The blood had not dried away, the tears kept on streaming, the canons roared and soldiers fell in the bloody battle field during the liberation of Michalovce by the Soviet army on the 26^th of November 1944. The first survivors could be seen returning to the almost empty town. Individuals, pairs and trios who broke through the fire line began to arrive from the near forests or from Partisan groups. During January, February and March the first of those who were liberated returned from Polish concentration camps, mainly from Auschwitz and Gleiwitz.

One minian became two, three and even more and by the end of summer 1945, especially after the return of concentration camps refugees from Austria and Germany. Michalovce began to breathe and live a Jewish life. The greater part participated in the new life and the establishment of the new country. Others refused to remain in a place which reminded them of so many tragedies and sorrows. There was much hesitation and preparation with regard to immigration. People engaged in preparing the necessary documents.

Zionist pioneering youth movements renewed their activities and 'traditional', stormy debates between the 'Shomerim' and the Beytarim' were once more inflamed. In short, the congregational life resumed its course though to a small degree in comparison to its extent before the war.

Nearly 10% survivors out of 6,000 Jews of Michalovce returned to town. In the year 1945-1947 the Michalovce congregation consisted of approximately 800 Jews among them more than one third gathered there from the neighbouring villages: they could not remain alone in their native village where they had not found even one survivor. If we add to this estimated number some tens of our fellow citizens who did not return home but stayed or moved to Kosthitza, Bratislava and Praha, we could arrive at a number of 900 or 1000 souls. Namely not even one sixth of the Jews of that region survived.

The town and the congregation with its property had been destroyed and on their ruins a new Jewish life was established. The first representative of the congregation was Goldsmith who served for ten years as the public leader.

It was necessary to build everything anew. The big synagogue was completely destroyed. The rest of the synagogues, the big, the little, and the Klaus stood on their place but the destruction from within was tremendous and they were not fit for prayer gatherings.


[Page 93]


It was repaired adequately so that public prayer was resumed, in the morning and in the evening, and the place sufficed for all.

A new wave of emigration reduced the Jewish population to half namely to hardly 400 souls. The rhythm of life slowed down and the Jewish activities began to fade away. After the year 1957 150 souls left Michalovce to over-seas countries or to other towns in Czechoslovakia. According to my knowledge, about 200-250 Jews lived in Michalovce in 1967 including children who were born after the war. The public leader to-day is Adolf Shimovitz who came from one of the villages. The only congregational secretary who is recognized by the municipal authorities and who receives a monthly fee is Shmuel Grossman from Shodovtza. Grossman occupies five positions at a time: he is the inspector, the beadle, the tutor, a sewer and the “Hebra Kadisha”.

One a week, a ritual slaughterer from Koshitza arrives in town. Grossman lives in the late Rabbi Ernfeld's apartment and his second is the beadle of the big synagogue – Rubin.

I visited the town of our youth several times. Michalovce has changed so as to be hardly recognized. I saw it last in 1967. Roaming in its streets, going to and fro I searched for traces of the past.

Potatoes are grown in the same place where the big synagogue used to stand. Weeds cover the area where the eight-stories school building stood. Only the kitchen and the Motzot bakery have remained of all those past buildings. This building serves to-day as a municipal printing house.

As in a dream I listened, my eyes closed, to the noisy, gay laughter of dark haired children, released for a short intermission by their tutors. But when I reopened them, I did not see or hear anything. I walked quietly, as in a holy place, over this whole deserted area which was destined to become a huge dwelling place.

I stood near what was formerly the little synagogue recalling Friday nights. No sooner had it darkened when we had broken into this place with Moshe Goldstein and Yankle David Friedman, told horrid stories and listened to Rabb Barish' hoarse singing. For many years we haven't heard this tune of our best loved Zmiroth. To-day, this place is occupied by an office where Shimon Grusman serves as the congregational secretary.

The big yard of the big synagogue is deserted. This sight reminds you instinctively of a quiet tune sung by your parents, sitting on the synagogue floor, barefooted, mourning in “Tisha Be'av”.


[Page 94]


How doth the city sit alone, that was full of people; how is she become as a widow”.

