Nathan Kisler

“As a signaller, one day I was sent to marshal Zhukov. When I came there, I asked them where Marshal Zhukov was, and they told me that he was over there, and pointed at a man who was sitting in the snow. He didn’t have any water, and so he was eating snow with his sandwich. This man was Marshal Zhukov. We began talking; he kept calling me Ivan Ivanovich. Later, I even received the medal with this name. He told me: ´Ivan Ivanovich, on May 7, we will be in Prague!´ I wondered: ´Marshal Zhukov, today is January 16. How can you know so precisely where you will be several months from now?´ He replied convincingly: ´This is Stalin’s order, and thus it will be so. Stalin’s orders must be kept!´ Well, he managed even more than he had promised. On May 7, he was already in Berlin with his tanks.”

“I crossed the border in 1941. Since that time, nobody called me by another name but Vaňka, which helped me a lot, because Vaňka is a very common Russian and Ukrainian name, and therefore nobody thought that I was a Jew. I got to Pukhovo, which is in Russia. I worked there as a delivery man. I was transporting grain to the storehouse. It occurred to me that the inhabitants were not getting much flour. I went to the commander and told him: ´Every day, you eat hard bread, and I could bring you soft white bread every day. Just give me a letter for the flour-mill and I will take care of everything.´ Since that time I was delivering a sack of white flour to a different family everyday and they were giving me food in return. I was happy that they had everything and that there would be less left for the Germans.”

“I’m telling you that had it not been for the Russian army, the outcome of the war would have been entirely different. It would have been a terrible catastrophe. The Russians did lose one million lives, but they have saved the world. Perhaps it would have been possible to win without the Russians, but the victory would have come maybe two or three years later, and who would have been alive then? Nobody!”

“The Germans found a guy, his name was Proska. They taught him to speak Czech very well. They thought that he would then not be regarded as a German, but as a Czech. I was not impressed by this. As a signaller, I had to change the password frequently, and I would always walk to town to get a new password. One day I was returning a bit later. I was walking carefully, because there was shooting going on. All of a sudden, I hear somebody speaking German. Mr. Proska was reporting precise the positions of all our units. I approached him and asked him what he was doing. He was just making excuses, saying he didn’t do anything. I told him: ´Proska, it’s over for you!´ I reported it to Commander Kodriš, and he said: ´Let it be, give him one more chance!´ He was a Ukrainian and he was a staunch anti-Semite. So I ordered Proska to build some shelter for himself further away from the front and wait for me to come. When I came there, the shelter was burning. ´Proska, what happened?´ He replied: ´I lit a cigarette, and it caught fire.´ I knew he was lying. He still tried to signal our position to the Germans. The last thing I did to him was send him to the front. There was a very good and intelligent guy from the Ural serving there, whom you could always rely upon. I sent Proska to him. Then I tried to contact them over the radio but there was no reply. I joined a group which was about to go there in order to find out what was wrong. When we got there, I found out that the radio was turned off. I asked him: ´Proska, what does that mean? This is your end.´ No matter what the commander had said before, Proska was sent to the punitive troop. He even threatened to take revenge on me. I thought: ´You want to take revenge on me?! You’ll have to wait a pretty long for that!´”

“When I arrived to Terezín I went to see the doctor, a German doctor, and I showed him the release permit for my sister. He said: ´No way.´ I didn’t know that my sister was in quarantine. I wanted to hit him with the chair, but then I let it be. A Czech man then came in and told me: ´Mr. Kisler, wait a moment, I’ll take care of it you.´ He tore the slip of paper and wrote another one for me, this time without the quarantine, and so I went to see my sister. But she insisted that we take another seven people with us. But I had no release documents for them. What was worse, they didn’t even speak Russian because they were from Romania. But what was I to do? I went to the commander and declared that they were my relatives. They thought it strange that I found them there, but I claimed that it was because of the war: ´You know – that’s the war! Unexpectedly, I found them all here.´ He took a look at the ´source of my happiness,´ but luckily he didn’t ask any questions and he let us go. We went to the car in which I arrived, but it full and there was nearly no place to sit. On top of that, I only had three release permits. But you know, the Russians soldiers were often illiterate, and so I agreed with the driver that he would pass slowly by the guard and I would throw the guard the paper slips for all the people who were in the car. And this way we managed to pass through.”