Bolechiv, Ukraine 9/8/15

David Neubauer 1887-1973

Our journey to this former Austro-Hungarian (and at one time Polish) town was not because it was brought to light by Daniel Mendelsohn's best-selling book The Lost; The Search for Six of Six Million.Traveling with my husband, Rich, brother Bruce Gendelman, and daughter Sarah Taus, we knew this town was decidedly not a tourist destination, but only coincidentally the birth town our grandfather. It was the place of occasional family lore, the one spoken of with a wave of a hand, motioning disappointment and dismay. 

David Neubauer, when he commented on his post college grandchildren embarking for their rite-of-passage-European-vagabond travels, dismissed us with "What's to see in Europe? I lived there, and I can tell you it's NOTHING." Leaving Bolechiv In 1912 he found his way to America and did not return. He never saw his parents, siblings, or nieces and nephews again. Even the Red Cross could not tell him how they vanished.

The nearest large town in Ukraine with an airport is Lviv, formerly Lemberg.  In a van with a driver, and our guide/genealogist Tomasz J we set out to drive the hour or so south from Lviv on the most dismal of days. Of course. How could our image of this place of so much destruction and engineered evil be anything but the dreariest of wet, dark greys? The road approaching Bolechiv is not in good repair, so the cautious driving around the potholes and bumps allowed us to have more time to observe the dwellings and fields, generally not prosperous, in various states of modernity. Could this have been grandpa's neighborhood? Did he swim in that pond? Did he play near those trees?

artifacts in the Bolechiv museum

                                       
BOLECHIV MUSEUM
I had asked our guide to make one of our stops the local library, hopeful that we could uncover some family information. In The Lost, several survivors reminisced about a Jewish restaurant named Bruckenstein's and I wanted to find it, or at least the former location.  My grandfather's mother was Rachel Bruckenstein, and we know Rachel toiled endlessly in a restaurant of sorts attached to a provisions/grocery store popular with hunters ( including Franz Josef!) on their way to the nearby Carpathian Mountains. Could this have been THE restaurant?  Was she part of an extended restaurant family? Her husband, Baruch Neubauer, grandpa's father, was not thought of well by his children as he left all the work to his wife while he studied Talmud all day. The small town library was not yet open, but the museum attached to it at the rear, was. We were welcomed in and given the option of looking around ourselves or taking the tour for $2.00 for all of us.  With the translation help of Tomasz, we listened to a narrative in the five rooms full of wooden artifacts, embroidered costumes, newspaper articles and plaques, most from the century past.  The docent had never heard of Bruckenstein's restaurant, so she called an older resident for us. But no luck.

Bolechiv Library
Rich, Nina, Bruce

She helped us find requested information about violin making in Bolechiv, as some of our ancestors were violin makers. We learned that the museum and library had been the home and clinic of Dr. Blumenthal, a gynecologist. before it was taken from him. How many happy women passed through those doors, how many bright promises of new life were confirmed under the same roof where now the history of the town had only minor mention of the vibrant Jewish lives there?  The museum caretaker proudly announced that the townspeople took care of their Jews as best as they could. The Jewish population of Bolechiv before the war was approximately 3,000, which was 78% of the total. After the war, only one returned of the approximately forty eight who survived by hiding or escaping to the woods.

THE FIRST "ACTION"

The Dom Katolicki, Catholic Community Center in the center of town was the location of the first large scale"action" of the Nazis against the Jews. I assume it was in this place because it was a the large building, other than a church. Rounded up on the streets and in their homes, the professionals, academics and community leaders, including women and children, were herded into this building and tormented for several days.The unspeakable acts are chronicled in The Lost and I will not repeat them here. After cruel and inhumane treatment, the Jews were taken to a place in the woods, Taniava to be buried in a pit (more below). After the war the community center became a movie theater. The theater burned down. The roof collapsed, as if the pent up guilt finally exploded and burst the rafters from the shameful weight of the crimes perpetrated there. Amidst the rubble, a solitary brick wall remains; a tall flattened witness, with a spectral stare, frozen in muteness.

