When Marina was pregnant, the KGB agents made us aware that if we did not give up our fight, neither Marina nor our future child would survive the labor.
Betsheva's father had taken all possible precautions to hide the illegal factory, covering its entrance with large planks of wood. But the approaching footsteps sounded like they knew where they were headed...
Zaidy embraced the Torah for the last time and gently laid it, in its wooden case, under a tree. He lifted his young child in his arms and journeyed on through the forest
The Jewish refugees slept in the train stations, exposed to the elements, awaiting deportation to Siberia. It was strictly forbidden for any Russian citizen to communicate with these “foreign spies” . . .
"The group is leaving on the train tonight." He spoke in a whisper, although they were alone in the privacy of their home. Spies and informers could be hidden in any corner, and it was said that the walls themselves had ears...
I’m not talking about a small fine, or even some lashes. This could mean that my father, and maybe even I, would sit in a dark and dingy jail cell. A wave of heat overcame my body.
Katya Umansky was alone in her Moscow apartment when the phone rang. "All right, Umansky," said the caller. "Let's put the games aside. I'm a representative of the KGB. I need to talk to you."
Just before the siege, Yaakov met his sister, Ita Sosonkin at the outskirts of Leningrad. With tears in their eyes, they promised each other that whoever stays alive will take care of the other's children.
They commanded Father to dress and come with them. Father came to my small bed, bent down, and gave me a kiss, long and painful. Tears—big ones, hot ones, blazing ones—rolled off his cheek and onto my forehead.
In 1951 my father, Rabbi Moshe Greenberg, was twenty years old and a prisoner in a Soviet labor camp in Siberia. That Yom Kippur, he faithfully prayed all the day’s prayers. All, that is, except for Kol Nidrei.