THE BULLETIN IS SPONSORED BY JEWISH CARE
www.benevolencija.eu.org/salon
64
WINTER 2012/2013
BULLETIN OF JEWISH SOCIETY
“THE FRIENDS OF LA BENEVOLENCIJA”
BILTEN JEVREJSKE ZAJEDNICE
“PRIJATELJI LA BENEVOLENCIJE”
Naš senior Cezar Zadika Danon objavio je 2005. godine
knjigu svojih pamćenja i bilješki pod nazivom 'Preživjeli
smo Drugi svjetski rat'.
O knjizi kao dokumentu o sudbinama bosanskohercegovačkih Jevreja, pred Drugi svjetski rat, njegovom toku, i u skoroj prošlosti, gledanih kroz prizmu
onoga što se desilo sa užom i širom porodicom Cezara
Danona, napisao je predovor naš poznati književnik Predrag Matvejević koji izmedju ostalog kaže:
'....Čitajući Danonove zapise, prisjećam se pokojnoga Karla
Štajnera i njegovih '7.000 Dana u Sibiru', poniženja u gulagu
gdje se našao zajedno sa mojim stricem Vladimirom Nikolajevićem. Opisujući dio onoga što je proživio po logorima kao
Židov i antistaljinistički komunist, Štajner upozorava da treba
izbjegavati literaturu, jer ona sama ne može izraziti strahote
o kojima je riječ. Ni Cezar Danon ne literarizira svoje
doživljaje – iznosi ih precizno, vjerno, dostojanstveno. Bez
suvišnih parada i nepotrebnih metafora. Tako su još
uvjerljiviji i impresivniji. Čovjeku navru suze na oči čitajući
pojedine stranice, ne znam da li više od tuge ili od zahvalnosti prema autoru.
Takvim se svjedočenjima služi literatura. Od njih se pak
gradi povijest, njezin najvjerodostojniji dio.
Predrag Matvejević
Na knjigu se, kao učesnik u događajima, osvrnula i Erna
Danon Cipra riječima:
'Čitajući tekst Cezara Danon bila sam uzbuđena, ponekad i
sa suzama u očima, jer ja sam jedna od onih koji su prošli
sve Golgote koje opisuje Cezar.
Sve navedeno je istinito, toplo i ljudski sa slikovitim osjećajnim prikazima.
Opis je vrijedan jer osvjetljava stradanja ali i put spasa brojne grupe Jevreja tokom II. svjetskog rata.
To je značajan prilog o Jevrejima i njihovoj sudbini u tim
teškim vremenima.
Ovaj tekst je vrijedan i poučan za sve sadašnje i buduće
generacije.
Predsjednica Jevrejske-Židovske općine Mostar
Erna Danon Cipra.
Moguće je da je mnogi naš čitaoc pročitao ovu neveliku
knjižicu, ali za one koji nisu donosimo par odlomaka, da
bi se stekao neki nagovještaj i ne bi li se probudio interes za sve ono šta ona sadrži.
.... Kada je 1935. godine umrla Estera, to je za Zadika bio
težak udarac. Nije mogao i nije htio da živi bez voljene žene.
Svakim danom je bivao sve slabiji, topio se. Djeca su mislila
da je i mentalno obolio, jer je vrlo često govorio kako se
sprema strašna nesreća, proganjanje i ubijanje Jevreja. Govorio je: 'Djeco moja, šta će biti sa vama? Čekaju vas nečuvene strahote, opasnosti i stradanja.' Niko nije ni slutio da će
se obistiniti ono što je Zadik govorio. Ubrzo poslije Esterine
smrti i on je umro.....
.... Na vašarski dan išli bismo konjskim kolima u obližnja
mjesta Maglaj i Zavidoviće. Tu je Nono kupovao kožu od
stoke i divljači. Jednom, kada smo bili u Maglaju, Nono je
negdje otišao, a Šandor, njegov najmlađi sin, kupio je pečenu jagnjetinu koja nije bila košer (košer je meso koje je
poslije klanja pregledao rabin i konstatovao da je zdravo i
čisto, samo takvo meso smiju Jevreji jesti). Sakrili smo se
iza kola i jeli smo pečenje. Nismo primijetili da je Nono
došao sa druge strane i vidio šta radimo. Nono je pomodrio
u licu, stisnutih zuba, strašno ljut rekao je: 'Šandore, što ti
jedeš nekošer meso, odgovaraćeš pred bogom, ali što si
uveo ovo dijete u grijeh, znaš li kakvo si zlo učinio?!'. Ja sam
bio zaprepašten i uplašen jer nikad nisam vidio Nonu u takvom stanju. Nono je bio dugo šutljiv i neraspoložen.....
....Tada je u Mostaru vladala glad. Od prehrambenih
namirnica mogla se kupiti samo neka vrsta repe, koju su
uvijek duhoviti mostarci prozvali 'Viktorija', jer su tada okupatori bili proglasili skoru pobjedu kao već gotovu stvar. Po
mnogim zidovima u gradu italijanski okupatori su ispisali
velika slova V (viktorija – pobjeda), dok su mostarski antifašistički ilegalci dopisivali po još jedno slovo V, što je
značilo 'vederemo' na italijanskom, ili 'vidjećemo' na našem
jeziku.....
....Veliki broj Jevreja koji je došao u Mostar, naišao je na vrlo
topao prijem i pružana im je efikasna pomoć od strane
mnogih građana Mostara svih vjera.....
.... Radi pružanja prijateljske, svestrane pomoći Jevrejima, a
posebno mnogobrojnim pridošlim izbjeglicama tokom II
svjetskog rata, Mostar je dobio najveće izraelsko priznanje –
POVELJU PRAVEDNIKA....
....Poslije nekoliko dana pješaćenja stigli smo u Glinu. Glina
je bila lijepo, pitomo mjesto u Hrvatskoj, u Baniji. Na žalost,
poznata je i po tome što su 1941. godine u pravoslavnoj
crkvi, ustaše poklale vrlo veliki broj srpskog naroda, tako da
je krv tekla iz crkve. Zatim su crkvu potpuno srušili, zatrpavći
žrtve ispod ruševina. Ponegdje su se još vidjeli tragovi krvi.
Slična zlodjela učinjena su u još nekim pravoslavnim
crkvama u Kordunu i Baniji. Saznanje o tim zlodjelima jako
me je potreslo. Kada sam vidio ruševine te crkve – grobnice
mnogih nevinih žrtava, obuzela me je neka jeza, kao da sam
vidio te žrtve, ubijanje, krv, itd. I dan danas me obuzme neki
strah tako da izbjegavam posjete crkvama.....
....Nedaće, stradanja, patnje i druga zla, pratila su nas od
odlaska nacističko-ustaške vlasti, preko koncentracionog
logora, kao i tokom boravka na oslobođenoj teritoriji. Plaćali
smo visoki danak slobode od jeseni 1943. do oslobođenja
proljeća 1945. godine. Nažalost, na tom teškom, opasnom i
napornom putu, mnogi su izgubili živote, oboljeli, doživjeli
lične i porodične tragedije, bivali ranjavani itd. Ipak, velika
većina nas rabskih logoraša uspjela je dočekati oslobođenje
i slobodu, zahvaljujući prvenstveno Titovim partizanima i
pobjedonosnoj borbi Saveznika....
i na kraju iz EPILOG-a....
In 2005 Cezar Zadik Danon, a member of our Senior's
group published a book of his recollections and notes
titled We Survived World War II.
