I grew up in black Pilsen, between smokestacks, the giant Skoda armament factory and in an air full of soot which covered everything, including white linen spread out onto green lawns. But I was not aware of smokestaks or Skoda works. I was a happy child surrounded by way too many nannies, maids and delicious nonkosher food. They told me I was cute and everybody admired the blond, blue-eyed baby which pointed proudly at himself at saying; "Fia!" I remember my mother played piano all the time. I woke up with Bach and fell asleep with Beethoven.

Pilsen had many parks. I was four years old playing with other kids when two boys shouted at me in German: "Jud, Jud, hast unsern Herrgott erschlagen!" I went to my Mami, for I did not know what a Jew was.

In elementary school, everything was taught in German, my native tongue. I had religion classes: fat Rabbi Hoch had us memorize Hebrew texts and got offended when I asked him to explain what I would be reciting for by Barmitzvah in the great Synagogue. I had lots of trouble attaching the "teffilin" to my left forearm and head, and more trouble figuring out the why of this strange requirement. During services I almost peed into my pants out of emotion when the cantor lowered his head and bowed forward. The mighty organ started and I shivered. My belief in God was severly shaken when I found out that the cantor was touching each time a string as a signal to the hidden organist. Before Barmitzvah, not being recognized a grown-up male ready for minjan, I had to stay with my Mami high above the many men. At Yom Kippur I had to bring her esrog and fortify her for fasting.

One day, I began exploring the library and found a forbidden treasure called The perfect matrimony by the Dutch gynecologist van de Velde. I read it with passion at night under the covers. As a youngster my father seemed very ashamed to tell me about sex. He said he hoped I would still love Mami knowing she was bleeding each month.

I knew a lot and very little. I used to attend religion classes very reluctantly for it was boring. During Catholic religion classes I wandered with friends to a pseudo-American fast food restaurant, called 'l"automat" which did not resemble McDonald at all. Sandwiches were neatly arranged in a circle under glass. By placing a coin into a slot you could retrieve a sandwich if you were lucky. Putting the equivalent of a nickel under a faucet-like device would produce some pinkish liquid pouring mostly over you. I proudly and privately used up all my pocket money every Tuesday and Friday and did not eat my warm lunch, much to the regret of my mother who never found out the terrible truth. I was forbidden to eat lots of goodies at home. So I filled myself up just about every day after school with excellent icecream from a Yugoslavian cart vendor who was posted strategically across three schools. More pocket money lost and even less appetite when I arrived home for a warm lunch consisting of three courses. These were great times.

Never mind Hitler whom I listened to on the radio in 1933 when I was eleven years old. I understood every word but did not get the message. Still I was terrified. Kids and students started coming to my house for a warm meal. They never talked. They were jobless ethnic Germans. And Jewish refugees from across the German border would search out my good father for money, support, food and jobs. Some had been released from something called kazet. I had not the slightest idea that my parents kept me in happy ignorance completely isolated of things which happened and might still come. They loved me and meant well but almost made it impossible for me become a man.

In 1939 four Gestapos took my father away before my very eyes. I would never see him again. The storm was about to begin. The clouds were all over, but I never looked up to the sky.

Today I know that the temple was the second biggest synagogue in Europe. It still is, with two red and gold high towers reaching upwards. The gothic Pilsen cathedral in the main square originally had two towers each one hundred meters high, but one was burned down. There was a brewery, cellars with torturers, underground tunnels and more mysteries when I was growing up.

In 1945, only 50 Jews were left from some 3,000 before the Holocaust when I played organ alone to a few mourners in silence. << back