Entering the synagogue I glanced at the Holy Ark and in my mind's eyes I heard the clear ringing voice of Joseph Vicler, the ritual slaughterer, I heard the sweet bards around him. But reality knocked me down: everything was empty. Only from one corner of the Pulish I heard a restrained voice of a child. It was Yehuda Markovitz one of the children with whom the “tutor” rehearsed the weekly chapter of 'Humash'.

In the street, in front of the nice fence which surrounded the synagogue, you could not see any more the young boys who stare, with desirous eyes and ambiguous looks, at the girls who walked proudly on the esplanade, daughters of Berkovitz, Moskovitz, Lefkovitz, Klantz, Kasler and First. Only the hundreds of names notched on the fence-bricks tell every passer-by a silent story of those who had lived there. Hadovna street has not changed externally. The street as well as the sidewalk where we emerged 30-40 years ago, remained unchanged. But Satarai square has changed its face. It is occupied by the central bus station which reminds you of that of Tel-Aviv.

I walk on Hadovna street near Treuhaft's and Friedman's yards. Also the Baumers, the extensive family lived there. On the other side of the yard lived a very dear person, Mrs. Gleich, the “mother” of Hashomer Hatzair. I look for the Klaus yard but I don't find it. It ought to be in this yard.

I have never been religious or pious but my sentimental approach to the Hassidic world in Michalovce will remain the same in my heart forever. I was always attracted by the Hassidic circles which I used to visit especially on “Simhas-Tora”. I enjoyed watching the devotion of the Hassidim and witnessing their deep faith. I remember old Rabbi Frenkel, the short Rabbi Yadele Friedman, Grossman and the blacksmith named Shimon Cohen. The gay Hassidic tunes are deeply engraved in my heart and even now more than once, in a close circle of friends and relatives, I repeat and sing them. It is a kind of farewell to my youth, a poor one though, but of a happy and gay Jewish atmosphere.

Only the house front hints at the busy life of boys with smooth and curled side locks, while inside, Zmiroth were sung. On Simhas-Tora, Rabbi Yadel Friedman, Rabbi Frenkel, Rabbi Shimon and others were dancing and encircling the Tora.

To-day there are noisy machines; to day the Klaus serves as a garage.


[Page 95]


The town changes, its streets put on new lights. Houses as well as people change. The wheel of life turns and only we who lived this past, know what lies hidden behind the street stones, the house walls in Stanino and in Halvona, Hodna, Hodovna a Doina streets. The yards disappear, the streets widen and the town grows for others, for new comers. On those who survived and those who live no more

At one time I was personally acquainted with every Jew in Michalovce with nearly all 4,000 of them. To-day there are only 200-250 left. From time to time when I happen to be in town I visit them. I'll tell only about some of them to enable you to form a picture about their life to-day.

The Goldsmidt Brothers live and work as they did 40-50 years ago in the same workshop, in the same yard where Visner's bakery used to be. The eldest of them is 82 years old and the younger is 78 (may they live until 120). They are hard and industrious workers. Who does not remember Hillel, Hillel Landrovitz whom I always used to visit? I saw him last in 1963. A year later he died at the age of 74. Who did not know Michalovce brave Samson? When I visited him he complained about his health and more about not receiving a license to work in his profession because the authorities were afraid lest he would become an exploiter. He did not succeed in convincing that Hillel's horses were not and would never be capitalistic horses. Hillel served even during the revolution in the revolutionary army of Bela Kuhn, the Hungarian. He was never an exploiter in his life.

Not more than three children out of 14-15 of the Markovitz family survived the Holocaust: two daughters, Rozika and Yulanka (the latter died in the meanwhile) and one son, Liush, who lives in Paris. Rozika is Sh. Lande's wife. They were both active in the first group of Partisans in Vienna mountains.

You remember undoubtedly Itzik Targer who, during the capitalistic period did not miss one communist demonstration and took part in placards distribution as well. To-day he is keeping in the background, inactive, and works as an upholsterer. He is critical and bitter though his economic situation is good. But man does not live by bread alone. His youthful dreams were shattered by a reality which was far from his pink visions about a future new world.

During my visit, Lefkovitz, the fighter of the Spanish Civil War was congratulated for his 60^th anniversary.


[Page 96]


He is now in charge of the social section and is responsible for the income folio too.

The few who survived were dispersed to all corners of the country: Bratislava, Praha and other places. Among them there are scientists, writers, artists and senior officers of all fields of life. Imrik Bor, (the son of Lefkovitz) is a famous cardiologist in Praha.