Our renowned author Predrag Matvejević wrote a
preface to the book as a document about the destinies
of the Jews from Bosnia and Herzegovina reflected
through events that surrounded Cezar's immediate
family and close relatives; Among other things he says:
....Whilst reading Danon's writings I remembered the late
Karlo Steiner's book 'Seven Thousand Days in Siberia' and
his humiliations in the gulag, where he found himself with
my uncle Vladimir Nikolajevic. When describing what he
endured in the Concentration Camps as a Jew and anti
Stalinist communist, Stajner is forewarning that literature
should be avoided as it never can express all the horrors
that go on. Cezar is not literalising what he went through; he
is expressing it precisely, truthfully and with dignity, without
surplus parades and unnecessary methafors. That makes
his writings more persuasive and impressive. One cannot
help shedding tears while reading some pages and I am not
sure whether this is due to sadness or gratitude to the
author. Literature uses these testimonies. History is built on
them and they are its most reliable part....
Erna Danon Cipra, a participant in the described events
commented:
I read Cezar Danon's text with excitement and my eyes very
often filled with tears for I was among those who had
survived the Golgotha he describes.
All he had written is true, described in a warm, humane and
emotional way.
The description is valid because it sheds light on both the
sufferring and salvation of a numerous group of Jews during
World War II.
This text is an important contribution about the Jews and
their fate in those difficult times. It is also important for being
educational for the present and future generations.
President of the Jewish Community of Mostar
Erna Danon Cipra
It is possible that many among our readers have read
this booklet, but for those who did not have the
opportunity, we are bringing-up a few segments, to offer
a hint of its contents and in the hope to arrouse some
interest
Nastavak sa strane 1
....U septembru 1993. krenuli smo u London, gdje
nas je čekala kći sa porodicom. Tu nam je veliku
pomoć pružila organizacija World Jewish Relief. Dočekani
smo srdačno i toplo. Upoznali smo divne ljude koji su nas
tretirali sa poštovanjem i razumijevanjem. Neki od njih su
nam postali iskreni prijatelji. Zahvaljujući njihovom prijateljstvu i toplini, lakše smo savladali tugu i nostalgiju za rodnim
Mostarom.....
Cezar ima na raspolaganju još knjiga pa mu možete
pisati na:
Flat 23
Selig Court
Beverly Gardes
London NW11 9AF
Ili mu pišite na E-mail [email protected] ili zovite
020 84584653
....Ester's death in 1935 was a hard blow for Zadik. He did
not want to and could not live without his beloved wife. He
became weaker and weaker every day; he was waning. His
children even thought that his mental health also
deteriorated because he often told them that a big disaster
was on the way and that the Jews will be prosecuted and
killed. He used to say: 'My children, what will happen to
you? You will be faced with unheard-of misfortunes, dangers
and sufferings.' Nobody suspected that what Zadik was
saying would come true. Soon after the death of Estera he
also passed away....
....On market days we would go on horse carts to nearby
places of Maglaj and Zavidovići, where Nono bought his
domestic animals and game skins. On one of those trips,
while he was busy, his youngest son Šandor went and
bought some baked lamb from one of the stalls. We hid on
the other side of the cart to eat it. We were caught by Nono
who was not pleased. He went blue in his face and through
gritted teeth angrily told Šandor: 'The fact that you are eating
non kosher meat is a sin for which you will have to answer
to God, but to make this child a sinner is an even bigger sin'.
I was very much taken aback and scared as I never saw him
as angry as that. He was very quiet and in a pensive mood
on the way back....
....Famine reigned in Mostar at that time. The only food one
could buy was some sort of turnip that the witty Mostar
people nicknamed 'Victoria' because the occupiers
proclaimed then that their victory is imminent. The occupiers
wrote large V (Victory) letters on numerous Mostar walls, but
the member of Mostar anti-fascist underground organisation
added to each of them another V letter ('vederemo' in Italian,
meaning 'we'll see').
....The large number of Jews who came to Mostar were
warmly received and helped by many Mostar citizens of all
religions....
....To acknowledge the friendly comprehensive help that
Mostar extended to the Jews, especially to the large number
of refugees who arrived there during the Second World War,
Israel has bestowed on it its highest recognition – THE
CHARTER OF THE RIGHTEOUS....
....After several days of marching we arrived in Glina. It was
a pretty and pleasant small town in Banija, Croatia. It gained
its sad notoriety in 1941 when Ustashas slaughtered a large
number of Serbs in te Orthodox Church so that blood was
flowing out of the church. Later they demolished the church
completely covering the victims with rubble.. It was still
possible to see traces of blood at some places. Similar
crimes were committed in some other Orthodox Churches in
Continue on page 12
U ovom broju prenosimo u nešto skraćenom obliku, zbog
skućenog prostora, osvrt i sjećanje sarajevskog
Akademskog slikara Dobrivoja Beljkašića, na jedno
njegovo djelo, koje svakako spada među njemu najdraža
ostvarenja. Biranim, toplim riječima, Beljkašić govori o tri
života dječaka Bukija Rajha – o onom stvarnom i
užasima rata otetom životu, o onom ovjekovječenom na
platnu koje samo biva uništeno novim surovim ratom i
ovom, upisanom ovim zapisom. Treba biti nepopravljivi
optimista pa kao Dobrivoje Beljkašić, poslije svih
tragedija i drama, poslati svijetu poruku dobronamjernosti
i humanizma
Dobrivoje Beljkašić:
SJEĆANJE NA BUKIJA
Ovo sjetno sjećanje na Bukija, nekadašnjeg mojega
malog komšije, ujedno je i sjećanje na nekadašnje moje
Sarajevo, u kojem sam proživio punih šezdesetšest
godina, sve do jednog hladnog novembarskog dana1992
godine,kada smo sa 6000 građana Sarajeva u istom
danu, moja supruga i ja evakuisani u konvoju Crvenog
Krsta BiH i potom došli u Englesku, gdje je naša kći već
radila, udata za Engleza. Tako sam ja iz sarajevske
stvarnosti došao u stvarnost jednog grada na zapadu
Engleske, a Sarajevo je iz stvarnosti mog života, prešlo u
moje snove i sjećanja.
Pišem ovo sada daleko od Sarajeva, ......u epohalnom
trenutku susreta... dva milenijuma, jednom od
egzistencijalnih
trenutaka
savremene
istorije
čovječanstva i postojanja ljudskog roda.....
Ovo sjećanje na Bukija je nesvakidašnja istinita priča o
jednom malom jevrejskom dječaku, koji je u stvarnosti
dvaput postojao i dva puta stvarno nestao sa ovoga
svijeta – prvi put kao živo biće, a drugi put kao lik i
umjetničko djelo!
Bilo je to u Sarajevu, slikovitom i znamenitom gradu na
obalama Miljacke, ispod Trebevića, u blizini preistorijskih
nalazišta Glasinačke i Butmirske kulture, renomirane
ljekovite sumporne banje Ilidža i čuvenog Vrela Bosne,
sa bistrom, pitkom hladnom vodom, zelenim livadama i
velikim sjenovitim platanima i kestenovima.
U tom Sarajevu sam proveo svoje djetinjstvo, mladost i
radni vijek. Odrastao sam u gradu u kojem su se, kako se
nekada govorilo, susretali Istok i Zapad, i koji je
stoljećima bio....multi - rasna, etnička, nacionalna,
konfesionalna, civilizacijska i kulturna sredina, gdje su se
preplitali...razni tradicionalni i moderni, suprotni i srodni
tokovi i običaji, a strateški, politički, administrativni,
privredni, finansijski, imovinski, pravni, idejni i kulturni
interesi...imali za ljude nešto bitno i postojano
zajedničko.....
Taj duh tolerancije i uzajamnog uvažavanja... bio je
tipična odlika ljudskog i društvenog života u Sarajevu –
nešto čime su se građani Sarajeva ponosili!
Zadojen tim duhom u porodici, školi i društvenoj sredini i
svjesno i jasno humanistički orijentisan...- od svojih
đačkih i studentskih dana, do svojih zrelih stvaralačkih,
radnih i penzionerskih godina – stekao sam brojne drage
poznanike i komšije, drugove i prijatelje, kolege i
saradnike....sa kojima sam se uvijek dobro slagao i lijepo
osjećao. Među njima su bili i brojni Jevreji – Sefardi i
Aškenazi.... Neki od njih, nažalost, nisu preživjeli II
svjetski rat i Holokaust, koji nije mimoišao ni Sarajevo.
