HARBIN MEMORIES FROM
YAACOV LIBERMAN
These
excerpts are from MY CHINA: Jewish Life in the Orient
1900-1950 by Yaacov Liberman. Copyright © 1998 Gefen Publishing House, Ltd.
Publisher: Gefen Publishing House, Ltd. 6 Hatzvi Street, Jerusalem 94386, Israel
The Judah L. Magnes Museum, 2911 Russell Street, Berkeley, CA 94705 USA
Permission to print granted by Gefen Publishing House, Ltd., on April 10, 2007.
The book also includes chapters on the author's experiences in Shanghai,
Tientsin and other cities in Asia, as well as additional chapters on Harbin.
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
1932.
THE YEAR OF THE FLOOD
The
year 1932 began frigidly if uneventfully. Sub-zero winters produced seasonal
delights: in the afternoon, ice-skating in rinks, sledding down snowy river
banks and traversing the frozen Sungari River, by means of the tolkai-tolkai* (push-push, in pidgin Russian); at supper time, fortifying our
bodies with Siberian dumplings called pel'meny;
and then after dark, nourishing our souls with an evening at the theater.
Each is worthy of comment, as each, in its own right, was memorable.
Harbin
used to
be served at the "Stop Signal" restaurant on the other side of the
Sungari
River. To get
there, one had to navigate the river on a
tolkai-tolkai, a contraption that looks like a chair, or sleigh. In fact,
it is operated by a driver who pumps a spear-like stick between his legs that
hits the ice below and creates a motion that can generate a frightening
velocity. The passenger sits bundled up in the chair and dreams all the while of
the boiling soup and pel'meny that
await him. Thus would my friends and I escape from the dreary world of classes
and teachers.
__________
*Tolkai-tolkai should be pronounced "tol-KAI" with a diphthong
effect on the last syllable.
[Page 39]
In
spite of the freezing weather, our houses were warm, protected by
cotton-insulated double windows. From October to March, wall stoves, heated with
wood and coal, burned day and night. Winter days and nights lured us
out-of-doors to the public skating rinks, where bands would play in the
evenings, and pairs and singles would perform figure and race skating to the
delight of those who came to learn or simply to watch.
As
I grew older, I often wondered what the Chinese population was doing while we
continued to enjoy life in this city. That question continued to perplex me for
many years. Hardly any Chinese youngsters shared our activities, and the
grown-ups seemed to have moved out of sight in order to leave us, their guests,
in total privacy.
In
reality, of course, this Chinese invisibility was but an illusion based on lack
of insight and observation. The Chinese outnumbered the foreigners more than a
hundred to one. We lived among the Chinese masses in splendid isolation and our
paths would cross only when our own needs depended on their assistance as
shopkeepers, street peddlers, brokers, salesmen, cooks, drivers or amahs (Chinese or Japanese live-in maids). We were also very much
aware of the
Harbin
handymen, whom we needed, and of
the beggars, who needed us.
* *
*
For the Jewish community as a whole, the year 1932 also began well. The city's
Jewish women were the first to learn the Chinese language and to use it
vociferously during their daily games of mahjong. The game was played with
ivory-colored cubes, measuring three-by-five centimeters, with various Chinese
lettering drawn on the inner, white portion. These ivory pieces were assembled
on a foot-long wooden container. When a lady would throw in her matching cards,
she would shout out in Chinese, "Pong, Kong or Chow!" Once the right
combination was collected on the container, the winning lady would turn the cube
holder outward, displaying her winning set and exclaim, "mahjong!"
Between the shuffling of the ivory pieces and the ladies' excited screams of
different
[Page 40]
Chinese words, the noise level in the house would become
deafening. In fact, it was rumored that on more than one occasion, robberies
took place in homes or apartments during mahjong games, and not a single player
noticed the rude intrusion.
But
in all fairness it must be noted that mahjong was not the only preoccupation of
the Jewish ladies, whether in
Harbin,
Tientsin
or
Shanghai. In the
early 1930s charity funds were collected by the various ladies' committees of
the community. In addition to undertaking philanthropy for the needy, the hungry
and the sick, the
Harbin
Jewish women also helped solicit
funds for the Talmud-Torah, the Israeli Fund Collection boxes and the Hevra
Kadisha (Burial Society). Betar had its own annual Hanukah evening, a splendid
communal event that financed a variety of Betar activities. Before long, women
of the Jewish communities of
Tientsin
and
Shanghai
also
took over the collection of funds from the men, with gratifying results. All in
all, the Jewish communities of the
Far East
became exemplary in the development of their philanthropic
agencies and in the yearly expressions of individual generosity.
