Rebbetzin Chana’s Memoirs: What Will We Eat?
In this 11th installment of the series, Rebbetzin Chana describes how she and her husband Reb Levik managed to survive in their day by day quest for food and shelter, and protect themselves from the relentless swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitoes.
What will we eat?
Still urgent was the question of “What will we eat?” It’s unpleasant to dwell on this. But when one doesn’t eat enough and sometimes literally starves, it becomes the central thought of one’s existence. It compels one to exert great efforts to survive, and there is a constant looming fear of what the next day will bring.
We were always searching for new sources of flour, for baking lepyoshkes—a kind of flat-bread leavened by yeast or baking soda.
To bake these, we needed to find fuel for a fire. Usually it was I who went out searching for these fire-burning materials, for I wanted to spare my husband this work. We gathered small shrubs dried out by the burning sun, or thick grass so dried out that it burned like straw. After burning for a moment, however, it burned up, so we needed to stock up on it.
We couldn’t venture out by day because of the burning sun, and at night, when it was cooler, we had to contend with the biting mosquitoes. So we worked in a hurry, gathering the dried out twigs, then rushing back to our room, which we had sealed off so that mosquitoes couldn’t penetrate.
A remedy for getting rid of the flying insects was to create a thick smoke. After the difficult daytime hours, when we wanted to sit outside for some fresh air, we had to burn a type of fuel that made no fire or light, only a dark smoke. There were often strong winds in that region, and when such a smoky fire was burning, the wind blew the smoke of the muddy, burning straw straight into our faces—not a very pleasant sensation.
However, the smoke did help to rid us of the flying insects. Gradually one gets benumbed and accustomed to the situation. Then we would just laugh and seek other ways to avoid these loathsome “guests.”
That’s how the summer months passed. Our constant preoccupation was to ensure that we would not suffer from hunger. At all times, in some way or another, we managed to obtain food. Sometimes it was grits for cooking porridge of ground cereal grains, or kukuruza—ground chickpeas. When our financial situation was better, we prepared the porridge with milk and butter, which made it very filling and tasty.
I recall visiting the home of a certain family to arrange some matter. On the table were cheese latkes and a cocoa drink. They were wealthy Jews, employed by the local government center to supply everyone with food products.
They kept kosher, and invited me to partake of those foods. I had already forgotten the taste of such delicacies, but I controlled myself and didn’t touch any of it. I did this out of a sense of self-esteem; I didn’t want them to think they had fed a starving person.
When I left, I was pleased to have resisted the temptation. No one should ever have to live through such an experience, which requires great fortitude. In such situations, people become like beasts, and the instinct to enjoy food is very intense. Some were unable to withstand this, and others sank so low that, without consideration for their dignity, they went begging for bread and other food, just to have something to eat.
Chopping wood
Among our evacuated acquaintances was a Jew from Kharkov. He was well-to-do and had purchased a horse and wagon. Taking them deep into the forest, he would chop halyoxylon wood, which burned well, and he drew his livelihood from selling it. He brought us a wagon load of this wood, which we kept in the sukkah we had constructed ourselves. As far as heating was concerned, our situation now improved somewhat.
Having the wood brought a new problem—getting it chopped up, which wasn’t our specialty. But the Romanian refugee, the one-time landowner, recalled how his workers used to do this for him, and he quickly learned to chop the wood himself.
With difficulty, we were able to take care of our needs. But we were exhausted. When one is devoid of physical strength, everything gets harder.
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