A KILLING FIELD: TANIAVA

We had difficulty locating Taniava in the heavily wooded road leading away from town. There are no signs.  Local people we stopped on the road suggested driving either further or the other way.  Eventually we spotted a break in the trees with a small grassy entrance to the forest.  Bruce and Tomasz walked one forest path and the rest of us walked the other.  Apparently, used as a clandestine party spot, as evidenced by rubble, there was no indication we were near a memorial.


Within a few minutes we heard a distant call from Bruce, and hacked our way through tall weeds to find a large clearing with a short concrete rectangular fence. Jutting into the middle of the fenced area was a jetty like structure with a memorial plaque.  Indeed, this was the infamous pit where 950 Jews from the Bolechiv area ended their lives. The plaque had been placed there in 2009 by a group of descendants who traveled there to honor their families.  www.bolechow.org 

 On our way out we spied a small stone marker on the road to indicate that the memorial was directly through the woods, although there was no path there.
This sad place, surrounded by peaceful forest could well be the burial ground of our great grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  We will never know. We said  a tearful Kaddish for them and all the other innocents.

BOLECHIV CEMETERY
The Jewish cemetery is only accessed through a farmer's private property. After a tip from a passerby on how to enter his yard, we rang his house doorbell, only to have him emerge like an angry hornet. Tomasz translated the problem. Jews who visit have been asked to please arrange for a sign with his phone number so his fence isn't broken into, and so he can escort people to the gate of the cemetery in the back of his property.  He was quite agitated that everyone promises to do this, but with no result.  We also promised, and later went with him to the local fast sign shop to place an order for the sign.

The cemetery is quite large, perhaps a quarter to half mile square (not sure of this estimate). It has existed from the 17th century. Again, there was a plaque set by the same group in 2009, who also was responsible for the fence.  Of course many of the tombstones are weathered, most are fallen and others broken. Compared to other cemeteries we observed in Poland and Ukraine with impossible vines and high weeds, it was better kept. From afar, squinting, it could have been a grassy pasture with big black cows resting in a field. It was unsettling knowing that the sparseness was probably a result of vandalism, antisemitism, and neglect because there were no Jews left to care for the graves.

Tomasz, who had previously searched the cemetery database for us said it would be impossible to find any relatives as the custom on the front of the gravestone was to put X son of Y without a last name. I had worked with Tomasz, over the previous six months delving into my family's genealogy. He extracted the records from various Polish and Jewish databases and had organized our family trees into an Israeli site MyHeritage.com. I think he knew the members of my family better than I did! I carried a print out of the family tree with us. Little did I know how this association would lead to a remarkable event.

Bruce, an adventurous and skilled photographer, ventured far into the cemetery enclosure to take some shots.  The rest of us walked around marveling at some of the ornate stonework, but eventually stopped to rest and wait for Bruce. Where we had stopped, quite by serendipity, Tomasz, who reads Hebrew and Yiddish, asked me to look at the back of the grave I stood next to.

                           

Some graves had family names on the back. This one read 

BRUCKENSTEIN

On the front, we found the first name, Josef Ber, the earliest name we knew of in our family tree. We were stunned and so excited together. I do not think I will forget that moment for the rest of my life. Of all the graves, most in disrepair, fallen, or buried under grass, to stop in front of this one and find the name of my great-great grandfather has left me in a state of shock and wonder. What a privilege to share the moment with my daughter Sarah, this man's great-great-great granddaughter. And Bruce, and Rich.  To whatever hand has played a part in this I am grateful.

Josef Ber Bruckenstein, son of Israel Iser

BOLECHIV SYNAGOGUE

Did the members of the Union of Lever Makers hear the echoes of rejoicing with bride and groom, of hearty mazel tovs to proud Bar-Mitzvah boys, or of anguished mourner's sobs for lives cut short? When the Jews no longer existed in Bolechiv, when a synagogue was no longer necessary, the stately German architectural gem with tall rectangular windows and large circular windows watched gatherings of a different purpose. The sign for the lever makers is placed high on the front facade.  But this ediface has "yichas." There is no mistaking what it was, and the respect that it is owed.

Tomasz spoke to a neighbor who told him he could get a key from the city hall across the street.  He came back empty handed.  The person who holds the key was not at available.

photos by Bruce Gendelman, Sarah Taus and Nina

LINKS
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holocaust_in_Bolekhiv
www.bolechow.org
http://www.danielmendelsohn.com/
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XX0c9jbyFk