Faces of the Community

Semyon (Sholem) Zilberman

My paternal grandfather, Moishe Zilberman, was from a place called Druya, Vitebsk province (Belarus). There were eight children in the family, and Jewish tradition was fully observed there: they communicated only in Yiddish. Food, of course, was kosher. Shabbat and holidays were observed in accordance with Jewish law. It was in such a traditional family that my father was born into in 1884.

One of his countrymen who owned a sewing studio in Riga offered my father to be his apprentice, providing him with accommodation. I was born in Riga. At that time, the Jews of Riga strictly adhered to the letter of the Jewish law, and no one had heard of non-kosher food.

My mother, Leya Abramovna, was born in the small Belarusian town of Disna. My mother's parents had their own farm with a cow, chickens, and a garden. They also adhered to the Jewish way of life. My mother's father was a talented musician who played the double bass in a klezmer ensemble. Their son, Dovid, my mother's brother, graduated from the St. Petersburg Conservatory in the violin class. He toured several times with the symphony orchestra, including concerts in Raga, and also gave solo performances. My parents were always present at his performances. He last performed in concert in 1926.

In Riga at that time, in my opinion, the living conditions for the Jews were relatively democratic. We lived in the Jewish area. Religious, Zionist, youth and sports organizations were active there. I went to a children's religious kosher camp in Asari, near Riga. Moreover, for the modest income of our family, it was free - wealthy Jews contributed funds for the maintenance of the community. I remember how we picked blueberries there, from which they made jam and baked pies for us. For several pre-war years, my parents rented a cabin on the Riga seaside. There were synagogues nearby, and when my father arrived from the city on the eve of Shabbat (he rode by train, the engine of which was heated with firewood - the smoke was thick!), we went to the synagogue together. When the war began, the Jewish youth of Riga united in groups. There were instructors at schools who explained how to use weapons. My two older brothers, Meir and Henoch, being members of one of these groups, signed up for the militia. Before they left, they went home to say goodbye, and my mother suggested that they evacuate along with the whole family. But they answered: “If not us, who will defend the city?” They did not realize that the fate of the city was already sealed. Before they left, their mother gave them a note with the address of her musician brother, Dovid, who lived in Leningrad, in order to keep in touch with each other through him. On the evening of the next day, June 27, 1941, our friends suggested that a truck should drive up to take people who were about to evacuate to the train. We were lucky – we managed to come running at the last minute before the departure of the car with refugees. Otherwise, we would have shared the tragic fate of six million Jews, my innocent brothers and sisters. The truck was open, soldiers with rifles were sitting along the sides. From the upper floors of the houses the Latvians fired at the fleeing people as we passed. We got to the freight station where the train was. Each compartment, a small space with two benches, had a separate entrance. At first there were five of us, but then refugees crowded in at the stops, and we were riding with terrible crowding. Traveling in this way for three weeks, we finally disembarked at the Kirov region. In mid-July, my mother wrote to her brother in Leningrad, and by that time he had already received a letter from my older brothers. As a result, the family united. In August, my older brother was drafted into the army – into the newly formed Latvian division, 30% of which was made of Jews. In some divisions, classes were even held in Yiddish. Shortly after, we received an official message that my brother died on December 31, 1941 in the village of Elagino, Moscow Region. This is how my family experienced the war. After the war, I became a tailor's apprentice, a job I inherited from my father. For nine years, I worked in a Riga atelier, then I got married and moved to Leningrad, where my family and I lived for twenty-five happy years. In 1979 we moved to Canada and had to start building our lives anew. In 1981, I opened my atelier in the center of a religious district. I worked there for fifteen years and then retired. In our family, we have always adhered to Jewish traditions, celebrated all Jewish holidays. I am a member of the Chabad synagogue. Twenty-five years ago, I unfortunately lost my wife. To this day, I miss her so much. We are glad that we have found ourselves in a country where we have the opportunity to proudly show our Jewishness, and no one prevents us from doing this. I am the proud grandfather of four grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. I wish myself and all the Jewish people a happy sweet New Year, full prosperity and security for our dear Israel.