On part of those who live no more –

The ashes of my parents and my closest relatives were not buried in the cemetery of Michalovce; they were not brought to a Jewish grave. I did not go to my ancestors' grave; I went to the cemetery to pay honour to those who had been once my relatives, in the proximity of whom I was brought up, molded and shaped. I stood for a while near every grave which reminded me of someone. For a longer time I stood by two monuments, those of Israel Baruch Galik and Abraham Deutch. The first fell during the battles of the Czechoslovakian legionary who imposed a collective punishment on the congregation in that year. Galik was 32 years old when he was executed. I find fit to mention this fact in our memorial volume.

I was born in Nezina village which is located eight kilometers south of Michalovce.

Only 4-5 returned of a relatively large number but they did not remain there for a long time. They, as well as I, went to the old cemetery which had been once two kilometers away from the village. To-day it is located by the village side on the way to Petrovtza. The place is forlorn and wildly overgrown with grass. Here and there you can hardly see signs of monuments. I took a photograph of that of a famous genius – Rabbi David Aichlor.

The fence rotted long ago but the cemetery is entire. There are no signs of harm. Nearer to the Lobortz there is a still more ancient cemetery some say from the 16^th or 17^th century. I mention this because I heard an interesting story which touched this ancient place. A native dweller told me that according to the original planning the enlarged road had to pass through this cemetery. When the members of the village council heard of this they rejected the plan all alike. They refused to disturb the final resting place of their dead citizens. The dead had enough hardship during their life. We should honour their memory and let their soul rest in tranquility. The plan was indeed cancelled.


[Page 97]


The End

There is no escape, no way to stop. The Jews disappear from this part of the world. Step by step the Jewish traces in Michalovce were lost too. They have lived in this place and it surroundings for hundreds of years. Now we witness the unprevented fall of this Jewry.

But, inspite of the tragic lot of this big congregation there still remain the fruits which have been developed for a long time by previous generations. These fruits feed the generation who live to-day under the bright blue sky of Israel. With those fruits our native country was renewed. In this county the sons and grandsons of those who remained alive are joined with the descendants of those inhabitants of the annihilated exile. It is renewed due to those, whose ashes lie in ancient cemeteries or were dispersed by the Nazi in out-of-the-way places in occupied Europe. They are the ashes of those who bore proudly for two thousand years the torch which is born by the present generation towards a more brilliant future.

I would like to tell you about something which will probably interest anyone who dwelled in Michalovce with us in those far days and lived through the Gardist Period.

It's incredible that the he who was the oppressors' right hand in Michalovce, the one who shared their company was a Jew disguised as Hlinkist. Listen to my story.

When the chief officer of Michalovce, the German Werner, nationalized the biggest farm in Szeregmerch, he knew and understood about agriculture as the gipsy Korea understood about astronomy. Therefore, he brought from western Slovakia, a professional agronomist to serve him as an adviser. Those were called in easter Slovakia, “The Western”. This agronomist was short, fat with brown hair and a round and red face. He used to walk around in high glittering boots, riding britches and an elegant band on his left arm.

Day by day he used to come to town, a bag in his hand, in order


[Page 98]


to take care of the current problems of the ranch. His insolent appearance, his cynical red face and his friendly attitude towards the eminent Gardist enraged me and I hated him more than the rest of the oppressors.

After the war when I was in Bratislava, I met him, to my surprise in the central post office.

“What are you doing here, you Gardist? Has the long hand of law and revenge not yet reached you?”
“What! You have been a Gardist? Everyone will affirm it even today. I know you from Michalovce, from the time I sold Britches for your ranch hands. Do you have the insolence to deny it? I will go to the police and denounce you”.
“You fool”, he retorted with a smile on his face. “I am a Jew and I work with Mr. Weiss from the Jewish Street in the organization of “escaping” to Israel”.

Some of the Jewish refugees of World War II set out to foreign countries, either to visit relatives or to settle down. Most of them settled in the U.S., in New York or Los Angeles. A few settled in South Africa and Australia and turned a new page in their lives.

The emigrants, according to our knowledge, united in New York and together with the descendants of Koshitze formed the “Bnei-Zion Association”. This Association consists of 850 members. The Association is active in the field of culture and social assistance and supports Israel to a considerable extent.