Neki od njih su srećom preživjeli, vratili se u Sarajevo,
obnovili jevrejsku zajednicu i svoj život, uspješno djelujući
u svim oblastima života u Sarajevu u novim uslovima,
stupajući i u 'mješovte brakove' (tako sam i sam u
srodstvu sa Jevrejima). Mnogi preživjeli žive sada u
Izraelu, Švedskoj, Švajcarskoj, Americi, a neki su
u Londonu od 1992, gdje aktivno sudjeluju u radu
nove Jevrejske zajednice 'Prijatelji La Benevolencije',
koja nastavlja i njeguje plemenite tradicije nekadašnje i
reaktivirane sarajevske 'La Benevolencije'. Neočekivano
smo se, na obostranu radost, našli zajedno jedne večeri
u prostorijama Jevrejske zajednice u Londonu, na jednoj
lijepoj kulturnoj priredbi sa sadržajnim literarno-dramskim
i muzičkim programom i kamernom izložbom slika naših
mladih likovnih umjetnika iz Sarajeva i Mostara - članova
Jevrejske zajednice u Londonu. Nezaboravan doživljaj!
Tako smo iznenada obnovili i nastavili naše staro
prijateljstvo iz Sarajeva, putem telefona i povremenih
susreta uživo! A sada imamo i jednu novu i značajnu
stalnu vezu – 'SaLon', koji redovno primamo i rado i sa
interesovanjem čitamo! U njemu nalazimo, uz aktuelan i
zanimljiv sadržaj, imena i priloge naših nekadašnjih
sugrađana, poznanika i prijatelja (i njihove djece i
unučadi), bilo da se radi o intervjuima, prevodima,
književnim i likovnim prilozima, prikazima kulturnih
zbivanja i sjećanjima ili kulinarskim receptima, ličnim i
porodičnim vijestima, izrekama i šalama. Tako je sada
'SaLon' postao most koji nas spaja s njima i omogućuje
nam da osjetimo duh i atmosferu života naših sarajevskih
sugrađana, poznanika i prijatelja u Londonu.
'SaLon' br 14, Ljeto 1999, tematski posvećen stradanju
Jevreja i drugih naroda u Jasenovcu i drugim logorima u
Evropi, bio je povod i potsticaj da pišem ovo moje
sjećanje na malog, nježnog, osjećajnog i darovitog
dječaka Bukija, koji nije živio i odrastao u bogatstvu i
blagostanju, a volio je da mašta i crta i da u tome uživa;
sve dok jednog ljetnog dana godine 1941, u masovnim
deportacijama sarajevskih Jevreja, nije i on odveden
nekuda, neznano kuda, bez traga.. Nakon četrnaest
godina, pojavio se ponovo, u drugom obliku, kao lik i
umjetnička vizija u jednom likovnom djelu! A potom, 37
godina kasnije, nestao je ponovo jedne avgustovske noći
1992 godine – definitivno! Iz realnog svijeta i života,
prešao je u svijet umjetnosti, a odatle u svijet uspomena i
sjećanja. Metamorfoze i sudbina njegovog bića!
Naslov ovog teksta je, ustvari, naziv jedne moje velike
uljane slike na platnu, koju sam, kao mladi umjetnik
naslikao i izlagao na mojoj prvoj samostalnoj izložbi u
Sarajevu 1955 godine. Bila je to originalna, moderna,
koloristički svježa i prijatna likovna kompozicija, koja se
lijepo vidi u cjelini na, tada snimljenoj crno-bijeloj
fotografiji (koju sam srećom donio sa sobom iz Sarajeva),
gdje ja, stojeći kraj te slike, odajem počast i njoj i Bukiju,
kao liku i subjektu, i svemu onome što on u toj slici
simbolički pretstavlja. Ovo sjećanje i ta slika (i ta
fitigrafija) čine jedinstvenu sadržajnu cjelinu, međusobno
i sa sadržajem koji sada objavljuje pomenuti broj 'SaLon'-a.
Ta fotografija je sada, nakon svega, rijedak i dragocjen
dokument o jednom vremenu, jednom periodu moga
stvaralačkog rada i o karakteru moje umjetnosti i
umjetničkog izraza.
Mali Buki, sin jedinac našeg 'kućepazitelja' Benjamina –
Binje Rajha, limara i vodoinstalatera, živio je sa majkom i
ocem u prizemnom stanu moderne dvospratne kuće u
Njegoševoj ulici br. 4 u kojoj sam i ja stanovao sa
sestrom i roditeljima. Buki je volio da crta likove (kao i ja),
drvenim ugljem i školskim kredama u boji po strmom
trotoaru ispred naše kuće i po visokim tarabama
susjedne bašte. Bio je vrlo talentovan i ponosan na svoja
ostvarenja. Imao je tada 6-7 godina a ja sam išao u 7.
razred gimnazije. Sačekivao me je pred kućom, obično
oko podne kada sam dolazio iz škole, pokazivao mi svoje
crteže i radoznalo čekao
Nastavak na strani 4
Nastavak sa strane 3
da čuje moj sud i komentar. A ja sam ga ohrabrivao da i
dalje crta. Vjerovao sam da će njegov talenat u
budućnosti biti zapažen i da će jednog dana i on biti
umjetnik kao Daniel Ozmo! I ja sam, kao i on, volio Volta
Diznija i njegove junake Mikija, Šilju, Plutona i Paju
Patka. Obojica smo maštali, crtali i vjerovali u svoj talenat
i u vrijednost i lijepu budućnost umjetnosti, i u 'svijetlu
budućnost čovječanstva'.
No, uskoro nakon njemačke okupacije Sarajeva (1941),
počeo je, sistematski progon i stradanje Jevreja. Prvo su
odveli muškarce u kamionima sa oružanom pratnjom, u
nepoznatom pravcu..u neizvjesnost.. sa izvjesnim
krajem.
Iz naše kuće su odveli našeg komšiju sa I. sprata –
Maestra, slabašnog, sitnog i mršavog čovjeka, slabog
vida i teškog astmatičara. Kasnije su odveli i njegovu
ženu i nježnu 12. godišnju kćer Liliku....i Bukijevog oca
Binju – krupnog, snažnog i energičnog čovjeka; i sada
čujem njegov krupan glas koji nam je prethodno,
optimistički, u povjerenju govorio da će Rusi i Maršal
Timošenko za 10 dana doći do nas i osloboditi nas! Žena
Binjina, tiha, slabašna i blijeda, uvijek povezana čela se
odmah nakon toga sklonila sa sinom Bukijem kod neke
rodbine, negdje kod Bašćaršije, odakle su odvedeni u
Jasenovac..ili Dahau..ili Aušvic, bez traga.
Niko se od njih nikada nije vratio. Ostali su u našim
srcima i sjećanjima.
Sliku 'Sjećanje na Bukija' čuvao sam godinama u svom
ateljeu u Vijećnici kao neku relikviju i jedno od mojih
kapitalnih i najdražih djela u mom umjetničkom opusu,
sve do kraja avgusta 1992. godine, kada je u ogromnom
požaru koji je tu građevinu pretvorio u ruševinu, preko
noći uništen i nestao moj atelje zajedno sa svim, za
mene dragocjenim stvarima. U javnim glasilima, tim
povodom, moj i atelje Vlade Vojnovića i ta kulturna,
moralna i materijalna šteta nisu ni pomenuti! Tako je te
noći, u plamenu nestala i ta moja draga slika i originalna
likovna kompozicija, moj prvi posljeratni veliki 'Rekvijem'
sa Bukijevim likom.
