Segula - The Jewish Journey Through History

Segula - The Jewish Journey Through History Introducing Segula, a unique Jewish history magazine straight from Jerusalem! Discover your past.

In four vibrant print issues each year, Segula tells the remarkable story of the people of the book. Our lavishly illustrated articles bring you face to face with Jews who have changed history – Jewish and general – and brings that history back to the forefront of our consciousness, where it belongs. Segula is a print magazine but you can check out a sample issue here: https://en.calameo.com/read/004663782a7e6e405c667

Celebrate 59 years of united Jerusalem with Segula Magazine!In honor of Yom Yerushalayim (Jerusalem Day) this coming Fri...
13/05/2026

Celebrate 59 years of united Jerusalem with Segula Magazine!

In honor of Yom Yerushalayim (Jerusalem Day) this coming Friday:
Read Barak Brenner’s account of how the Nahal Brigade's Ginat Group resettled the Old City's demolished Jewish Quarter after its liberation in 1967 >>>

https://segulamag.com/en/new-life-jerusalems-old-city/
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Celebrate 59 years of united Jerusalem with Segula Magazine!In honor of Yom Yerushalayim (Jerusalem day) this coming Fri...
12/05/2026

Celebrate 59 years of united Jerusalem with Segula Magazine!

In honor of Yom Yerushalayim (Jerusalem day) this coming Friday:
Read Tehila Bigman’s in-depth interview with Res. General U*i Eilam, commander of the paratroopers who liberated the Western Wall, on the historic moment when Jerusalem was finally united:
https://segulamag.com/en/through-lions-gate/
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“We warmly welcome the first buds that have appeared in our movement in the form of the youth organization ‘Bnei Akiva.’...
05/05/2026

“We warmly welcome the first buds that have appeared in our movement in the form of the youth organization ‘Bnei Akiva.’ Blessed be this young flock, in whom our hope for redemption and the freedom of our people rests. They are the generation of our future and our continuation. It is fitting that they chose to be named after Rabbi Akiva ben Yosef – who symbolizes all that is lofty and exalted in the struggle for the liberation of the homeland, and who gave his life in sanctification of the name of the God of Israel and His Torah.”
(Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, from Netivah, a biweekly for national religious youth and workers, 14 Nisan 5689, 1929)

Today 97 years ago, on Lag BaOmer in 1929, the youth movement Bnei Akiva was founded.

Though the first steps had actually been taken a few months earlier, Lag BaOmer was set as its official founding day.

Two young pioneers driven by a deep sense of mission were behind its creation: Yechiel Eliash and Menachem Charuvi.

Eliash was born in Czyżew, in the Białystok region. Charuvi was born in the town of Antopol, in the Grodno district.

Both were educated in cheder and later in a yeshiva high school. Eliash continued his studies at the Lomza Yeshiva, where he also became active in the Mizrachi Zionist movement. He later spent time at the Novardok Yeshiva, known for its Mussar discipline, and at the Tachkemoni school in Białystok.

Charuvi came to the Land of Israel at fifteen, studied at the Mizrachi school, and later became a student at the Hebrew University where he helped found the religious students’ association “Yavneh.”

Eliash arrived at seventeen and went on to study at Rabbi Kook’s Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav, while remaining active in Hapoel HaMizrachi.

Both believed with all their hearts that young people had a vital role to play in shaping a just society. They dreamed of a youth movement that would unite two ideals – Torah and labor – Torah va’Avodah – educating young people toward activism, responsibility and the pioneer spirit.

Early in 1929 (in Adar I) they gathered in Jerusalem with a group of like-minded friends and resolved to establish a new youth movement. Eliash later recalled:

“For us, Rabbi Akiva symbolized the ideals of Torah and labor more than any other figure. He was a worker, a shepherd, a national fighter, and a scholar – devoted in his entirety to Torah and halakhah. Rabbi Akiva saw every person as a human being, and so did we: our aim was not to push others away, but to draw them near. We are Rabbi Akiva’s students – we are Rabbi Akiva.”

Eliash, full of energy and enthusiasm, quickly drafted the movement’s constitution and outlined a detailed educational program. He approached the leadership of Hapoel HaMizrachi for support – but the committee members disappointed him.