In order to raise a fund, it organises annually Purim balls, entertainment evenings and presents Israeli films and integration of new comers to Israel. To give a picture of the success of these activities, we have to note that the Association raised the sum of $60,000 in 1968 for the Bonds and transferred some $10,000 to a Children's Institute in Rosh Ha'ain which take care of 482 children.

As regards the social domain, I have to remark that every New Year Day, and Passover, the Association sends various contribution to its needy members in Israel and some others.


[Page 99]


This year we lent a hand to some families and students from Michalovce who emigrated to Israel.

The member, Galan Adriew, the cashier of the Association, reputed in his practical public activity. I cannot omit the fact that in 1965, he raised individually a fund for the sake of a synagogue commemorating Shmuel Rubin.

The emigrants of Michalovce are, following their home tradition, of a pure and charitable soul and participate in the activities for the sake of Israel even when these are beyond their possibilities. They do it because they know while they pay with their money, the Israeli pay with their blood. From lack of details of the Michalovcean emigrants who live outside America, we can't report of them.

The need and the intention of self-organization had existed long ago but they were realized only in 1953. Our organization consists of 650 members in Israel.

Every Year on the 24^th of Tishrey, we hold an annual commemoration of our sacred friends and relatives who had been liquidated by the Nazi beast. We devote some time for current problems, then the eldest of the community lights a memorial candle and the cantor says: “God full of compassion”. Most of the members take part in these commemorations. We also erected a memorial board in the Holocaust Cellar on Mount Zion, and we use to frequent it in small groups or individually.

In Jerusalem vestibule, there is a forest planted by the initiative of Michalovce Immigration organization to commemorate all the congregations of C.S.R., among them Michalovce who had been destroyed. An annual country-wide commemoration is held there in which many of us participate. We are in touch with the Search Bureau for Missing Relatives of the Jewish Agency, and in many cases, we have helped them to locate a needed address.

Apart from the annual commemorations, we organize social gatherings, mostly during the summer months when many of Michalovce's former


[Page 100]


inhabitants from abroad come to visit Israel. These conventions are an occasion for meeting comrades, youth friends after a separation of several years. Everyone feels “at home” in these conventions. When the guests return abroad, they tell the others about the meeting and bring a “living” regard from us. Thus, we have a connection with a great part of Michalovce emigrants all over the world.

Once in two years during those conventions, we hold a general assembly and choose a committee which, in its turn chooses a chairman for the next two years. The committee assembles several times a year to settle the current problems of the agenda. Within the scope of our possibilities and narrow means, we have established a sort of “Charity cash” in order to lend a hand to the needy persons which are not numerous to our content. The cash is maintained also by our members from abroad like Mr. Golan, etc.

Blessed be the hands which joined line-to-line, page-to-page in an ant's work and with a limitless patience brought to a successful end this enterprise which will eternalize, as far as possible, the memory of our beloved in future years. This is a reward for their blessed work.

I put this speech into writing and send it with love to those survivors of Michalovce and its environment who are dispersed in various corners of the world, in order to stitch the tears together and strengthen the ties among the hearts.

My friends, my brothers,

At this very moment, your memory must be enlightened with the sight of our native town, our ancient dwelling places and the circles where we lived. But suddenly, you see before your eyes the cruel, rough hand which shattered, destroyed and annihilated everything. We all recall the horrid experiences which left their mark on us all – for eternity.


[Page 101]


When I think about the awful tragedy which came upon us, I find I can't release myself from one remote picture of my childhood.

I was 5 years old when I came to dwell with my parents in Michalovce. We arrived there from eastern Czechoslovakia after a long and exhausting journey. My mother was holding a six-weeks old baby close to her heart. It was my dying sister. When at night we arrived at a hotel in Michalovce, she died. Her little body was lain on the floor and my parents sat near her during the whole night, bowed down with grief. At dawn, a tall man with a red beard came, carrying a little wooden box. He concealed the body in it and departed. It was Kopel Moskovitz, the grave digger.

From this time, I took Opel Moskovitz for the embodied Angel of Death and if someone died in one of the Jewish families, if piercing cries were heard, I said to myself that if another death occurred in our family, I would not stand it.