Buki je trajno ostao u mojoj duši, i kao živo ljudsko biće i
kao lik i djelo. Kao mladi umjetnik na početku svoga puta,
osjećao sam jaku potrebu i želju, a kao svoju ljudsku i
moralnu obavezu da tu potresnu humanu sadržinu
izrazim na moderan, svremen i sugestivan umjetnički
način. To sam i ostvario u toj slici sa tužnim i zamišljenim
likom bosonogog dječaka utonulog u neki amalgam
stvarnosti i snova. Ta slika je bila i realistična, i
simbolična i asocijativna. To je bila jedna likovna poema,
odavanje počasti i komemoracija nevinim žrtvama u tom
ratu, jedna vrsta 'lamenta' nad ogromnim brojem
uništenih mladih života i velikih talenata, oličenih u
Bukiju, i jedna vrsta humanog i umjetničkog protesta
protiv bezumlja i svireposti rata, razaranja, ubijanja,
terora, progona i genocida. Moj Buki je bio simbol
nevinosti djetinjstva i humane suštine umjetnosti i
stvaralaštva, jedna vrsta himne duhu stvaralaštva i
dostojanstvu ljudskog bića.
A to zaslužuje da bude zapisano i zapamćeno. Ovo je
sada treći život maloga Bukija u novoj, književnoj formi.
Ovaj moj zapis i ta moja slika međusobno se dopunjuju u
svojoj humanoj poruci.
Dobrivoje Beljkašić
In this issue we publish a somewhat shorter
version of the reminiscences by the painter
Dobrivoje Beljkašić in which he contemplates about one
of his works which is no doubt among his favourits.
Beljkašić talks about three lives of the boy Buki Rajh –
the physical boy whose life was stolen by the horrors of
the war, then the boy immortalized on canvas which was
destroyed by another cruel war and this one recorded in
this writing. Even after all the tragedies and dramas, only
an unyielding optimist like Dobrivoje Beljkašić could send
to the world a message of altruism and humanity.
Dobrivoje Beljkašić
REMEMBERING BUKI
These melancholy memories of Buki my one-time little
neighbour are also the memories of my erstwhile
Sarajevo in which I lived for whole sixty six years until a
dark November day in 1992 when my wife and I joined
6000 Sarajevo citizens to be evacuated in one day by
Bosnia and Herzegovina Red Cross convoy. Later we
came to England where our daughter who is married to
an Englishman already lived and worked. That is how I
came from the Sarajevo reality to the reality of a city on
the West of England and moving from the reality of my
life, Sarajevo entered my dreams and my memories.
I write these lines now far from Sarajevo … in the
epochal moment in which … two millenniums meet, at
the significant moment in history of humanity and
existence of the human race. …
These memories of Buki are an unusual story about a
little Jewish boy who existed twice and perished twice –
the first time as a living person and the second time as a
character and a work of art!
This happened in Sarajevo – a picturesque and famed
city on the banks of the Miljacka River under mount
Trebević; in the vicinity of ancient Glamoč and Butmir
cultures, the well-known sulphuric thermal springs of
Ilidža, and the source of the Bosna River with its clear
drinking water all surrounded by lush green meadows
and alleys lined with plane and chestnut trees.
I have spent my childhood, my youth and my working
years in that Sarajevo. I grew up in a city where, as they
used to say, East and West met; a city that for hundreds
of years was a multi – racial, ethnical, national, religious
and cultural environment in which different traditional and
modern, contrasting and kindred trends intertwined and
where the strategic, political, administrative, economical,
financial, legal, ideological and cultural interests …meant
something essential and were constantly shared.
That spirit of tolerance and mutual respect …was the
typical attribute of the social life in Sarajevo – it was
something that Sarajevo citizens were proud of!
Imbued with such spirit in my family, school and the
social environment my clear orientation all through my life
was towards humanity; thus I got many dear
acquaintances and neighbours, friends and colleagues
that I was always in good relations and felt comfortable
with. Many Jews were among them – both Sephardi and
Ashkenazi. … Unfortunately some of them have not
survived the Second World War and the Holocaust, none
of which spared Sarajevo.
Luckily, some of them have survived, came back to
Sarajevo, and restored the Jewish community and their
respective lives; acting successfully in all the aspects of
Sarajevo life in the new circumstance and entering mixed
marriages (that is how I am also related to Jews). Many
of those who survived live now in Israel, Sweden,
Switzerland, America and some of them are in London
since 1992 and are active in the new Jewish community
The Friends of La Benevolencija, which continues and
cherishes the noble traditions of the earlier and now
reactivated Sarajevo La Benevolencija. Suddenly one
evening to our great joy we met again in the premises of
the Jewish Community in London at a pleasant cultural
event with a literary and musical programme and a small
exhibition of paintings by young artists from Sarajevo and
Mostar – members of the Jewish Community in London.
It was an unforgettable experience! This is how we
renewed our old friendships from Sarajevo that we still
maintain by telephone and occasional meetings. Now we
have another new important permanent connection – the
SaLon that we regularly get and read with interest! We
can find there not only interesting and relevant readings,
but also the names of and contributions by our one-time
fellow citizens, acquaintances and friends (and their
children and grandchildren) which include interviews,
translations, literary works and works of art, reviews of
cultural events and memories or culinary recipes,
personal news, proverbs and jokes. SaLon has thus
become a bridge connecting us to them; making it
possible for us to feel the spirit and the atmosphere of the
life of our Sarajevo fellow citizens, acquaintances and
friends living in London.
SaLon No. 14 of summer 1999 which was entirely
devoted to the sufferings of Jews and other nations in
Jasenovac and other camps all over Europe incited me to
write these recollections of the little, tender, sensitive and
talented boy Buki, who did not grow in a rich and
prosperous family but liked to daydream and enjoyed to
draw; until one summer day of 1941 together with
numerous Jews he also was deported and taken
somewhere, nobody knows where, without trace …
Fourteen years later he appeared again in another form,
as a figure and a vision in a work of art! But then 37
years later he vanished again in an August night of 1992
– this time definitively! He was transferred from real world
and life to the world of art and from there to the world of
memories and recollections. The metamorphoses and
destiny of his being!
The title of the present text is in fact the title of a large oil
painting on canvas painted when I was a young artist and
exhibited at my first one-man exhibition in Sarajevo in
1955. It was an imaginative, modern, pleasant art
composition full of fresh colours depicted completely on a
black and white photograph taken at that time (luckily I
have brought it with me from Sarajevo); I am standing
next to that picture, paying homage both to the picture
itself and to Buki, the figure and the subject and
everything that he symbolized. These memories
published in the present SaLon together with the picture
of Buki (and its photograph) makes one entity. After
everything that has happened, that photograph is now a
singular and valuable document about an epoch and a
period in my creative work and the character of my art
and my artistic expression.
Little Buki, the only son of our caretaker Benjamin – Binja
Rajh, a tinsmith and plumber, lived with his mother and
father in the ground floor flat of a modern two-floors high
building in which I was also living with my sister and
parents. Buki liked drawing figures (as indeed I also did)
in charcoal and school chalk in colours; he did it over the
steep pavement and the high fence of the neighbouring
garden. He was really talented and proud of his
achievements. He was 6 or 7 years old at that time and I
was in the 7th grade of the High School. He would
wait for me in front of the house when I was
coming back from school usually at noon; he would show
me his drawings and was eager to hear my opinion and
comments. I would always encourage him to go on
drawing. I believed that his talent will be noticed in future
and that one day he will be an artist like Daniel Ozmo.
Like him, I also liked Walt Disney and his characters Miki
Mouse, Goofy, Pluto and Donald Duck. Both of us were
day-dreaming, drawing and believing in our talents and
the value and future of art and the bright future of
humanity.
But soon after Sarajevo was occupied by Germans
(1941), systematic persecution of Jews started. First, the
men were taken by trucks with armed guards to an
unknown destination … to uncertainty … with a very
certain end.
