A series of fortunate events

Today, I'll play catch-up as we haven't had an Internet connection that would allow us to work on the blog for days. Tomorrow, Yuri & Lev will write about our enjoyable visit to Pervomaysk with family, while I will try to capture some of our experiences in Zhabokrich.

The thriving metropolis that is Zhabokrich

On Friday, Alex Dunai, our guide, drove us from our hotel in Tulchin (ending up at that hotel is another story in itself... but I digress) to Kryzhopil, and then the eleven kilometers to Zhabokrich. I was eager to follow the same road between the towns that family members would have used as they made the regular trip between the two villages. As my Bubi Dora once told me, there was (and still is) a forest standing along part of the trip. She recounted how the wooded area was scarier when they traveled at night as there was always the possibility of people hiding in the woods who could attack their carts without warning. Most of the other roads in Podolia, the region where the two towns are located, run through huge farm fields rather than woods.

The spooky, scary woods know all of your secrets and disapprove.

Fun fact: Zhabokrich (or Zhabokritch as some Jews spell it), means frog's croak and, unbeknown to me, is pronounced like Zhabo-krich, with the sound Zh like in Doctor Zhivago. Who knew?

The stereotypical Ukrainian villager on the sign represents the rich Jewish history of Zhabokrich

Zhabokrich was the village where my grandparents Leib Spektor and Dora Krafchek were born. In later years both the Spektor and Krafchek families would move to Kryzhopil, because the town provided greater opportunities for employment and easier access to the relatively new railroad that could take them to Odesa. But Zhabokrich was the town that my Bubi remembered fondly for its pond (where the frogs croaked), for its hills, for their house with its fruit-bearing trees that they used to make jams, and for the village square where there was a busy market every second Sunday.

We did not hear a single frog. Unfortunately, there were no refunds forthcoming.

Much of Zhabokrich has changed. The market square now contains a small restaurant and small stores, but many buildings remain from early in the last century. When we first arrived we didn't know the location of the old Jewish area of town or the Jewish cemetery. Once again a series of fortuitous events (and some serious sleuthing on the part of Alex) gave us information that we had not had prior to this visit.

Panoramic view of Zhabokrich (former) market square

First off, Lev saw a large menorah at a distance when we were in the 'centre' of town; it turned out to be the site of one of two monuments to the mass killings in Zhabokrich in July 1941 and in 1944. We visited both sites and said Kaddish.

The memorial plaque for the mass grave in the former market square

Another mass grave memorial, another large menorah, another sad reminder of what once was

Afterwards, Alex spoke to some people who were walking in town and learned that there was an elderly Ukrainian woman still lived in town who used to work for a Jewish families. We went in search of her and after some door-knocking met her daughter. While her mother could no longer remember much, the daughter was able to recollect some of the things her mother had told her. She pointed out where many of the Jews had lived, and where some had died in WWII, and in some cases even remembered their family names!

Pictured: Not the house they live in. This is/was probably an old Jewish house from the 19th century

We were also surprised, and thrilled, when she pointed out that a brick synagogue built in the early 1900s was still standing. It isn't used anymore, given that there are no Jews still living in Zhabokrich, but the fact that it is still standing (although somewhat hidden by additional structures) was a wonderful sight!

It was probably used by the Soviets as a garage for servicing machinery

As we prepared to leave to look for the Jewish cemetery, our friend came back out of her house and told us that she remembered where the Carpenter's house had been. That house was the one where the Spektor family lived in Zhabokrich. The Krafchek's lived next door (which side we are not sure).  Imagine our excitement! Then, to our dismay, once again,we learned that the house had been demolished in the 1980s. It seems we have been doomed to see only empty lots. Apparently, however, the house had a beautiful big porch and was well-known in the community.

The ostentatious gate, I am happy to say, is probably not original

The house (chata) stood across the street from the shul, proving that the Spektor's were probably that one annoying "holier-than-thou" family everyone in the village hated. ;)

Our final search was for the Jewish cemetery. Many conversations with many town-folk sent us on car trips up into the hills over Zhabokrich, through meadows, into an overgrown Catholic cemetery, and over a muddy track.

Overgrown is a mild understatement

Finally, in frustration, Alex convinced another man who was walking by to lead us to the cemetery, which was tucked in behind a grove of trees and over a small stream. 

I'd love to say the clouds parted and a sunbeam shone down upon it, but in reality, it was looking like it may rain.

 It was mostly overgrown, with many toppled headstones and very hard to read stones (I really must improve my Hebrew). But amazingly we uncovered the grave with the name Вельтман (Veltman), my paternal great-grandmother Masha's maiden name! We're not sure how the person is related to our family yet but in such a small town, s/he must be! There is much research to be done.