* *
*
In 1932 I became nine years old. I also began to experience the first pangs of
peer pressure. As a result, I began to rebel against the sissified clothing
mother selected for me. Her preferences were for heavy wool knicker suits that
buttoned below the knee, and long, knitted socks that covered the calf. Boys of
my age preferred to wear long full slacks in winter and short-shorts during the
summer months. We also liked turtleneck sweaters during the cold season and
solid-colored open shirts in summer. At times, we were able to convince our
parents to dress us as WE liked best. However, at parties or on holidays it was
simply futile to argue.
Because
of the cold winters and very hot summers, I was forced to wear fur-lined hats
with ear-muffs from December to March, and cork hats, much like those worn by
officers of the Light Brigade, in summer as
[Page 41]
protection from sunstroke. Since hats were mandatory, I was
often taken by my father to Gurvitch's haberdashery. Strange as it may seem,
these visits had their peculiar rewards. A kindly old man, Mr. Gurvitch was
famous for his strange way of stuttering in a loud bass with long gulps for air
between vowels. With the cruelty of youngsters my age, I found this amusing and
often turned my hat-buying agony into a pleasant and entertaining experience at
Mr. Gurvitch's expense. However, as soon as I was old enough to protest against
this ridiculous attire, I joined many of my friends by discarding the headgear
in both the winter and summer months.
Most
of my friends, of many different backgrounds, attended summer camp at the ploshchadka. During these months, I first met some of the girls and
boys with whom I was destined to share many wonderful years of friendship. Boris
Koffman and Ura Terk were a part of our group. Others included Teddy Kaufman
(son of Dr. Kaufman, who is currently the president of Igud
Yotzei Sin in Tel Aviv);*
Joe Wainer, who later became my close friend and roommate in school; Ura Horosh,
whose stage career I helped to launch; Mira Treyman (my first girlfriend); and
countless others. I became active at the ploshchadka
together with my two cousins, Bertha Oppenheim and Boris Zuboreff, with whom
I always enjoyed a very special camaraderie.
In
those carefree summer days, we engaged in sports, arts and crafts, singing and
folk dancing. We all, except for Ura Horosh, managed to rid ourselves of our
governesses! To supervise his every step, Ura's mother, however, had insisted on
keeping his old German governess, Frau Pauline. The whole town came to recognize
Frau Pauline in search of her elusive charge as she would shout "Urikum, geh nach haus!" ["Urik, go home!"]
__________
*The Igud
Yotzei Sin, the Association of Immigrants from China, was created by a small group
of former community activists in China. It has a very large
membership, with branches today in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Sydney, Australia. It publishes a bi-monthly
magazine in Russian, English and Hebrew. Teddy Kaufman has been its president
for well over twelve years. Igud's main purpose is to provide financial
assistance to the needy.
[Page 42]
Among
the many games we played, there was one that eventually helped me make the
baseball team in high school. It was called lapta,
from the Russian word lopata, or
shovel, and it consisted of fielding and batting. The game required no bases,
and those in the field ran a straight line at a distance of thirty to fifty
meters from the batsman. Positioned next to the batsman, the pitcher would throw
the ball gently into the air, about two meters high, the batsman would then
smack it and run for dear life! The only way to get the batsman out was for the
fielding team to catch the ball in mid-air or to pitch the retrieved ball at the
runner and hit him (hopefully below the neck) before he returned to the baseline
from which he ran. A cheap sport, it could be played with any ball the size of a
baseball, and any bat, even a heavy tree branch. Nevertheless, it was considered
a rough game and was usually played only by boys. During my lapta
phase, I discovered that I could run faster than my peers, a capacity that I
began to develop, until one day I was crowned "champion sprinter of
Harbin
."
But this was to come much later in life... However, even in my boyhood, I became
interested in athletics and on more than one occasion I would peer into the
cracks of the wooden wall to see what was taking place on the Betar side of the
fence.
* *
*
By now, Betar in Harbin had acquired a reputation that
far exceeded its basic goals and purposes of educating Jewish youth to become
nationally-minded Zionists and future pioneers of an independent Jewish State.
Betar became a guardian of Jewish honor, a security force and a symbol of Jewish
conscience and pride. Betar's glory in Harbin
peaked
when tragedy befell the entire population of Harbin.
