I suppose, that you will be surprised at the fact that being a citizen of Israel I visit Kazakhstani sites. But I really do! My name is Ionya, in Hebrew it means Dove. On www.mitsva.kz I read the articles about the First International conference "Jews in Kazakhstan: History, Religion, Culture" and decided to tell about my family, because every Jew who lives and lived here is a part of the history. I was born in Kiev in 1937. The WWII started when I was four years old. My family was evacuated to Kazakhstan - I, my mother, and my father who could not serve in the army, because his legs were paralyzed.

  We settled in the Guryev region, Baksay district. As far as I remember our village was called Karmanovo, however, I may be wrong. We were received very warmly. We were given a flat and I began going to the kindergarten. Everything was fine. But in spring 1942 there was a sever flood in Ural River, and we had to leave our new home.

  The flood is one of the most vivid recollections of my childhood. That day is standing before my eyes as I am writing it. Together with another boy I was seated into a bullock-cart to which a camel was harnessed. When we approached the river the camel suddenly turned round and the cart overturned. I fell down into the water. The current was so strong that fishers got me out only half a mile downstream. I was alive, but stuttered for a long time. Thanks G-d everything turned out all right.

  What else do I remember? There was hunger, because all food was sent to the front. In the kindergarten I was given 12 ounces bread and a glass of milk - and that was all! At first my family was also given herring, my mother steeped it and then cooked soup. Soon the herring was over. In summer mother found some roots to feed father and me. They resembled horse-raddish, but were sweet.

  We were happy when father finally found a job. He became a manager of the local club. He was a professional painter and soon the club turned to a big picture. It was impossible to find oil paints, but my father did not give up. He devised some mixtures himself and painted the walls. Once he was called to Guryev city to some seminar. It was still warm and he got there without problems. But then there was a heavy fall of snow, and he could not come back. One of the natives told him: "If you give me a kilo of tobacco, I will take you home on a camel".

  My father had been gathering cigarette stubs on the streets for the whole month. Then he gave the tobacco to that man and they set out for their journey. But a raging winter blizzard began. The camel was a dromedary and the wind blew my father away from its back. But the guide did not notice it and went further. My father had been lying in snow for three days till some car found him and took him to the hospital. His legs were frostbitten and he had his fingers amputated. What can I say? The time was horrible and the life was terrible. We lived in Kazakhstan for three years and then moved back to Kiev. It was also hard to live there.

  I visited Kazakhstan several times after the war. In 1956 I took part in harvesting in virgin lands of Uralsk and Kokchetav regions. When I was 30 years old and worked in Kiev television I made business trips there. I do not know how to explain it, but in my soul Kazakhstan is the second motherland. I have only warm recollections about that big country. And though I have lived in Israel for 12 years, I often see the country of endless steppes and high mountains in a dream!

Iona Shleifman