From our house they have taken Maestro, our neighbour
from the first floor, a small, feeble and thin man with poor
vision and severe asthma. Later they took his wife and
Lilika, his delicate twelve years old daughter … they took
also Buki’s father Binjo – a big, strong and energetic
man. I can hear even now his deep voice telling us earlier
with optimism and in confidence that the Russians and
Marshal Timoshenko would come in 10 days and free us!
Immediately after that Binja’s wife, a quiet, weak and pale
woman with a scarf permanently bound round her
forehead, took refuge together with her son Buki with
some relatives, in the old part of the city, from where they
were taken to Jasenovac … or Dachau …or Auschwitz,
None of them ever came back. They remained in our
hearts and memories.
I have kept for years the picture “Remembering Buki” in
my atelier in Vijećnica (The Town Hall) as some sort of
relic and one of the major and dearest works in my
artistic opus, until the end of august of 1992, when in a
huge fire that turned that building into a ruin my atelier
together with all the things I valued were destroyed
overnight. The media, when writing about the event, did
not even mention my atelier and that one belonging to
Vlado Vojnović nor the resulting cultural, moral and
material damage! And so, that night my dear painting, the
imaginative art composition, my first post-war large
“Requiem” with Buki’s image disappeared in flames.
Buki remained permanently in my soul; both as a human
being and as an image and a work of art. A young artist
at the start of my path, I strongly felt that it is my human
and moral obligation to express that moving human
substance in a modern, contemporary and suggestive
way. I had achieved it by that picture of a sad and
absorbed in thoughts image of a barefoot boy deep in
amalgam of reality and dreams. That picture was realistic
and symbolic and associative. It was a figurative poem,
commemorating and paying homage to the innocent
victims of that war, a sort of lament for the huge number
of destroyed young lives and big talents all of them
personified in Buki; and a sort of human and artistic
protest against the madness and cruelty of war,
destruction, killing, terror, persecution and genocide. My
Buki was a symbol of innocence of childhood and human
essence of art, a sort of hymn of praise to creativity and
dignity of human being.
All this deserves to be noted down and remembered.
This presents now the third life of little Buki in a new
literary form. These writing and that picture are mutually
complemented in their human message.
Dobrivoje Beljkašić
Albi Papo:
MIRJANA
Hotel Toplice u Beogradu već je nekoliko mjeseci dom za
Jevreje - izbjeglice iz Sarajeva, pa i naš dom. Ležim na
krevetu poslije oskudne večere, po ko zna koji put
vraćam u mislima scene iz rata i odlaska u izbjeglištvo.
Mislim šta će biti sutra i narednih dana. Beka je na
drugom krevetu i čita neki časopis. Raspoloženje
sumorno. Iz takvog raspoloženja me trgne rezak zvuk
telefona. Zovu iz recepcije. Neki čovjek iz Njemačke ima
poruku za mene. Nemam nikog u Njemačkoj i nemam
nikakvu ideju ko bi to mogao biti. Siđem do recepcije gdje
me čeka mlađi čovjek. Pita me za generalije, a zatim vadi
jedno pismo i kaže da ga je Mirjana zamolila da meni
uruči ovo pismo. Daje mi pismo i izvinjava se što dulje ne
može ostati, žuri. Ja se zahvalim za pismo, ali u toj žurbi
zaboravih da čovjeka pozovem barem na piće ili bar da
ga upitam za neki detalj vezan za pismo. Vratim se u
sobu, ispričam Beki susret ispred recepcije, prisjećamo
se koga imamo u Njemačkoj. Otvorim pismo, a u njemu
tri stotine njemačkih maraka i malo pisamce, ustvari
komadić papira otrgnut iz neke sveske.
“Draga Bernarda,
Saznala sam za vašu golgotu i sadašnje prebivalište.
Jako mi je žao šta vas je zadesilo. Šaljem vam 300
maraka da vam se nađe. Nisam u mogućnosti da vam
pošaljem više. Naime, Jurgen je poginuo ovog leta u
saobraćajnoj nesreći. Mislim često na vas sve.
Puno pozdrava Mirjana”
Dok sam čitao pismo, pogledam za trenutak Beku i
shvatim da smo gotovo istovremeno otkrili ko je pisac
pisma, ko je Mirjana.
Dakle, ko je Mirjana?
Mirjana nije ni rod, ni neki
bliski prijatelj, rekao bih
samo neko koga poznamo.
Mirjana je Novosađanka,
njeni roditelji imaju kuću na
Cresu gdje i mi imamo malu
konobu pa smo se na Cresu
i upoznali. Viđali smo se
svakog ljeta jer je dolazila
sa sestrom Cicom na našu
plažu.
Poznanica
sa
ljetovanja.
Mirjana
je
ljepuškasta, visoka, vitka
plavuša. Izgledala je još
višeg rasta jer je uvijek nosila cipele sa visokim petama.
Dolazila je na plažu nešto kasnije, oko 11 sati i svojom
pojavom i ponašanjem izazivala pažnju. Nosila je veliku
torbu i slamnati šešir sa velikim obodom koji nije skidala
sem kad je išla da se kupa. Kad je pripremala mjesto za
sunčanje, to jer bio ritual i trajao je. Prvo je odabirala
mjesto na kamenom zidu , pa je prostirala peškir i to po
nekoliko puta jer nije uvijek bila zadovoljna sa prostirkom
u prvom pokušaju. Zatim se skinula u minimalni bikini,
pažljivo složila odjeću i polako legla pazeći da joj lice
uvijek bude u sjeni šešira. A kad je išla da se kupa, to je
tek trajalo. Prvo bi zagazila u vodu do članaka i stajala
par minuta, a zatim bi zagazila do koljena i opet odstajala
par minuta i tako se aklimatizovala još par puta. Zatim bi
ušla u vodu do vrata i plivala polako pazeći da joj ni jedna
kapljica vode ne padne na lice ili kosu. Prije nego što
smo se upoznali, izgradio sam sliku o njoj kao o
narcisoidnoj djevojci kojoj je samo i jedino važan njen
fizički izgled. Međutim, kad smo se upoznali, potpuno
sam promijenio mišljenje. Ne sjećam se više
detalja kako smo se upoznali. Znam da smo
godinama oko pola jedan nas četvero, Mirjana, njena
sestra Cica, moja supruga i ja išli na terasu obližnjeg
restorančića kod barba Bože na kafu i pričali o opštim
stvarima svakodnevnice. Priznajem da sam ponekad ja
nalazio razlog da ne idem na kafu ostavjajući njih tri da
vode ženske razgovore. Mirjana je bila tako reći obična
djevojka, diplomirala je biologiju, ali nije mogla naći
mjesto u struci pa je radila kao gastarbajter u Njemačkoj
pomažući našim ljudima kao neka vrsta socijalnog
radnika. S njom se moglo pametno o svemu razgovarati,
bila je obrazovana, imala je svoje mišljenje. Naročito mi
je bila draga njena vojvođanska ekavica.
Jednog ljeta pojavila se sa suprugom, krupnim plavim
simpatičnim
Njemcem.
Jurgen
je
uživao
u
mediteranskom podneblju. Zbog jezičke barijere nismo
baš mnogo komunicirali. Mirjana nije ni u novom statusu
ni malo promijenila svoj ritual na plaži. Slijedeće godine
se nije pojavila, ali je zato naredne godine došla cijela
porodica: Mirjana, Jurgen i jednogodišnji sin Sebastijan.
Vi već pogađate, gotovo cjelokupnu brigu oko
Sebastijana preuzeo je tata Jurgen. Vodio ga je u plićak
da se rashladi, nosio mu i dodavao igračke, presvlačio
ga. Ako bi kojim slučajem, u svojim prvim trapavim
koracima pao i ozlijedio koljeno, tad je mama Mirjana
stupala na scenu i tješila ga. Lale, što je bilo “srpsko” ime
za Sebstijana, privio bi se uz Mirjanu tražeći da ga nosi.