If anyone knows what the Hebrew inscription says, please leave it in the comments below

Many more interesting events took place that day but they are too numerous, and I am too tired, to recount them all.  Another day, another post :)

The Long (and Pot-holed) Road Home

I feel a need to start this blog update with some photos of the ubiquitous pot-holes on all of the roads we taken on this trip. I don't think any of us have ever driven through so many kilometres of pot-holed roads in our lives. Driving (thank goodness, our driver Alex was at the wheel
and not ourselves) requires dexterity, control, and nerves of steel to handle the swerving, deking, and weaving to get around potholes and cars approaching in the wrong lane. I sat in the front too!

The potholes of Ukraine are deep and plentiful

What I believe to be the only road crew in Ukraine. This is the only way to explain the roads.

The past two days have been quite phenomenal. After years of listening to my Bubi (Dora) Krafchek Waltman talk about Zhabokrich and Kryzhopil, we have finally been there! Actually, we haven't visited Zhabokrich yet, which is on the agenda for tomorrow. But so far we have been to three family towns, namely Shpykiv, Kniaze (now called Radyanske), and Kryzhopil. Family members from the Begler, Krafchek, Spektor, and Weltman families were born or were raised in at least one of these towns. It was exciting to walk down the streets where they lived, and to see the types of homes they would have lived in.

This is one of the kinds of house Jews in Kryzhopil lived in. See if you can find the robot face.

Bubi Dora used to always talk about the Kryzhopil railway station, which was the centre of town when the families lived there. They often took the train to Odessa and back, and many family stories centred around the train.

The train station of Kryzhopil, with a suprising number of trains running past it.

When trying to enter or leave Kryzhopil, you WILL have to stop let a train cross. Guaranteed.

What was also wonderful to see were the beautiful green fields that spread out before us over the kilometres as we drove from Shpykiv, past Kniaze, and then down south to Kryzhopil. It is still early in the season so most of the time we saw young fields of corn, potatoes, wheat, and other grains, as well as the occasional bright red poppies.  I understand now why my grandmother would sometimes talk about the beauty of Ukraine and the lands near her home, and how she missed them, despite loving her life in Toronto.
   

Fullsize image available for desktop images and art galleries upon request

One of the tasks I set out for myself on this trip was to find the house that my great-grandfather Levi-Bentzion Spektor built in Kryzhopil at the turn of the last century with the help of his sons. Sadly, we didn't have an address or a photograph to go on. So, at first we were content to just find where Jews lived in Kryzhopil in the pre-war years. Alex took us to the City Hall where were met some very helpful staff who tracked down one of the remaining Jews in the town. We met and spent some time with Nicholai Jacobovich Drubetsky, a remarkably agile 86, who walked us up and down a number of streets near the market and showed us Jewish homes that were still standing.  He was a lovely man and we enjoyed meeting him very much. I taped some of his conversations with us.

He is remarkably quick on his feet and in his speech. Our translator and guide, Alex, had a real workout keeping up!

Alex told us that he thought it would be very difficult to find the house but when we realized that I knew a relative had lived in the house until she died in 1974, we realized that we had a clue. We went to the local archives, which still holds recent records, and found a staff member willing to help us. She went into the stacks, within minutes brought out a handwritten death register for 1974, opened it and, low and behold, the record for Etlja Melman Spektor was on the first page! It was a remarkable series of coincidences (we think it was beshert) that we were able to then find the address of the Spektor house, which was, unbelievably, across the street from the archives.

Literally the easiest genealogy search ever.

We went to the address immediately and were greatly disappointed to discover that the house was no longer there! A small portion of the house seems to be part of another house built on the property and the rest of the land now stands vacant. *sad face*  According to neighbours who came out to speak to us, they remembered Etlja Spektor and her son Boris and wife Betya. Apparently another family lived in the house from 1975 to around 1998 or so when  they left. Then the house was torn down and not replaced.

The disappointment is palpable in this image of an empty lot.

After that exciting but disappointing experience we went to the Kryhopil cemetery. Yesterday and today we spent considerable time walking through and photographing many of the gravestones in both cemeteries at Shpykiv and Kryzhopil.  The first was completely overgrown and on a hillside, which made walking extremely difficult. Much of the Kryzhopil cemetery was in better shape but still there are many tombstones that were hard to read or were broken. We were frustrated that we were unable to find the graves of Levi Bentzion Spektor and Sosya Begler, which I was told were in Kryzhopil. We did take photos of some Spektor, Weltman, one Krafcik, and a Mellman graves that I hope to translate after the trip. The gravestones were in Hebrew, Ukrainian or Russian or a combination.

While the cemetery may look nice here, try wading around in knee-high grass and brambles trying to read faded tombstones. It 's more fun than it sounds.

There is of course much more to say about this, and all the other parts of the trip, but this will have to do for now.  Tomorrow we visit another storied family village --- Zhabokrich --- which we are eager to see!