“The Light Through the Storm” by Margalit Ganor
What would you take with you if you had 10 minutes to pack up everything you owned into a single suitcase smaller than a carry-on bag? Where do you even start? What if you only had one small bag for a husband, wife and their 2-year-old daughter? I remember my wife would take a diaper bag about that size when our kids were little. It fit around the handles of our stroller. But what if you had to fit your whole life in there and couldn’t go back?
The author, Margalit Ganor, was the 2-year-old in her book, “The Light Through the Storm.” Born in Chernowitz, Romania, in 1939, Margalit retold the story of how she survived her childhood, including her birth, which required the doctor to quickly cut the umbilical cord that wrapped around her neck so she wouldn’t suffocate before her life even began. Her family survived the Russians, the Germans and the Romanians in the 1940s. She also chronicled living through the early days of the establishment of the State of Israel, surviving car bombs, mortars and phosphorus bullets that lit up the night sky.
Her survival depended on her very decisive father, Dr. Leon Schmelzer, whom his mother called Machiku. He didn’t hesitate to make critical decisions throughout his life. One of the most critical was to escape the Germans with his wife, Donya, and his daughter, Margalit. He had to make an agonizing choice to leave his elderly mother and his brothers behind, so his wife and daughter could survive — a choice that haunted him for years. His wife, Donya, was also heartbroken, having to leave her parents and siblings behind without being able to say goodbye.
Before the Nazis invaded Romania, the Soviets came. Reading the accounts of the atrocities committed by the Soviets against the Jews in Chernowitz was eye-opening. The NKVD Soviet secret police hunted down Jews involved in the Zionist movement, interrogating and torturing Jewish leaders.
The author stated that her father discovered that if you were given a Soviet ID ending in 3 or 9, you were marked for deportation to Siberia, work camps or worse. When he saw that his new ID was marked, Machiku rushed home and woke up his wife and daughter. Avoiding the Soviets in the darkness, they found an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Chernowitz. The owner agreed to hide them, but not out of the goodness of her heart. Machiku had to threaten to turn her in to the Soviets. She directed them down stone steps into a pig sty next to a chicken coop, where they had to stay hidden in the filth for months until the Germans invaded and the Soviets fled.
The townspeople welcomed the German tanks, thinking they were liberating them from Soviet oppression. They even threw candy to the soldiers. But the relief was very short-lived. The book stated, “The Holocaust for the Jews of Bukovina began on June 22, 1941.” The Germans, with the help of the Romanians, recaptured Northern Bukovina, including the author’s hometown of Chernowitz. The Romanians became the Germans’ accomplices. The author recounted how the Jews were forced into the Ghetto with 30 per house. The Romanian Dictator, Ion Antonescu, ordered that Jews would be shot if they didn’t comply.
The author wrote, “Robberies, looting, massacres, sending Jews to concentration camps, especially to the terrible ones in Transnistria, devastated the community. The suffering was unimaginable. German and Romanian fascists carried out inhuman atrocities.” The area called Transnistria was a series of ghettos, camps, villages, barns and open areas controlled by Ion Antonescu’s Romanian government, where over a hundred thousand Jews died from starvation, disease, exposure, shootings and abuse.
At the center of Margalit’s story was how they escaped the Germans by boat. Machiku told his wife, “Donika, it’s not a ship, just a boat with a motor.” Machiku hoped they could make it to Palestine, but a storm on the high seas and a corrupt captain had other ideas. There were several times when Margalit’s mother lost all hope while enduring bouts of severe illness and starvation.
Along the way, I got an excellent history lesson, including learning more about the British restrictions on immigration to Palestine and the relationship between Britain and Cyprus, where many Jews were sent. I was also given a behind-the-scenes view of the early grassroots Zionist movement.
I thought the book might end after surviving the Germans, but I was surprised when the story kept going. The reader gets a glimpse of the early days of the State of Israel. Margalit talked about her school life in Palestine, when she felt like an immigrant outsider. There were bullets through her house, bombings in the streets and mortars during Israel’s War of Independence. Her little brother, Yossi, was called a “sabra,” since he was born in Israel. Margalit explained that a sabra is a cactus fruit symbolic of the Israeli people — soft inside and prickly on the outside.
As an adult, Margalit joined a group called “The Next Generations of Holocaust and Heroism,” where members share their stories. The group’s workshops were the impetus for Margalit to begin writing her book.
It doesn’t surprise me that Margalit would become a great storyteller. They couldn’t bring toys, so her mother had to keep her calm by telling her stories. She loved hearing her mother’s stories. She made it through the danger in Palestine by getting lost in books like “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “Montezuma’s Daughter.” She explained that she couldn’t remember exact details before she was 6 years old, so she had to fill in the blanks with what her family told her, research and her own imagination.
I quite enjoyed the beginning of the book, where Margalit wrote about her mother and father’s impromptu marriage. It could stand alone as its own play. She wrote engaging scenes with dialogue between the key characters of her life. Getting engaged in Romania back in 1939 was nothing like today. Margalit’s children asked her mother, “Grandma, did he kiss you after asking for your hand in marriage?” “There was no such thing in those days,” her mother replied emphatically.
In the epilogue, Margalit searched for the graves of her relatives. What is it about us Jews that makes us value visiting cemeteries so much? It’s not only the sad fact that so many were lost, but that our families and friends will not be forgotten. It’s the feeling of connection you get when you locate your loved one’s grave or find their name on a memorial wall.
I’m seeing more survival stories in print lately, and I think they all offer unique perspectives. The stories bring light to a time that is farther away in years, but closer with the recent rise of antisemitism. I highly recommend reading Margalit’s story. I will remember her father wearing his light-colored ironed shirt, khaki pants down to the knees, and a brown belt to match his brown shoes. He is smiling in the “Promised Land.”