Godine su prolazile, to se najbolje vidjelo kako je Lale
rastao, a ništa se posebno nije događalo na plaži što bi
bilo vrijedno pomenuti. Posljednji put smo bili na Cresu
1990. godine kad je Lale trebao poći u školu. A zatim se
kod nas “desio” rat. Nikad
više nisam ljetovao na
Cresu.
Evo nas već 19 godina u
Kanadi. Svake godine
izmjenjamo
pisma
–
čestitke sa Mirjanom i
njenom sestrom Cicom.
Evo posljednjeg pisma:
Draga porodice Papo,
draga Bernarda, Novi
Sad 11.01.2011
Želim vam svako dobro u
Novoj godini, zdravlja,
radosti i sreće. Često
mislim na vas ali sam se ulenjila, pa zato retko pišem.
Letos sam bila na Cresu desetak dana sa Mirjanom i
Laletom. I tamo se puno stvari menja, nešto na bolje, a
nešto i ne. Zatvorena je terasa kod barba Bože što mi je
posebno žao. Ima nešto novih restorana u boriku. Naša
kuća stoji zatvorena, niko je ne koristi.
Lale privodi kraju studije elektrotehnike-informatike.
Jedna istraživačka firma kod koje je na praksi, šalje ga u
Bavarsku. Ima malo vremena za odmor jer sprema
završne ispite.
Mirjana se penzionisala, još po malo radi privatno da bi
izdržala finansijski dok Lale ne diplomira.
Kod nas nema velikih promena. Okupirani smo
svakodnevnim obavezama. Zdravlje nas jos dobro služi
što nam je najvažnije. Šaljem vam jednu Laletovu sliku.
On se najviše promenio, od deteta postao odrastao
čovek. Mi smo svi uglavnom isti, samo nešto stariji.
Pišite nam kako ste i šta radite. Kako su vam deca, velika
i mala. Sve vas puno pozdravljamo i volimo
Cica i tetka Vera
Albi Papo:
MIRJANA
It is already several months now that Hotel Toplice in
Belgrade has been the home for Jews – refugees from
Sarajevo - and consequently our home as well. I am lying
on my bed after a meagre dinner and as is usual these
days I remember scenes from the war and our departure
to exile. I think of tomorrow and the days to come. Beka
is on the other bed and reads a magazine. The gloomy
mood is interrupted by the piercing sound of the
telephone. It is a call from the reception desk. A man
from Germany has a message for me. I have nobody in
Germany and I have no idea who could it be. I go down
to the reception desk to find a young man waiting for me.
He asks me to identify myself and then gives me a letter
and explains that Mirjana asked him to hand it over to
me. Apologizing he says that he is in a rush. I thank him
for the letter but in that hurry I forget to invite him for a
drink or at least to ask him for anything pertaining to the
letter. I come back to the room and inform Beka of the
encounter at the reception desk. We try to recall if we
had anybody in Germany. I open the letter and there I
find three hundred German Marks and a small letter,
actually a small piece of paper torn out from a note book.
“Dear Bernarda”, it read
“I have learnt about your suffering and your present
dwelling. I sympathize with you. Enclosed are 300 marks,
you might need them. At the moment I cannot send you
more. Actually Jürgen was killed in a car accident last
summer. I think often of you.
Best regards Mirjana”
While reading the letter I look for a moment at Beka and I
realize that almost at the same moment we take in who is
Mirjana, the author of the letter.
So, who is Mirjana? Mirjana is neither a relative, nor a
close friend; I would say that she is just somebody we
know. She is from Novi Sad. Her parents have a second
house on the island of Cres where we also have a small
cottage. We would see her every summer because she
used to come with her sister Cica to our beach. Only an
acquaintance from summer holidays. Mirjana is a pretty,
tall, slim blond. She seemed to be even taller because
she was always wearing high heels. She used to come to
the beach a bit later, at about 11 o’clock; always
attracting attention by her looks and behaviour. She had
a big bag and a wide brimmed straw hat that she would
take off only when swimming. Preparing the place for her
sun tanning was a ritual that lasted a while. She would
start by selecting a spot on the stone wall and then
spreading her towel over it, but it would take a few
attempts until she was satisfied with the result. She
would take off her clothes and stay in a tiny bikini, than
she would carefully put away her clothes and slowly lay
down on the towel taking care that her face was always
in the shade of the hat. It was nothing when compared to
her going for a swim. First she would enter the water to
her ankles and would stand so for a few minutes, then
she would go a bit deeper so that the water reached her
knees and would stay there for few more minutes and so
on; once when she acclimatized herself she would enter
the water to her neck and would start swimming making
sure that not even one drop of water touched her face or
hair. Before we got to know her I imagined that she was a
narcissist and that only her looks were important for her.
But knowing her later I changed my mind completely. I
cannot recall any more how we made her
acquaintance, but I do remember that for many
years the four of us, namely Mirjana, her sister Cica, my
wife and I would go at half past twelve for a coffee and
small talk to the terrace of the nearby small restaurant. I
do admit that there were times when I would find a
reason not to join them, leaving them to their girls talk.
There was nothing special about Mirjana. She had a
degree in biology and as she could not get a job in her
profession she went to work as some sort of social
worker for our people in Germany. Well educated and
with attitudes she was an intelligent partner in every
conversation. I especially liked her accent.
Then one summer she came with her husband – a big
blond likable German. Jürgen revelled in the
Mediterranean climate. We could not communicate much
because of the language barrier.
Even this new status did not change Mirjana’s ritual on
the beach. The following year she did not come, but the
year after, the whole family appeared: Mirjana, Jürgen
and one year old Sebastian. You already guess, daddy
Jürgen took on the complete care of Sebastian. He would
take him to the shallow water to cool, he would carry his
toys and hand them over to him; he would change him.
Only when during his first clumsy steps he would fall and
hurt his knee, mummy Mirjana would appear to comfort
him. Lale, that was the Serbian name for Sebastian,
would clasp Mirjana, asking her to carry him.
As the years were passing by nothing special was
happening on the beach, only Lale was growing up. We
visited Cres in 1990 for the last time. It was the year
when Lale started going to school. But then the war
“happened” in our country. Never again did I have my
summer holidays on Cres.
It is 19 years now since we came to Canada. Every year
we exchange letters with best wishes for the New Year.
Here is the last letter:
Dear Papo family, dear Bernarda
Novi Sad 11.01.2011
I wish you all the best in the New Year, plenty of health
and happiness. I often think of you but I write only once in
a while because I am getting lazy.
Last summer I spent some ten days on Cres with Mirjana
and Lale. Many things have changed there as well. Some
things are getting better some are getting worse. I
especially regret the fact that the terrace that we used to
visit has closed. There are a few new restaurants in the
grove. Our house is closed. Nobody uses it. Lale is at the
end of his electric engineering and information studies. A
research company in which he had his work practice
sends him to Bavaria. He does not have much time for
his holidays because he has to take the final exams.
Mirjana has retired but still works part time to cover for
her costs until Lale’s graduation.
Nothing special happens here with us. We deal with
everyday tasks. The most important thing is that we are
still in good health. Enclosed is a picture of Lale. He has
undergone the biggest changes. From a child he became
a grown up man. All of us are more or less the same,
only older. We would like to hear how are you and what
do you do. How are your children, the big and the small
ones?
