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 Rukopisi i slike se u pravilu ne vraćaju. ® SaLon