After consulting educational experts, they concluded that there was no hope for a religious youth movement, arguing that youth movements are by definition hotbeds of rebellion; religion and youth activism were thus an impossible combination.

They also feared that mixed gatherings in clubs would draw religious youth away from their studies.

But rather than give up, Eliash and his determined companions started out on their own – and were soon rewarded with Rabbi Kook’s warm approval and blessing.

They established a framework of activity that included discussions, drills, seudah shlish*t, and communal singing. By Lag B’Omer that year, the movement had eighty devoted members.🔥

In 1931, Rabbi Moshe Zvi Neria – later known as the “father of Bnei Akiva” – joined the movement and had a profound influence on its development. Its guiding motto, “Sanctify your life through Torah and purify it through labor,” became a way of life for hundreds of thousands of members and alumni.

Bnei Akiva became much more than a local community initiative. It grew into a major national force. Its graduates helped establish religious kibbutzim, frontier communities, hesder yeshivot, and pre-military academies – contributing significantly to the security and growth of the State of Israel. 🏘️🇮🇱

📷 Photo: girls taking part in Bnei Akiva activities, 1930s. From the Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi Archive, Peretz Beidatz and Judith Albukhar Collection.
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This week, 105 years ago, on May 1 (23 Nisan), 1921, riots erupted in Jaffa.In a wave of murder, looting, plunder, and r...
30/04/2026

This week, 105 years ago, on May 1 (23 Nisan), 1921, riots erupted in Jaffa.

In a wave of murder, looting, plunder, and r**e that began during a May Day workers’ parade from Jaffa to Tel Aviv, violence spread swiftly to other towns and settlements.
🕯️Forty-seven Jews were killed.

Here is the story of the defenders of Immigration House in Jaffa:

Sunday May 1 was a sweltering day. The day before, the Yishuv had marked the final day of Pesach, and Jewish members of the workers’ movements were eagerly preparing for the first May Day procession ever planned in the Land of Israel.

🏠 Immigration House on Ajami Street in Jaffa was a well-known landmark, serving as a first port of call for groups of Jewish pioneers immediately after disembarking in Jaffa.

The boarding-house was run by Doba and Yehuda Cherkassky, whose three young children – Moishi, Chayele and Reuvik – darted through its corridors, caught up in the constant bustle.

Just the day before, the family had joyfully celebrated their eldest son Moishe’s bar mitzvah.

At midday, the newly arrived immigrants gathered for a meal. Doba Cherkassky was busy in the kitchen, while members of the latest cohort of arrivals – who’d arrived from Serbia just ten days earlier – sat together in the dining hall. Suddenly, shouts rang out from outside: “The Arabs are attacking us!”

The residents rushed into the courtyard. They found a number of casualties, covered in blood, lying at the entrance. Pulling them inside, they quickly barred the gates and shutters.

Shmuel Polyakov, one of the veteran pioneer boarders, organized everyone to defend the house.

They tore iron bars from the courtyard fences and split into three groups to guard all three entrances.

Within minutes, the main gate had been broken down and attackers tried to force their way inside. The young defenders managed to push them back and lock the gate again – but then a shout came from the rooftop: the rear gate was under attack as well.

Doba Cherkassky stood at the front line, urging the youngsters on as they struggled to hold their ground.

They held out for forty minutes – until Arab police officers arrived.

The defenders were convinced that the police had come to help them. Instead, the officers fired at the gate and broke it open for the mob.

The attackers surged into the courtyard, armed with knives and clubs, and began slaughtering the Jews.

Some of the pioneers managed to hide in the attic; others were brutally murdered – stabbed or shot inside the dining hall.

Doba and Yehuda Cherkassky, together with their children Moshe and Reuven and several young women, locked themselves in the family room beside the dining hall. Yehuda dragged a wooden wardrobe against the door to block it. From the other side came screams, cries and gunfire.

Yehuda opened the door leading to the small courtyard beside the French Hospital and ordered the women to flee.

Doba chose to stay behind and defend the house. She gave her young son Reuven to the housekeeper and sent them both to safety. Then she took a kitchen knife and stood ready.

Yehuda tried to break his way out, wielding an axe. He made it as far as the courtyard – where he was stabbed and died of his wounds. Doba was stabbed to death in the doorway.