Best regards and love to all of you
Cica and Aunt Vera
Želimir Kučinović:
MOJA BIBLIOTEKA
Ima jedna poslovica koja glasi:"Reci mi šta čitas pa ću ti
kazati ko si." Ne znam da li je to tačno i gdje bi u tom
slučaju mene svrstali, jer raznovrsne su knjige koje čitam,
ja ipak više cijenim misao koju pročitah u jednoj od knjiga
Danila Kiša "....čitanje mnogih knjiga dovodi do mudrosti,
a čitanje jedne jedine do neznanja naoružanog
mahnitošću i mržnjom,". Ne znam da li sam postao
mudriji, ali nisam od ljudi koji mrze. Mnogo sam knjiga
pročitao, a malo ih kupio, jer kupujem one knjige koje ću
ponovo čitati, neke zbog tema koje obradjuju, a druge
zbog ljepote jezika kojim su napisane. Jedna od tih
kupljenih knjiga je i zbirka pripovjedaka "Crvena konjica" i
"Odeske priče" Isaka Babelja. Babelja sam počeo čitati
relativno kasno. Ne sjećam se više je li to bilo 81 ili 82
kad sam u Beogradu, prvi put, gledao predstavu
"Sumrak" po Babeljevom tekstu "Zalazak sunca" u
izvedbi Jugoslovenskog dramskog pozorišta, a drugi put
u Sarajevu, kad je to isto pozorište učestvovalo na
festivalu Malih i eksperimentalnih scena. Nekoliko dana
poslije predstave kupio sam knjigu i evo već skoro
trideset godina, s vremena na vrijeme, ja je iščitavam sa
istim uživanjem.
Isak Emanuilovič Babelj, ruski pripovjedač i dramatičar,
rodio se 1904 u Odesi. Sarađivao sa Boljševicima za
vrijeme revolucije 1917 u Petrogradu. Kao pripadnik
Crvene konjice maršala Buđonija sudjelovao u njezinu
pohodu na Poljsku 1920. Tridesetih godina u strašnoj
klimi ideološkog terora i
staljinističkih
progona
Babelj je zašutio, a svoju
šutnju obrazlagao je na
kongresu
sovjetskih
pisaca maksimom koja će
postati čuvena; "Banalna
riječ
je
kontrarevolucionarna".
Uhapšen je 1939 i
optužen za špijunažu. Po
Staljinovoj
naredbi
strijeljan
je
u
moskovskom
zatvoru
Butirka 27 januara 1940.
Vlasti
su
Babeljevoj
udovici saopštile da je
umro u nekom sibirskom
logoru.
Zašto volim Babeljeve
pripovjetke? Zato što je
on maestralan pripovjedač, priče su kratke, kao pjesme,
napisane u lirskom zanosu i ne trpe epsku dužinu.
Pričama iz knjige "Crvena konjica" (1926) jednim od
najautentičnijh i književno naboljih svjedočanstava o
Oktobru, odmah je izazvao otpor režimske kritike kako
svojim nekonvencionalnim stilom i majstorstvom, tako i
desakralizacijom rata i deheroizacijom njegovih junaka.
U "Odeskim pričama" (1928) Babelj je maestralno opisao
život jevrejske sirotinje u Odesi, često s onu stranu
zakona. Priče su pune nostalgije za jednim vremenom
koje nepovratno nestaje i ljudima kojima nema mjesta u
vremenu koje dolazi.
Kao ilustraciju njegovog pripovjedačkog majstorstva,
izabrao sam priču "Groblje u Kozinu" i jedan odlomak iz
priče" Prelaz preko Zbroca".
Groblje u Kozinu
Groblje u jevrejskoj varošici. Asirija i tajanstveni trulež
Istoka na volinjskim poljima obraslim korovom. Ukrašeno
sivo kamenje sa tristogodišnjim slovima. Grubo ugraviran
reljef, izrezan na granitu. Slika ribe i ovce iznad mrtve
čovječje glave. Slike rabina sa krznenim kapama. Rabini
su opasani remenom iznad uskih kukova. I ispod slijepih
lica,
talasasta
kamena
linija
uvijenih brada. Sa
strane, ispod hrasta
koji
je
munja
smoždila,
leži
grobnica
rabina
Azriila, ubijenog od
kozaka
Bogdana
Hmeljnickog. Četiri
pokoljenja leže u toj
grobnici,
bijednoj,
kao
skrovište
vodonoše. I tablice tablice
obrasle
zelenilom - pjevaju o
njima
kitnjaste
molitve beduina:
"Azriil, sin Ananije,
usta Jehove.
Ilija,
sin
Azriila,
momak koji se borio
sa zaboravom.
Volf, sin Ilije, otet kod Tore, u devetnaestom
proljeću.
Juda, sin Volfa, rabin krakovski i praški.
O, smrti, o, koristoljupče, o, nezajažljivi lopove,
zašto se bar jednom nisi sažalio
na nas."
Prelaz preko Zbroca
"......Polja purpurnog maka cvjetaju oko nas,
podnevni vjetar poigrava se u žutoj raži,
djevičanska heljda uzdiže se na obzorju, poput zida
udaljena samostana. Tiha Volinja vijuga, Volinja
odlazi od nas u bisernu maglu brezovih šumaraka,
a ona uspuzava uza cvjetne brežuljke i iznemoglih
ruku gubi se u šipražju hmelja. Narančasto sunce
kotrlja se po nebu, kao odrubljena glava, nježno se
svjetlo rasplamsava u klancima oblaka, zastave
sunčeva zalaska lebde iznad naših glava. Miris
jučerašnje krvi i ubijenih konja kaplje u večernju
svježinu. Pocrnjeli Zbroc šumi i uvrće pjenušave čvorove
svojih pragova. Mostovi su srušeni, i mi rijeku prelazimo
gazom. Veličanstveni mjesec leži na valovima. Konji
ulaze u vodu do leđa, zvučne bujice struje između stotina
konjskih nogu.
Netko tone i glasno psuje Bogorodicu. Rijeka je posuta
crnim kvadratima kola, ona je puna huke, zvižduka i
pjesama koje se razliježu povrh mjesečevih zmija i
svjetlucavih jama........"
Ako nakon ovog teksta odlučite da kupite knjigu, ili
ponovo pročitate neku od knjiga koju već imate, onda
sam postigao ono što sam želio.
Pročitajte bilo koju knjigu, jer kako reče Orvel; "Osim
željezničkog reda vožnje, nijedna knjiga nije bez estetske
vrijednosti.»
Želimir Kučinović:
MY LIBRARY
There is a saying: “Tell me what you read and I will tell
you who you are”. I do not know whether it is true or not,
but it would be difficult to tell my profile from that because
the books I read are diverse. However, I appreciate more
a thought that I have
read in one of the
books by Danilo Kiš:
“… reading many
books brings forth
wisdom,
while
reading only one
book brings forth
ignorance
armed
with insanity and
hatred”. I am not
sure that I became
wiser, but I am not
among those who
hate others. I read
many
books,
although I have not
bought
many,
because I buy books
that I read again and
again;
some
because of the themes they deal with,
others because of their beautiful language.
One of the books I bought is that of
collected stories containing The Red
Cavalry and The Odessa Tales by Isaac
Babel. I have started reading Babel quite
late in my life. I cannot remember exactly if
it was in 1981 or 82 when I saw in
Belgrade the performance of “Twilight”
based on Babel’s “Sunset”, performed by Yugoslav
Drama Theatre; I saw it the next time in Sarajevo when
that same theatre took part in The Festival of Small and
Experimental Scenes. After the performance I bought the
above mentioned book which I occasionally read with joy
even now after almost thirty years.
Isaac Emmanuelovich Babel, the Russian author of short
stories and drama was born in Odessa in 1894. He joined
the Bolsheviks during the revolution in St Petersburg. As
a member of the Red Cavalry under marshal Budyonny
he was among those who went to the Polish front in
1920. During the terrible climate of ideological terror and
the Stalinist persecutions of the thirties of the last century
Babel fell silent; at the congress of Soviet authors he
explained his silence by a maxim that will become well
known: “A banal word is contra-revolutionary.” He was
imprisoned in 1939, accused of espionage and following
Stalin’s order shot in a Moscow prison on 27 January of
1940. The authorities informed Babel’s widow that he had
died in a Siberia camp.
