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Thursday
the 22nd [October 1942]
The
days pass quickly. Having finished my few lessons, I began to
do a little housework. I read a book, wrote the diary, and off
to class....
Our
youth works and does not perish. Our history group works. We
listen to lectures about the great French Revolution, about
its periods. The second section of the history group, ghetto
history, is also busy. We are investigating the history of
Courtyard Shavli 4. For this purpose questionnaires have been
distributed among the members, with questions that have to be
asked of the courtyard residents. We have already begun the
work. I go with a friend. The questions are divided into four
parts: question relating to the period of Polish, Soviet and
German rule (up until the ghetto), and in the ghetto. The
residents answer in different ways. Everywhere, however, the
same sad ghetto song: property, certificates, hide-outs, the
loss of things, the loss of relatives. I got a taste of a
historians task. I sit at the table and ask questions and
record the greatest sufferings with cold objectivity. I write,
I probe into details, and I do not realize at all that I am
probing into wounds, and the one who answers me -- indifferent
to it: two sons and a husband taken away -- the sons Monday,
the husband Thursday... And this horror, this tragedy is
formulated by me in three words, coldly and dryly. I become
absorbed in thought, and the words stare out of the paper
crimson with blood....
Sunday
the 13th [December 1942]...
Today
the ghetto celebrated the circulation of the 100,000th book in
the ghetto library. The festival was held in the auditorium of
the theater. We came from our lessons. Various speeches were
made and there was also an artistic program. The speakers
analyzed the ghetto reader. Hundreds of people read in the
ghetto. The reading of books in the ghetto is the greatest
pleasure for me. The book unites us with the future, the book
unites us with the world. The circulation of the 100,000th
book is a great achievement for the ghetto, and the ghetto has
the right to be proud of it.
Y.
Rudashevski, The Diary of the Vilna Ghetto, Tel Aviv,
1973, pp. 72-73, 106. |
