaf of bread to take home.

  When Feivel returned to Shargorod, he immediately went to see Judge Robinson to give him a quarter of the loaf. He was determined to honor the judge’s request that he share everything he made playing the Amati. Feivel arrived at the judge’s house only to learn that Justice Robinson and his two sisters had been taken to the cemetery the day before. They had poisoned themselves. They simply could not bear another day of starving and freezing in the ghetto. Feivel could not help but wonder if they were better off dead than he was alive. He brought the violin to his chin and accompanied himself while singing “El Malei Rachamim,” the traditional Jewish prayer of remembrance.

  Feivel and his friend quickly became popular among Romanian officers and Ukrainian peasants looking for entertainment. The musicians were happy to play in exchange for food that they could bring home to their families. At one party, Feivel and his friend met a music-loving Ukrainian farmer who continually complimented their abilities. He asked them to accompany him while he sang. Once again, Feivel and his friend listened to the melody for just a few seconds and then started playing along, as if they had been performing the tune their whole lives. When the party ended two days later, the farmer tipped the musicians generously.

  Feivel would also play the violin in the ghetto, bringing comfort to himself as well as to his friends and family members by performing Jewish melodies that they all remembered from their childhoods. Among these was “My Yiddishe Momme,” which had been a favorite of Feivel’s own mother.

  The local celebrity that Feivel earned by playing the violin convinced a Romanian gentleman to hire Feivel as a servant when he fell ill. Feivel held cold compresses to the Romanian’s head and stoked the fire to keep his bedroom warm. He picked up the Romanian’s medicine from the pharmacist and made sure that his new master took it as prescribed. After the Romanian recovered, he arranged for Feivel to receive two kilograms each of sugar, rice, cornmeal, and yeast, as well as two liters of milk. It was enough to feed Feivel’s family for a long time.

  As with many ghettos, Shargorod was controlled by a Jewish Council, which governed the ghetto, and a Jewish Police force, which maintained order. The Shargorod Jewish Police also prevented marauding Ukrainian militiamen from entering the ghetto at night to rob and torture its residents. Although the council and the police both were composed of fellow ghetto residents, membership in either organization came with preferential treatment that was often abused. In Feivel’s case, the abuse came at the hands of a Jewish policeman who was jealous of the special favors Feivel was receiving from Romanians and Ukrainians.

  One day, a well-dressed young man entered Feivel’s room. “Who has a violin here?” he asked.

  “I do,” Feivel replied quickly, hoping that his guest was looking to hire him. A second later, he recognized the young man as a member of the Jewish Police and realized that this would not be a friendly visit.

  “We know that Judge Robinson left his violin at your place—an Amati violin,” the policeman stated. “You are to bring it to the police station immediately.”

  Feivel was shocked. Without the violin, he and his family would starve. “The judge gave me the violin because he was an old family friend,” he protested. “The violin is mine now.”

  “If you love your family, you will bring the violin to us today,” the policeman sneered. “It will not be of any use to you in the cemetery outside of town.”

  The policeman was not done intimidating Feivel. “Have you heard what the Germans like to do with Jews?” he asked, turning to Tzici. “If your husband chooses the violin over his family, be ready to travel to a German death camp tonight. Only then will you understand that here you are living in paradise.

  “Of course, do not forget the girl,” the policeman continued, walking toward Helen and taking her hand. “You are coming with me,” he threatened Feivel’s daughter. “We have a special place for orphaned children.

  “The girl or the violin,” the policeman said, turning back to Feivel. “A tough choice for someone like you.”

  The choice was not difficult at all. Feivel took the Amati out of its case and played it one last time. A farewell melody to a dear friend. Then he took the precious violin down to the police station and walked away with tears in his eyes.

  The Cello

  Feivel’s performing days were not over. One day, he was stacking firewood for a Romanian officer when he heard the sound of a cello. He could not resist knocking on the door.

  “You have already received the flour that I owe you,” the officer growled, not understanding why a Jew would be standing on his doorstep.

  “The cello,” Feivel responded.

  “What about the cello?” the officer asked, eager to end the conversation.

  “I play the cello.”

  “A Jew with a cello?”

  Feivel did not reply.

  “Clean yourself up a bit,” the officer finally capitulated. “Wash your hands, take off your stinking shoes, and come on in.”

  Feivel quickly complied.

  “Show me your hands,” the officer commanded. When he was satisfied that Feivel was sufficiently clean, he issued one more order: “Play.”

  Feivel took the cello and began playing. He was a violinist first and foremost, but he played the cello with the same amount of passion. Back in Romania, when his mother had recovered from a lengthy illness, he had celebrated by playing “Kol Nidrei”—the Jewish annulment of vows that begins the Yom Kippur evening service. Then, as now, Feivel had poured his heart and soul into his performance, sweating profusely with every movement of the bow.

  The Romanian officer listened for a long time. “You play very well,” he finally said. “Whenever you bring me wood, you can come in and play for a bit.”

