My grandmother was maybe five years old. She sat on the side of a dirt road with her brother next to her. They sat there for hours waiting for the Ukrainians to come back.
They were walking along a dirt road near their house when the horsemen with rifles came galloping down the road. They surrounded the kids and told them to sit.
"Sit down and don't move, little Yids. We have to kill a few big Yids, and then we will come back and kill you". They galloped away.
And so they sat silently for hours. Eventually, the sun started to set, and her brother said, "maybe they are not coming back?"
And so my grandmother did not die that day, and I get to tell this story.
It happened in a small town near Odessa. My great-grandparents ran from the beautiful Polish city of Lvov after Ukranians stormed it in 1918 and burned down the Jewish neighborhood.
I think they ran the wrong way and wound up in the middle of Ukraine right after the revolution. Sadly it was not the last time they had to run for their lives, as Ukraine was not a safe place for them.
I can't imagine how they survived, but I am certainly glad they did.
All text: (c) 2024 StackSmith