Why do I like Babel’s stories? He is a master story-teller;
his stories are short, more like poems written in a lyrical
fervour and do not bear epic length. The stories included
in “The Red Cavalry” collection (1926), one of the most
authentic and best testimonies in literature about
October, encountered immediately opposition among the
regime critics, both because of their non-conventional
style and masterly writing and because of his sacrilege of
war and heroes.
In “Odessa Tales” (1928) Babel described with
great skill the life of Odessa poor Jews, who quite often
were on the other side of the law. The stories are laden
with nostalgia for a time which disappears irreversibly
and with people who have no place in the upcoming
times.
To illustrate how great a story-teller he was I selected the
story “The Cemetery in Kozin” and a chapter from
“Crossing the River Zbrucz”.
The Cemetery in Kozin
The cemetery in a shtetl. Assyria and the mysterious
decay of the East on the overgrown, weed-covered fields
of Volhynia. Grey abraded stones with letters three
hundred years old. The rough contours of the reliefs cut
into the granite. The image of a fish and a sheep above a
dead man’s head. Images of rabbis wearing fur hats.
Rabbis, their narrow hips girded with belts. Beneath their
eyeless faces the wavy stone ripple of curly beards. To
one side, below an oak tree cleft in two by lightning,
stands the vault of Rabbi Asriil, slaughtered by Bogdan
Khmelnitsky’s Cossacks. Four generations lie in this
sepulchre, as poor as the hovel of a water carrier, and
tablets, moss-green tablets, sing of them in Bedouin
prayer:
“Asriil, son of Anania, mouth of Jehovah.
Elijah, son of Asriil, mind that fought oblivion hand to
hand.
Wolf, son of Elijah, prince taken
from his Torah in his nineteenth
spring.
Judah, son of Wolf, Rabbi of
Krakow and Prague.
O death, O mercenary, O
covetous thief, why did you not,
albeit one single time, have
mercy upon us?”
Crossing the River Zbrucz
Fields of purple poppies are
blossoming around us, a noon breeze is frolicking in the
yellowing rye, virginal buckwheat is standing on the
horizon like the wall of a faraway monastery. Silent
Volhynia is turning away, Volhynia is leaving, heading
into the pearly white fog of the birch groves, creeping
through the flowery hillocks, and with weakened arms
entangling itself in the underbrush of hops. The orange
sun is rolling across the sky like severed head, gentle
light glimmers in the ravines among the clouds, the
banners of the sunset are fluttering above our heads. The
stench of yesterday’s blood and slaughtered horses drips
into the evening chill. The blackened Zbrucz roars and
twists the foaming knots of rapids. The bridges are
destroyed, and we wade across the river. The majestic
moon lies on the waves. The water comes up to the
horses’ backs, purling streams trickle between hundreds
of horses’ legs. Someone s inks, and loudly curses the
Mother of God. The river is littered with the black squares
of the carts and filled with humming, whistling, and
singing that thunders above the glistening hollows and
the snaking moon.
Should you decide, after reading this text, to buy the
book, or to read again a book that you already have got, I
have achieved what I wanted.
Just read any book because as Orwell said: “above the
level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from
aesthetic considerations.”
Putovanje je bilježenje značajnog i zanimljivog. Značajna su bila sva turistička zdanja: gradovi, muzeji,
galerije, starine, kao i mnogi detalji gradova i mjesta koje sam fotografirao. Detalji su slike i tragovi
vremena mnogih krajeva. To su svjedočanstva povijesti, događaja, naroda, nemara ....
Fotografije detalja su priča i svaki teks bio bi suvišan.
Miroslav Smiljanić
Travelling is recording the significant and the interesting. Notable were all the tourist sites: cities, museums, galleries,
antiques, and many details of cities and places that I photographed. Details are images and traces of ages different
places.
These
are
the
testimonies
of
his tor y,
events,
people,
negligence
....
Photos of details are stories in their own right each text would be superfluous
Miroslav Smiljanić
GRANADA, 2012
MADRID, 2008
GRANADA, 2012
JAFA, 2009
TOLEDO, 2008
CORDOBA, 2012
JERSALEM, 2009
YORK, 2011
SALISBURY, 2009
PARIS, 2010
SAMOBOR, 2009
BERLIN, 2010
PLJESIVICA, 2009
LONDON, 2011
NEUM, 2011
MOSTAR, 2011
NEUM, 2011
ZADAR, 2011
MOSTAR, 2011
Continued from page 2
Kordun and Banija. I was very moved when I
learned about those crimes. When I saw the
ruins of that church – the graves of many innocent victims –
I was horror struck as if I saw the atual killings. To this very
day I avoid visiting churches as they incite fear in me....
....We were exposed to misfortunes, agonies and other
troubles from the arrival of Nazi-Ustasha power, through the
concentration camp and even during our stay on the
liberated territory. We had a high toll to pay for the freedom
we enjoyed from Autumn 1943 to the liberation in the Spring
of 1945. It is a sad reality that during that difficult, dangerous
and tough journey many lost their lives, fell ill, got wounded,
experienced personal and family tragedies etc.. Many of
Rab internees, nevertheless, lived to enjoy the liberation and
freedom, primarily thanks to Tito's Partisans and the
victorious fighting of the Allied forces....
And finally, from the EPILOGUE...
....In September 1993 we arrived in London, where our
daughter and her family were waiting for us. We were
delighted to be with our daughter, son-in-law and grandson
again, but we missed so much our beloved Mostar, our
friends and family. We had left our whole life behind....
....Our first days and years were made much easier by the
warm welcome and support from CBF World Jewish
Relief....Their professionalism and at the same time their
humanity helped us to overcome a very difficult time, to
slowly adjust to the new way of life and finally to become
proud members of the British Society.
SADRŽAJ / CONTENTS
ČITALI SMO / READINGS
Preživjeli smo Drugi svjetski rat/
/ Cezar Danon.................................... 1,2
We survived World War II/
/ Cezar Danon ...................................... 2,12
SARADNICI / CONTRIBUTORS
Sjećanje na Bukija/
/ Dobrivoje Beljkašić ........................... 3/4
Remembering Buki/
/ Dobrivoje Beljkašić ............................... 4/5
Mirjana/
/Albi Papo, Vankuver ............................ 6
Miryana/
/ Albi Papo, Vancouver .......................... 7
IZ BILJEŽNICE … / FROM THE NOTEBOOK
Moja biblioteka/
/ Želimir Kučinović ................................. 8
My library/
/ Želimir Kučinović…………... ................ 9
NAŠE POSJETE 1/ OUR VISITS 1
/ Iz bilježnice Miroslava Smiljanića ......... 10/11
/ Photo notes by Miroslav Smiljanić ....... 10/11
Cezar has still some books available so you can write to
him:
Flat 23
Selig Court
Beverly Gardes
London NW11 9AF
You can also e mail him on [email protected], or
phone on 020 84584653
IZDAVAČ <> PUBLISHER
Jevrejska Zajednica “Prijatelji La Benevolencije” London <> Jewish Society “The Friends of La Benevolencija”
London
ADRESA <> ADDRESS
Shalvata - Jewish Care, Att Mr Branko Danon
Parson Street - Corner of Church Road
London NW4 1QA
Email: [email protected]
REDAKCIJA <> EDITORIAL BOARD
Branka Danon, Branko Danon, Želimir Kučinović, Sveto Gaćinović, Vesna Domany-Hardy, Dragan Ungar
TEHNIČKI UREDNIK I KOMPJUTERSKA OBRADA <> DESIGN AND COMPUTER PROCESSING
Dejan Stojnić
Logo: Daniel Ovadia
SaLon je besplatan i izlazi tromjesečno
Mišljenja u SaLonu nisu nužno
i stajališta urednika ili izdavača.
<>
<>
<>
SaLon is free of charge and published quarterly
The opinions expressed in SaLon are not
necessarely those of the editors or the publisher
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