89 year old Holocaust survivor Reva Monczak holds a picture of her parents, Basia and David Rozwaski.
MOVING FORWARD Holocaust Survivor Reva Monczak STORY BY MICHAEL SEGUIN PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN LIVIERO
REVA ROZWASKI GREW UP in a small town in Poland called Diatlova, which is now located in Belarus. “I grew up in an old, traditional family,” Reva states. “My father was the third eldest of eight. My grandfather was wounded by the Germans during the First World War with a bayonet, and became deaf. So, my father took the reins of the family business.” The Rozwaski’s came from a long line of traders, who often served as the intermediaries between farmers and consumers. “Growing up, I had a normal life,” Reva states. “I’m the oldest of three. I have a younger brother, Chaim, and sister, Miriam. I played with my friends. Saturday, we went to synagogue. We had half a hectare around the house. We had horses, chickens, a goat. Our house was on a big highway, near the village. We didn’t know anything else. Until the war came.” On September 30st, 1939, the Russians attacked Germany, dividing Poland down the middle. “When the Red Army came in, they advanced down the highway,” Reva states. “We stood outside watching the soldiers on their horses with their black capes. The sun was already setting. It was a nice autumn day. And one
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soldier bent down and gave my little brother a ride on his shoulders. He spoke to my father. Then, he put my brother down and marched on.” Life changed under the Russian government. Private grocery stores were outlawed. Business owners were shipped to Siberia for hard labour. A noxious cloud of paranoia fell over Diatlova. However, life under Russian rule was just the first dark cloud in the raging storm that would eventually consume their lives. “I can still see it now,” Reva states. “It was a gorgeous day. The whole family was in the backyard at my grandfather’s. Somebody came running. He told us that Germany had attacked Russia.” Five days later, on June 27th, 1941, a German plane landed near the Rozwaski household. The Germans began their reign of terror with a purge. “All Jews were told to come to the market with shovels, because they were going to go to work,” Reva states. “There was a table with the S.S. and barking German Shepherds around. One man started calling names from a list. They called out 120 names. The lawyers, the doctors, the businessmen, the rabbi.” Reva’s father and his older brother were two of the names called. That morning, one hundred and twenty Jews were shot and killed not far from town. “They told them to dig the grave, then they shot them,” Reva states. “We found out after the war.” Life under the German heel continued for several months. No one was allowed on the sidewalks or the streets. The schools shut down. Before long, the Jews were commanded to wear the Star of David on their chests to identify themselves. And, unbeknownst to the Rozwaski family, Reva’s mother was expecting. “Mother had good days and bad days,” Reva recalls. “She was getting heavier. She didn’t talk much. She just knitted. I still remember her with a brown ball of wool, just knitting.” And then, in January 1942, Reva’s younger brother was born. “He was beautiful,” Reva states. “Cherry-black eyes and a sweet smile. He understood that he had to be good. He never cried.” That February, the German noose tightened. The Rozwaski’s were ordered to abandon their home and relocate to the newly-formed ghetto. And by April, tragedy struck again. “We woke up one morning to commotion,” Reva recalls. “Dogs were barking. People were stamping their boots. We were summoned to the marketplace and lined up. A man stood at the front of the line. He would look at you and say ‘right’ or ‘left.’” Sent right, the Rozwaski family was marched out of town, to the highway. There, the community was again sorted—right and left. Reva, her siblings, her aunt, her Uncle Shlomo and her cousin were sent right—back to town. Her mother and infant brother were sent left. Into the forest.