When the horrid Holocaust befell us, we were led to death camps with Kopel Moskovitz among us. I prayed we would be able to bury our dead and be buried when our fate dictated it, in the natural way and that Kopel Moskowitz would remain with us side-by-side with the Angel of Death.

Who among us believed that we would not be permitted to bury and mourn our dead? That which happened cannot be conceived by a human intelligence. But we cannot cry over it. Somehow, a part of our heart has been petrified. In our souls an awful emptiness has been opened, an emptiness that can never be filled.

I don't want to hurt the wounds which have not yet scarred over. My pain is not smaller than yours and my losses will not be restored to life as your will not. I have only this to say: “To remember and not to forget” does not mean to deny life. The will of existence is much stronger than death. To remember, in our case, means to live with the awareness that we do not wander any more. The whip of torments will not hurt our backs. We lost everything but we gained a country of our own, a land and as the victims of the Holocaust were, to a certain extent, sacrificed for the sake of this future land, they live among us today.

I experience often a strange feeling that my father is standing near me, that my mother is caressing me and that my brother is holding my hand. In hard times, when it seems to me that suffering has reached its climax,


[Page 102]


this recollection strengthens me and urges me to continue living. You too must probably experience that feeling from time-to-time.

Apart from the emigration of the survivors, there was another one – the emigration of the dead which arrived in silence and in frightening dumbness. The souls of the sacred did not fly here on wind wings and they are not hovering over flower fields. Their ashes were gathered from the cursed Auschwitz and were carried from Haifa Port to Mount Zion in Jerusalem.

It was a symbol of the return home of the dead who, by their death, enabled mothers to cradle their babies fearlessly and whose blood was necessary to provide us with a roof above our heads and bread which is not saturated with tears.

There is a Talmudic legend which says that all the dead will return on the day of resurrection from all corners of the world, will shake off the exile ground and come to live in Israel. Our dead were not buried. They went up towards the sky like a smoke and arrived at us. Thus, their blessing hangs over us and over our children who grow up in their native land. Let them be blessed and bless you.

When you sing a cradle song to your children, when you see them off to school, remember to bestow the infinite and deep love which you had for your mothers, brothers and children were they alive, on the land, your native land, and let her be blessed and you as well.

I pray that many gay children will grow here and many apple, almond and palm trees too. I wish the fruits would grow and the trees straighten up for the memory and the eternalization of the sacred souls. I also wish the country would blook as to give evidence to the enemy's failure, because, neither Amalek nor Hitler could overcome us; none of them succeeded in erasing Israel from the earth as they had plotted.

Let us console in that. Amen.

Dear Reader,

No sooner had the Czechoslovakian emigrants of 1948 settled down, they were organised in an Association of Michalovce descendants. The active secretary of the Association, the member Arthur Benovitz suggested to collect, register and prepare a list of Michalovce's sacred and he himself took the pains, for several years, to see it completed. In this work, he was aided considerably by Rabbi Chaim Hersch Berkovitz, of blessed memory, who did not live to taste the fruit of his toil.

The next step – the commemoration of our fellow-citizens through a memorial volume, which will contain also the history of the town and its congregation – was brought up in one of the conventions of the committee. The committee elected an editorial board and imposed the task of concentration on the member Mori Farkash who soon became the editor. This choice was fortunate as was proven later. Mori devoted himself to the idea without weariness and made nights as days to bring it to completion. The publication of the book is the exclusive merit of Mori. He “bombarded” our brothers abroad and here with letters asking them to lend a hand with money or with some written memories which would contribute to our enterprise.

It is not by chance that Mori undertook this work with good will and readiness. As a pioneer and a Zionist, he must have felt the necessity to establish a monument, an eternal one, for those who were the victims of their religion and who redeemed our country in their death, to those who did not live to witness the salvation of Israel.

In this work, we were assisted by the members of the editorial board, as is evident from the articles.

Lastly, we would like to mention Erzsi Senesh, the poet-writer, the pride of our town who wrote much and published many articles in the daily press on our town. Some of the stuff is brought here.

We fulfil a pleasant duty when we thank, in the name of the editorial board, to the three for their loyal work.

Dr. Alexander Goldstein
Dr. David Ernfeld

  Michalovce, Slovakia     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2025 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 07 Feb 2025 by JH