MOLDOVA IMPRESSIONS (and everything after)

A SPECIAL BOTTLE

2012-02-02T21:12:00.000-08:00

One of these days I opened a cabinet in my kitchen and saw it: a Moldovan plastic bottle. Inside of it there was wine, homemade wine from Orhei.

For some reason I kept this bottle that was given to us from a local during our 2008 trip. Moldovan homemade wine is delicious and I had brought some back to the US, but a week went by and I forgot to drink it. It was then I decided to open it and offered some to a friend. She made a face and said "it's good" - but very unconvincingly. I tasted some and it was already almost vinegar.

It was unfortunate that I forgot to drink it while it was good. But I never threw it away. Three years went by and I kept is as a hidden secret, a kind of souvenir. Maybe I was waiting to write about it, so I wouldn't forget it. In any case, maybe it's now time to let go.

REVISITING FIMA

2012-01-01T14:18:00.000-08:00

It was just now in December 2011 that I read only for the second time some of the translation of the letters my father's first cousin from Moldova, Fima, sent to him in Brazil in 1991. The first time I read them I didn't have any notion of family ancestry as I was about 15 years-old. Fima was still alive with much information about the Tolpolars. Some he shared with us, some I believed were buried with him.

Fima was the last direct family member to leave the Soviet Republic of Moldova and move to Israel. Because of that, much of the recent information we find about our ancestors are related to him and his impressive life story. He fought in World War II in the Soviet army, got hurt and was taken to a Moscow hospital, that's how he survived the war. He returned to Moldova to find all of his family killed, and it is said he was set to find some of the killers. We don't know for sure what happened on his journey, but that in the 90's he was exchanging letters with my father. He would write in Hebrew/Yiddish and my dad in English. I'm sure some was lost in the translation on both sides.

What caught my attention was that Fima wrote the 8 Tolpolar brothers and sisters loved and cared about each other. That my grandfather taught him Yiddish, that he had raised a fortune working for 45 years as a high ranking lawyer but had to leave everything to the Russians when he moved to Israel. The letters reveal a sad and nostalgic Fima, but incredibly excited to connect with my father. In his words, he and my dad were the last of the Bessarabian (male) Tolpolars.

These two men finally met in 1994 for a few hours only, in Israel. I dare to say this meeting was historic, a meeting between cousins who never met but were always so close. Unfortunately I was not there. Fima passed in 2000. At that point, Israel, Bessarabia, immigration, and my own ancestry were things I could not completely comprehend. It was beyond my reach.

I never met Fima, but I still have my father's memories and Fima's direct family in Israel. I'm sure that, in different levels, Fima lives in all of us.

HONORING THOSE FROM BESSARABIA

2011-12-12T11:53:00.000-08:00

We are looking for old pictures from people and shtletls in Moldova/Bessarabia to put in the end of Mamaliga Blues as a way to honor other families with the same origin as ours. Footage from these places are also very welcome. I understand this kind of material may be very emotional/personal, especially when releasing it to third parties. So if you are interested in sharing these and have any questions/concerns on the usage of such, please let me know.

Thank you!

THE ROCK FROM OLISCANI

2011-11-13T11:55:00.001-08:00

When we were in the village of Oliscani, the birthplace of my grandfather, I bent down and picked up a rock from the middle of the street. Three years after our trip I wanted to make sure this rock was still with me. Today, I opened the little wooden box where I had first placed it. The rock was still there. Unlike the time, it didn't change a bit.

This rock came from the soil where a lot of my relatives originated. I should keep it and protect it.

A LECTURE ABOUT MOLDOVA IN PORTO ALEGRE

2011-11-04T08:05:00.000-07:00

My father Mauro Tolpolar was invited by the writer Paula Taitelbaum to lecture about our journey to Moldova and the documentary Mamaliga Blues. This free and open event took place at the annual Porto Alegre book fair this November. Some footage of the film, maps and cemetery pictures were shown on a big screen. People that listened and watched it were very interested, asked many questions and even got motivated to search for their own roots. Because Moldova is unknown to most of Brazilians, it is perceived as an exotic and distant country. Mauro was glad to bring to attention a little bit of History in this part of the world.

GRANDMA MAKES MAMALIGA!

2011-10-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

Grandma Amalia kindly agreed to show us how to make a mamaliga. You can't miss this!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Px2qpOqMHCs

We'll be posting more updates, videos and pics at the link below of our campaign. Check it out!
http://www.indiegogo.com/Mamaliga-Blues

MAMALIGA BLUES IN THE STREETS OF LOS ANGELES

2011-10-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

Distributing flyers around Los Angeles is not an easy task – the city is so spread out. So we had to document it. Special thanks to Lia, Briley, Julie and Erin!

MAMALIGA BLUES FLYERS

2011-10-16T18:45:00.000-07:00

We'll be passing these around in Los Angeles, putting it on local businesses and so on. Anybody interested in doing the same in your area, let us know, we can send a jpeg for you to print out.