  “I would be glad to,” Feivel replied. He had formed another unlikely alliance through his playing, one that would again save his life.

  One morning, Feivel was arrested by German soldiers who were working with the Jewish Police to apprehend ninety men who could provide slave labor in Germany. Tzici visited the cello’s owner and asked for his help. The Romanian officer marched over to the German camp in the middle of the night and demanded to see Feivel. He kicked Feivel in the ribs to wake him up and held a gun to Feivel’s head.

  “You stole money from my home, you dirty Jew!” the officer screamed, striking Feivel with his fists and with the butt of his gun. “I’m going to kill you! I’m going to shoot you like a dog! You’re not going anywhere! I’m going to destroy you! You thought you would go to Germany and I would not be able to catch you?”

  “You’re not going to take him with you,” the Romanian officer instructed the German soldiers, who were watching the beating unfold with great amusement. “I will not
allow you to save this lowlife thief. I will kill him after I torture him in every possible way.”

  The ruse worked. The Germans stepped aside as the Romanian pushed Feivel forward. When they were outside the prison, the officer told Feivel to run home to his wife. Feivel had two broken ribs, but he was free.

  The Placht Brothers Violin

  One day, Feivel received a visit from the Ukrainian farmer who had tipped him at a party. The farmer remembered Feivel’s playing fondly, and now wanted to hire Feivel to play at his daughter’s wedding.

  “They took away my violin,” Feivel explained.

  “I’ll find you a violin.”

  “I’m willing to pay for it,” Feivel insisted. “I want to keep it so I can practice.”

  “If I find a violin for you, will you play at my daughter’s wedding? I treated you well last time.”

  “For you, I will try my hardest to play well. I noticed that you know a lot about music.”

  “We’ll find a violin tomorrow,” the farmer promised, flattered by Feivel’s compliment.

  The next day, the farmer took Feivel to a Ukrainian who had a cheap violin for sale. The farmer helped with the haggling, and Feivel left with a violin that he could finally call his own.

  Feivel’s new violin was made around the turn of the twentieth century at the Placht Brothers’ Musical Instrument and String Factory. The Placht Brothers were descendants of a proud dynasty of instrument makers from Schönbach, Bohemia (now Luby, in the Czech Republic), a town with a rich tradition of violinmaking that dates back to the sixteenth century. The violin was a decent instrument, but was nowhere near as good as the Amati. Today a Placht Brothers violin might sell for a few hundred dollars, while an Amati could command several hundred thousand.

  Although the Placht Brothers violin was of considerably lesser quality than the Amati, it was more than suitable for performing at weddings and other parties. The Ukrainian farmer was so pleased with Feivel’s playing that he tipped him half the price of the violin, in addition to the leftovers that Feivel customarily received as payment for performing. Feivel continued to play the Placht Brothers violin for the next three years, earning enough food, water, and precious firewood to sustain himself and the sixteen family members and friends with whom he shared a room throughout the remainder of the Holocaust.

  Return to Romania

  One evening in early 1944, there was a knock at the door. Two German soldiers walked in. “You will come with us immediately,” they instructed Feivel.

  Tzici started crying. “Don’t take him away from us,” she begged. “We have suffered enough.”

  The soldiers replied that they merely wanted Feivel to entertain them. “Nothing is going to happen to your husband,” one of them promised. “I’ll bring him back to you.”

  On the way to the engagement, a soldier confided in Feivel that the German army would soon be passing through Transnistria as it retreated westward. He knew that the soldiers would be taking their frustrations out on any Jews they met along the way. He suggested that Feivel go into hiding.

  The soldiers brought Feivel to a large hall full of members of the German army and prostitutes. There was plenty of food and alcohol everywhere. A stage had been constructed out of upside-down crates, and it was there that Feivel played for more than twenty-four hours straight. Whenever he would try to take a break, a chorus of protests would cry out, “Music! Where is the music?” Feivel played every song he knew, including a few Hasidic melodies. He considered the fact that the soldiers did not know that they were dancing to Jewish music to be his own private revenge on the soon-to-be-defeated Nazis.

  The Nazis withdrew from Shargorod on March 16, 1944. As the German soldiers had predicted, the retreating Germans and Romanians were massacring Jews throughout their westward retreat. The Jews of the Shargorod Ghetto even learned that a special Romanian “execution unit” was working its way toward them, slaughtering Jews along the way. As the Germans for whom Feivel had played suggested, they hid in secret caves they had dug until it was safe to come out. Finally, on March 20, the Red Army arrived to arrest the execution unit and occupy Shargorod.

  Sadly, the Russian occupation initiated a new wave of anti-Semitism. The Russians stole money and belongings and conscripted the Jews into military service and forced labor. Knowing that they were too physically and mentally weak for work battalions, a number of ghetto residents fled back to Romania.

  Feivel and his family were just crossing into Romania when they were intercepted by a Russian border patrol. They were arrested and imprisoned for espionage, but Tzici and Helen were released the next day and sent back to Czernowitz. Confined to his jail cell, Feivel knew that he would receive a death sentence within days. He was convinced that he would never see his wife and daughter again.