Fifteen Jews were killed at Immigration House, and dozens more were wounded.🕯️

The three Cherkassky children survived: little Reuvik, who was smuggled out during the chaos; Chayele, who was hospitalized in the French Hospital at the time; and Moshe – the eldest – who saw his parents murdered before his eyes, and survived only through his own presence of mind: lying down among the corpses in the dining hall, he feigned death.

📷 Photo: the staff of Immigration House: standing, Doba Cherkassky with Yehuda dressed in a suit; their children, Moshe, Reuven and Chaya, are seated below.
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“I was a child, and like all children I played and sang, and made up stories to tell the baby. With Sheyna’s help, I lea...
28/04/2026

“I was a child, and like all children I played and sang, and made up stories to tell the baby. With Sheyna’s help, I learned to read and write, and even do a little arithmetic – though I didn’t start school in Pinsk, as I should have. 'A golden child, they called you,' my mother said, 'Always busy with something.'”
(Golda Meir, My Life)

One hundred and twenty-eight years ago today, on 11 Iyar 5658 (May 3 1898), Golda Meir was born.

Much has been written about her work as a diplomat, politician and Prime Minister of Israel. But not so many people know about her unusual childhood:

Golda Meir had just a handful of happy memories from her first eight years in Russia. At the beginning of her remarkable memoir she recalls that throughout her adulthood, the hardships her family endured in her early life would come back to haunt her: poverty, cold, hunger – and above all, fear. It was fear, she wrote, that stood out most vividly in her memory.

When she was about four years old, the family moved for a while to Kyiv. They lived in constant dread of pogroms:

“I didn’t know then, of course, what a pogrom was, but I knew it had something to do with being Jewish and with the rabble that used to surge through town, brandishing knives and huge sticks, screaming “Christ killers”’ as they looked for the Jews, and I knew they were going to do terrible things to me and to my family.”

She later described how her father and his neighbor, who also had a small girl, tried to barricade the entrance with wooden boards:

“To this day I remember how scared I was and how angry that all my father could do to protect me was to nail a few planks together while we waited for the hooligans to come.”

More than anything, she remembered what struck her even then, at the age of four: the awareness that she was different from the other children, and the understanding that, as a Jew, one had to take effective action if one was to survive.

A year later, when she was five, the family left Kyiv and returned to their hometown of Pinsk. Despairing of finding work, her father handed her over to be cared for by her grandparents rather than watch his children go hungry,

Eventually, determined to improve his family’s situation, her father set out for America, hoping to change his fate in the “goldene medina”. He dreamed of making his fortune quickly, returning to his children in Pinsk, and giving them a better life.

With great difficulty he scratched together the money for the journey – and left his family behind for three long years.

With her father far away, one figure stood out in shaping Golda’s life during those years: her older sister Sheyna – a remarkable, intense and intelligent young woman.

“By any standard, she was an unusual person, and for me she was a shining example, my dearest friend, and my mentor.”

At fourteen, Sheyna was already a revolutionary. As a member of the socialist Zionist movement in Pinsk, she risked arrest and harsh punishment at the hands of the Tsar’s soldiers.

Golda recalled how her sister hosted meetings of the movement in their home – much to their mother’s alarm. At times, when the sisters quarrelled, young Golda would even threaten to report Sheyna to the local policeman.

Looking back, she summed up her sister’s influence in a single line:
“I must have begun, when I was about six or seven, to grasp the philosophy that underlay everything that Sheyna did: There is only one way to do anything: the right way.”

📷 Photo: Golda Meir as a child in Pinsk, from her book _My Life_.

See more of Golda's political career as prime minister in the Yom Kippur War on our website: https://segulamag.com/en/critics-iron-woman-of-yom-kippur/

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“Yes, we set out for the open fields,loaded up the cars,and headed off for a picnic – a picnic.Yes, I prepared the skewe...
22/04/2026

“Yes, we set out for the open fields,
loaded up the cars,
and headed off for a picnic – a picnic.
Yes, I prepared the skewers,
and even strapped the kids in –
a picnic at Mesubim Junction.”
(“The Barbecue Song,” Yair Nitzani)

The question of the character, spirit, and official status characterizing Israel Independence Day has occupied its lawmakers since the very first days of the state.