It
came almost without warning. The papers wrote of the dangerous rise in the water
level of the Sungari River, and
the authorities mobilized a small force of volunteers to prevent possible
flooding. But no one knew, nor could anyone imagine, the extent of the impending
devastation but a few days away. A small group of Betarim, under the command of
Lelia
[Page 43]
Ravikovitch, mobilized to ward off disaster, and gathering at
the Sungari
shore by the city side, immediately joined hands with local
volunteers to fill sandbags and to barricade the river banks. As the river banks
began to overflow, water seeped through the sandbags, ran over the barricades,
and from under the sewage lines, until water had flooded Pristan, the lower part
of the city.
The
Betar volunteers at once increased to a force of more than fifty young men and
women, ready to do whatever was required to save lives, help people and to ease
the suffering all around. The major task of the Betar volunteers was to rescue
the old and transport them from flooded houses to secure buildings, whether the
synagogue, the welfare kitchen hall, the school or the hospital. Its next
assignment was to assure those in need that they would not remain without
drinking water or food. Knee-deep in water or in requisitioned rowboats, Betarim
rushed from one victim to the other, delivering bottled water and fresh bread to
as many persons as possible. They worked in shifts, day and night, relieving
each other only when total exhaustion warranted a short reprieve.
Eventually,
the waters began to recede. The rowboats began to disappear, and the streets
began to fill up with cleaning teams and curious bystanders. Finally, the first
rays of sunshine began to brighten the depressed spirits of both the rescuers
and the rescued. Soon the water receded, and we saw the full force of the
devastation and death that the flood mercilessly had left behind. Carcasses and
corpses had to be removed by hand. The remaining refuse was slowly swallowed by
the city sewers. And soon enough, the flood was over.
Over
- but not forgotten. It now remained only a bad memory, a horrible dream -
indeed, a nightmare! But linked eternally to these memories of doom and
destruction was
Harbin
's
gratitude for the humanitarian efforts of the young Jewish boys and girls who
had risked their safety in order to help the entire population in time of danger
and need.
Of course, some managed to escape from Pristan to higher ground
while the water was slowly creeping into the city. My family was among
[Page 44]
those
fortunate few. On the third day of the flood I found myself temporarily living
in Novyi Gorod. At the time, I did not appreciate my good fortune. On the
contrary, I deeply resented the move that deprived me of the fun, friends and
action on the flooded streets of the city. To be sure, I was too young to
understand the glorious rescue operation of Betar and not old enough to have
taken any part in it.
* *
*
The summer of 1932 would mark a turning point in my personal life as well. I
remember vividly the afternoon when my father returned from town with mail from
the post office, since there had been no home deliveries during the flood. A
letter had come from Aunt Nuta and Uncle Yasha Veinerman in Shanghai,
inviting me to stay with them during the coming school year. Knowing nothing of
my parents' plan to send me to an English school in Shanghai, I was
shocked. While we had talked about such a possibility, nothing had been
resolved, and I had hoped that the plan would fail.
It
is difficult for a nine year old to be torn away from a happy home environment
and friends all at the same time. And this for me was Harbin! I
often disagreed with my countrymen who missed Harbin during
the years of the Bamboo Curtain and who often yearned to revisit the city of
their childhood or birth. I did not. For me, a landscape stimulates no nostalgia
whatsoever. If you have seen one Buddhist temple, you've seen a thousand! There
is nothing exciting about dead cities - only living cities vibrant with one's
own family and friends have meaning.
And
here, suddenly, at the age of nine, I was faced with having to give up all of
this, granted, for the sake of education. The question of residence and
supervision suddenly was resolved. By September, I made my rounds of sad
farewells and prepared myself for the journey. After a long and monotonous sea
voyage, my mother delivered me to the Veinermans in the great city of Shanghai. I
arrived dejected and heartbroken and angry as could be! Strangely, neither my
mother nor my father understood my own
[Page 45]
trepidation
at moving from home. I loved my parents dearly, but I could never understand
their desire to part with me nine months a year from my ninth year to my
seventeenth, when I graduated from high school, just in order to give me a good
"foreign education." All the more incomprehensible seemed their
decision, since graduates of the Harbin Commercial
School
became
doctors, lawyers, engineers and educators. They matriculated to colleges and
universities in Europe
and the United
States, and
none of them had any problems with the English they had learned in Harbin.
Nevertheless, because I knew my parents meant well, I have remained forever
grateful to them.
*** End of Excerpts from My China ***
Back
to Introduction
Back
to Harbin Main Page
|