  Looking out the prison window, Feivel spotted a young woman he recognized. She was a Russian officer who had taught him some Russian folksongs at a Ukrainian wedding in Transnistria. He banged on the iron bars with all of his strength to get her attention.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “We tried to cross the border into Romania and got caught. Please, try to get me out of here. I’m accused of spying. You know exactly what will happen to me if you don’t.”

  The woman promised to see what she could do.

  She returned that evening with some food. “The situation isn’t good,” she whispered. “The commanding officer here is very strict. He was angry that I meddled, but I didn’t give up. I got him to promise to come and speak with you tomorrow. You can tell him the whole story. I can’t tell you what your odds are.”

  The next morning, Feivel was summoned by the commanding officer, to whom he presented his case. “I know that your decision will be just,” he concluded. Before he left, Feivel tried one more tactic. Knowing how much the Russians loved food and music, he offered to host a dinner party that evening at a small tavern in a nearby village, using money that he had received from one of his sisters in Czernowitz. The officer would be the guest of honor, and Feivel would entertain him by playing Russian music on his violin.

  The officer was pleased with the suggestion, and agreed to the dinner. That night Feivel played all of the Russian songs he knew—ones that he had learned in Transnistria. He played his heart out, because he knew that he was once again playing for his life.

  The officer visited Feivel in his cell the next morning. His mood was just as good as it had been during the celebration the night before.

  “Stay here,” the officer joyfully suggested. “We’ll assemble an orchestra, and you’ll direct it.”

  A chill ran down Feivel’s spine. “I would be delighted to,” he lied. “But my parents are very old, and they are all alone in Romania. I have to get back to them.”

  “Fine. I will issue you a passport so that you can return to Czernowitz.” On his way out the door, the officer added, “You’re a very talented musician. I will remember last night for a long time.” Yet again, Feivel’s playing had earned him an unlikely ally.

  On his way out of the prison, Feivel ran into the female officer who had saved his life and thanked her. She informed him that in two weeks, eight Russian carriages would be heading into Romania for supplies. She helped Feivel bribe the Russian drivers to smuggle him and his family as far as Dorohoi.

  After the war, the Winingers quickly settled into a new life in Dorohoi. They secured an apartment and Feivel found work, first at a storage facility and then as an officer in the police department. He supplemented his income by forming a successful five-piece band that called itself “Freedom to the Homeland.”

  By “homeland,” Feivel was not referring to Romania, the land that had once offered both employment and a last name to his Russian grandfather. He was instead referring to the Land of Israel. Ever since his student days, he had wanted to immigrate to the land of his biblical ancestors. After completing his graduation examinations, he had spent six months at a Zionist school near Czernowitz,
where he worked as a farmer and a teacher during the day. At night, the forty young men and four young women would sing songs about the land that their ancestors had been dreaming about for two millennia. Feivel had even raised money to support his immigration. He had postponed his plans when his mother had started developing heart problems. Since she had never fully recovered, he had never seriously considered immigrating.

  In Dorohoi, Feivel became active in the Zionist Party. He once again started making plans to immigrate to the Holy Land. In 1947, when it became obvious that the Soviets had no intention of withdrawing from their occupation of Eastern Europe and that Zionist activists would not be welcome in communist Romania, Feivel fled the country illegally, bringing Tzici and Helen with him.

  Israel

  The Winingers sailed to Palestine aboard the Medinat Israel (State of Israel), a retrofitted icebreaker that was designed to carry two thousand passengers but which was now packed with four thousand illegal immigrants. Just a few days into their voyage, a convoy of British warships began to track them. Once the Medinat Israel approached Palestine, the warships moved into formation to surround the unlawful vessel. As the British sailors boarded and took control of their ship, the four thousand Jews threw tin cans and sticks at them, singing “Hatikvah.”

  The British announced that they would be deporting the refugees to Cyprus, where they had established a detention camp for Holocaust survivors who were trying to enter Palestine illegally. The sick, however, would be treated at the Atlit detainee camp, where Erich Weininger had been briefly incarcerated seven years earlier. That is where Feivel and his family were taken, as well, after Tzici claimed to be pregnant and Helen pretended to be sick. The Winingers spent several months at Atlit. It was during this time that the United Nations General Assembly endorsed the creation of the State of Israel.

  Finally, on February 2, 1948, Feivel moved his family into a one-room apartment just outside Tel Aviv. They shared a kitchen with two other families, but it nevertheless seemed like a five-star hotel compared to the conditions they had endured in Transnistria. They worked hard to create a new life. Tzici got a job at an orange plantation, while Feivel worked on a road construction crew during the day and went out on patrol with the Israel Defense Forces at night. After a year, they had saved up enough money to open a small Laundromat. They expanded their family with the birth of a son and purchased a two-bedroom apartment. After Feivel got a job at a bank in Tel Aviv, the family moved into an even larger apartment.