🇮🇱 Israel’s first Independence Day in 1949 was already being marked with public performances staged at considerable expense, hoping to draw people out onto the streets and town squares and sweep them up into “spontaneous” celebrations. That tradition has continued ever since.

🎤🎹🪗 A government committee organized the festivities, aiming to etch the national story in the public’s consciousness.

Launched during the Jewish state’s first decade, a torch-lighting event, the Israel Prize award ceremony, and a Bible quiz all continue to this day. The first of these has proven especially popular, mainly because it eases the abrupt transition from Memorial Day, observed the day before.

During Israel’s first two decades, a military parade capped the celebrations, but it was abolished in the 1970s.

The committee also organized fireworks in the big cities (except for the year these American imports arrived too late). The pyrotechnics, set off by the army or youth cadets, generally kicked off the festivities. 🎆

Yet the political and cultural establishment wanted Israelis to be more than just spectators at parades, ceremonies, and outdoor entertainment. Repeated attempts to actively involve the populace included folk dancing, then the epitome of Zionist culture. 💃🏿

The only traditions meriting an extensive response were the public ones – such as the torch-lighting ceremony and the stage shows.

However, the establishment failed to come up with anything other than spectator events. Perhaps for lack of anything better to do, Independence Day’s most familiar pastime emerged – picnicking in nature, which over the years came to focus on the family mangal (barbecue). 🍢🍡🍽️

Ultimately, a festive family meal indeed developed, but not exactly as the education minister had envisioned it.

The JNF encouraged the trend by developing extensive picnic grounds modeled on American national parks.

The first such campsite was established in 1962 on Mount Meron, and by 1968 there were fifty-six more, visited by hundreds of thousands annually, mainly on holidays.

How did the various traditions of marking Independence Day take shape – and above all, how did the family barbecue become its most widespread custom?

Read more in Prof. Hezki Shoham’s fascinating article in the latest edition of Segula >>
https://segulamag.com/en/cooking-up-independence-barbecues-on-israel-independence-day/

📷 Photo: Crowds picnic in a forest, Independence Day 1976, from the National Library of Israel collection (Dan Hadani Archive, Pritzker Collection).

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“Here they lost their lives, but not their nerve.”(Inscribed on the monument commemorating the Palmah fighters killed in...
20/04/2026

“Here they lost their lives, but not their nerve.”
(Inscribed on the monument commemorating the Palmah fighters killed in the battle for San Simon, Jerusalem, 1948)

The battle fought at Jerusalem’s San Simon Monastery was among Israel’s most iconic in the history of the War of Independence and the State of Israel. Eighteen soldiers lost their lives, but to a large extent, the battle for Jerusalem was won.🕯️

This heroic story had a crucial impact on the IDF’s fighting spirit and ethos, and generations of soldiers and officers have been trained in light of their example.

The San Simon Greek Orthodox monastery stands on a hill in the Katamon neighborhood, which before 1948 was home to well-off Arab and Christian families.

Its strategic position overlooks all the southern districts of Jerusalem: Talpiot, Makor Hayim, Arnona and Kibbutz Ramat Rachel; whoever controlled it could also target the nearby Jewish neighborhoods of Kiryat Shmuel and Rehavia.

The Hagana district command was concerned that the southern part of Jerusalem was vulnerable to Arab attack, potentially cutting it off from the rest of the city beyond the reach of resupply efforts or reinforcements.

They decided that the mixed Katamon district had to be secured; the first stage of such an operation was to conquer the San Simon hill and the monastery for which it was named.

Among the casualties of the battle was Rafael Eitan, affectionately known as Raful, later IDF commander-in-chief. He took a bullet to the head, and thought he was about to die. Rafael Eitan had been shot in the head, but insisted on continuing to fight. His comrades gave him a short-barreled English rifle and tied him to a chair atop a table by a window, and he kept sniping away at the enemy hiding among the stone terraces.

Eitan later remembered metal reliefs of saints flanking the window, both of which were hit by Arab fire. Visiting the monastery years afterward, he asked where the images were. A monk showed him two reliefs, now repaired, and pointed to the name beneath one of them: the angel Raphael.

Many years later, shortly after he became commander-in-chief in 1978, Raful spoke at the President’s house and recalled the vital battle:

“Not far from here, the future of Jerusalem as Israel’s eternal capital was determined in a fierce battle thirty years ago. I was privileged to be part of it, and it’s my privilege to stand here today, in this place, and accept the post of commander in chief.”

Why was that battle so unique? What set it apart from the many other painful struggles for Jerusalem and the vital road to the city in the War of Independence? And why did it leave such an indelible mark on those who fought there?

📷 Photo: Reenactment of the battle for San Simon during the 1950s, courtesy of the Palmach photo archive and Pikiwiki

Read more about the heroic battle of San Simon on the Segula website in Yeshurun Fischer’s featured article: https://segulamag.com/en/the-battle-on-the-hill/
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“During the ten months of occupation, so much happened – every single day. I’d have to talk day and night for weeks to t...
14/04/2026

“During the ten months of occupation, so much happened – every single day. I’d have to talk day and night for weeks to tell it all… At the time when we began the operation to save the Jews of Budapest, all active Zionists had already left the city and I was the only one left there out of the entire leadership. There was no one with me to share in the rescue initiative. And so I must speak only for myself.”
(Moshe Krausz)

The story of Hungarian Jewry’s rescue is indelibly attached in Israeli collective memory with the controversial figure of Israel Kastner and the ransom train he packed with well-known Jewish figures as well as his own family. Yet a far larger operation – one that saved over 40,000 Hungarian Jews, the largest rescue effort of the Holocaust – was the result of the tireless work and sheer, brazen courage of one man: Moshe Krausz.

In 1944, as the N**i army entered Hungary and its Jewish community faced imminent catastrophe, two distinct strategies emerged within the Zionist leadership. On one side stood Kastner, representing the Zionist leadership in pre-state Israel and aligned with the Mapai Labor party, who believed that only direct negotiations with the N**i high command – striking “deals” with the Germans – could save lives.

On the other side, there was only Moshe Krausz, head of the Palestine Office in Budapest and a member of the Mizrachi religious Zionist movement. Distrusting German intentions, Krausz chose the path of bold, creative diplomatic resistance – an approach that ultimately led to rescue on a far broader scale.

Under the murderous rule of the Hungarian Arrow Cross Party, Krausz managed to turn a disused glass factory – the Glass House in Budapest – into a diplomatic shelter working around the clock to save Budapest’s Jewish population.

Working in close cooperation with the Swiss vice-consul Carl Lutz, he devised an ingenious system for issuing protective papers and collective passports.

What began as an official immigration initiative evolved into a vast operation of documentation – and sometimes downright forgery – shielding tens of thousands of Jews and granting them diplomatic protection in the heart of Budapest. Even after the official Jewish leadership disintegrated and went underground, Krausz remained, almost alone, to wage a desperate rearguard battle against Adolf Eichmann and the Hungarian killing squads.

The Swiss consulate, relocated to the building known as the Glass House, was considered extraterritorial. Krausz and Lutz transformed it into an office for arranging immigration papers to the Land of Israel.

Inside, workers prepared protective documents, issuing each Jew registering there a certificate from the Swiss consulate stating that they were enroute for emigration to Palestine – and were therefore under Swiss protection and shielded from deportation.

Krausz bore official responsibility for the operation of the Glass House. Each morning when the office opened, there were already lines outside stretching four city blocks away. Even in the afternoon hours, when Jews were forbidden to be out in the streets, there were still many who made their way there – and the police didn’t interfere.

The protective papers issued at the Glass House became a lifeline for countless Jews.

Read more in Segula about this extraordinary story of civilian courage in Dr. Ayala Nedivi’s article, The House that Krausz Built: https://www.calameo.com/read/0078446409d02c16dbafa

📷 Photo: the Glass House, Budapest.
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“The man who ruled this place with unbridled authority – serving in effect as both kapo and block elder – was actually a...
13/04/2026

“The man who ruled this place with unbridled authority – serving in effect as both kapo and block elder – was actually a Jew. Unusually large in stature, his name was Yaakov. The Germans had appointed him ‘all-powerful’ in Auschwitz. Even prisoners of German origin and SS men of various ranks feared him. Yet toward Jewish children he was gentle and kind, and more than once we were lucky enough to receive sweets from him.”
(Beni Wircberg, From the Valley of Slaughter to Sha’ar HaGai, Hebrew, on the kapo Yakov Kozalchik)

The phenomenon of the Jewish kapos – prisoners appointed by the SS to oversee their fellow Jews in camps and ghettos – remains, to this day, one of the most painful, complex and unresolved issues in Holocaust remembrance.

For many survivors, the kapo embodied the system’s most brutal face. Yet each had a human story steeped in contradiction, fear, the instinct to survive, and at times even courage and self-sacrifice.

Their figures provoked fierce debates in Israel in the decades after the war; what standards of morality and human behavior could be expected in the very throes of the struggle to stay alive?

Some forty Jewish kapos who had immigrated to Israel were prosecuted under the N**is and N**i Collaborators (Punishment) Law. Most were acquitted or received relatively light sentences.

During the Adolf Eichmann Trial, a Jewish kapo named Vera Alexander from Czechoslovakia caught the public eye. She had served both as a kapo and as head of a labor unit in Auschwitz.

Her testimony stood out among those of regular survivors; she explained the essence of the kapo’s role, showing how, at times, those appointed to such positions managed to save lives. Presented by the prosecution as a figure who supported and protected others, her words helped reshape public discourse in Israel, revealing the deep ambivalence inherent in the role.

Alexander recounted how, as a block elder in Auschwitz, she secured soap, food and clothing for the women under her charge; how she helped one prisoner hide her child in the block; how she tried to transfer women marked for the gas chambers to labor instead; and how she refused to conceal what was truly happening from the prisoners – even though she’d explicitly been ordered to remain silent.

“Tell me, Mrs. Alexander,” asked prosecutor Gideon Hausner, “how was it possible to be a block elder in Auschwitz and still preserve your humanity, your Divine image?”

She answered in hesitant Hebrew, her face drawn with anguish:
“It wasn’t easy. It required great tact as well as strategy. On the one hand, to listen to the orders and carry them out; and on the other, to harm the prisoners as little as possible – and to help them.”

Before the Eichmann trial, public attitudes toward the kapos had been starkly different. Alexander recalled that one day, while waiting for a bus, she was confronted and shouted at by a fellow survivor. The woman had apparently recognized the number tattooed on Alexander’s arm – 5236 – as an indication of her early arrival in Auschwitz.

Like Vera Alexander, Judita Magiliuskaite also served as a Jewish kapo.

She was born in Rietavas in western Lithuania – a strikingly beautiful girl, with golden hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Yet what nature had granted her may also have sealed her cruel fate…

Of three sisters, Judita was the only one to survive the Holocaust. Fleeing home from German forces with her family, she moved from one ghetto to another: the Telz ghetto where her sisters were both killed, the Šiauliai ghetto where she was first appointed as a kapo in charge of a labor unit. From there she was transferred to the brutal Stutthoff concentration camp near Danzig, then to Gutowo slave-labor camp and finally sent on a death march towards Germany.

Why was Judita chosen, of all people, to serve as a kapo? Surviving women later accused her of volunteering for the role to improve her chances of staying alive. Others speculated – without any real basis – that her rare beauty was the reason.

On one point, however, there was no dispute: all along their hellish path – from the Šiauliai ghetto, through the Stutthof camp, and on to Gutowo – Judita was one of only two Jewish women who served as kapos.

The other kapo didn’t hesitate to strike Jewish prisoners with a wooden plank or a soup ladle, and looked after no one but herself and her mother.

Judita, by contrast, never raised a hand against anyone. She consistently tried to help all the prisoners – not only those she knew from her hometown of Rietavas – and treated them with quiet decency.

She would even try to scr**e a little extra from the bottom of the pot, where the richer remnants of the thin soup – little more than rotting vegetables – collected. And so, throughout, she came to be known simply as the good kapo.

Severely beaten together with all the other kapos by her fellow prisoners when they were finally freed by the Soviet Red Army, Judita was left crippled, unable to stand or walk without assistance. She was too fearful to seek shelter in Israel, and remained in Lithuania, marrying twice and cared for by a family friend, until her death in 2008, aged 83.

📷 Photo: Vera Alexander giving testimony at the Eichmann trial.
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