Thanks!!

WE ARE ON INDIEGOGO!

2011-10-13T09:54:00.001-07:00

As you all know, in 2008, my father, sister and I went to Moldova (once part of former Bessarabia) to search for our Jewish roots. My paternal grandparents were born there and immigrated to Brazil in 1931, surviving the World War II. The result of our trip is the documentary Mamaliga Blues, a film about our search for family traces lost during the Holocaust, the history of Bessarabian Jews, and the uniqueness of this fascinating country. We’ve been working passionately on this project for the last 3 years. It is almost done and very little is needed for it to become a reality.

Our film needs support for completion and that is why we are launching the IndieGoGo campaign. Click on the link below to learn all you need to know in order to be a part of this project:www.indiegogo.com/Mamaliga-Blues

And also check our official website: www.mamaligablues.com

All donations are tax deductible, the site allows you to donate online and you can also send checks. Help us to rescue a little bit of the history of this region. We have many great perks in return to send your way!

"Like" us on Facebook and please spread the word to your friends!

Thanks for joining us on this exciting project. We look forward to hearing from you!

Cassio Tolpolar - Producer/Director

CLOSER TO SPIELBERG

2011-10-03T10:56:00.000-07:00

My parents were just in LA to visit their granddaughter - not me, my sister or my wife:) Their stay was wonderful, and talking to my dad, he told me a few more things I didn't know about my grandfather. Moshe Tolpolar traveled back and forth between Bessarabia and Brazil before he settled forever in Porto Alegre, in 1931. However, in the 20's he already started to leave his mark in this Brazilian town. First, he subscribed to the legendary Yiddish-language daily newspaper The Forward, based in New York (http://www.forward.com/).

But before that, in 1915, he had been one of the founders of the first Yiddish-language newspaper in Brazil, Di Menscheit, in Porto Alegre.

My dad said that Moshe also subscribed to the Jewish Argentinian newspaper "El Diario Israelita" and the Brazilian magazine "Aonde Vamos?" (both in the 50's). The funny thing was that while The Forward was a left-oriented newspaper, "Aonde Vamos?" was written by right-wing Jews.

While in the Grove/Farmer's Market (if you've been in LA you've been there), we spoke more about philosophical matters. I asked my dad "So now that you're 72 years-old, what life lesson could you give me, is there anything special advice?" He looked and me and promptly replied "I'm still looking for it".

The same day we had dinner at the Kosher restaurant "The Milky Way" owned and hosted by Leah Adler, Steven Spielbeg's mom. The food was just OK. Actually Leah is the real star of the establishment, cheerful and very sharp. Walking around, you can see pictures of her with the famous son and other celebrities. We all had a great time.

THE QUEST FOR THE MOLDOVAN SALAMI

2011-09-13T09:56:00.000-07:00

I had just moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles in 2005 when my dad came to visit me. I was sleeping in a cheap futon, which he then slept on and I moved to the floor, had no job and was feeling horrible. You need at least one year (and a job!) to start getting used to Los Angeles. In any case, having him around for a few weeks cheered me up. I remember when we went to a grocery shop once and found a salami from Moldova. We were very surprised and bought it right away. This was before our trip to Moldova in 2008, and anything from Moldova would trigger our curiosity. We went home and ate it. It was not great, but it was from Moldova.

My parents returned to LA for a 20-day visit a few days ago and my dad and I thought of trying to find the salami again. I looked in a few grocery shops but could not find it. The one we bought it last time was closed. Then we went to Jon's, a traditional Armenian market where you can find the most interesting produce, beer from Estonia, cookies from Malasia, guarana from Brazil and maybe salami from Moldova.

We went first to the meat/delicatessen produce section, but the attendant had never heard of it. There was salami and sausages from Romania, Russia, Armenia, Germany and Hungary. But nothing from Moldova.

We walked around the place, got soda from Lithuania and cookies from Poland, saw marmalade from Israel and cheese from Greece. It was then that, all of a sudden, we saw the salami. It was actually the salamiS, as there were 3 distinct kinds.

We picked up one and went back home for dinner - very happy.

This one was different than the one from 2005. Soft and not spicy, an almost delicate taste to it. True that the salami is made in the US - but who cares? It's Moldovan style!

NEXT: More adventures in Los Angeles!

THE KARSHENBOYMS

2011-08-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I got a message on this same blog from Gene Karshenboym. He said “Hi! My father was born in Yedentzi and I spent my childhood summers there… I have many pictures and would love to chat with you about your experience. I reached out to my dad right now over the phone to see if he knows any of the people you are looking for.”

We exchanged a few e-mails, Gene sent me some pics from his latest trip to Edinitz, and then we finally talked over the phone.

His dad Ruvin was the one who knew more about Edinitz. Now living in Atlanta, US, he told me many things, including well known "celebrities" from Beltsy and Edinitz (where he said people were known for being well educated) and wine making in Moldova. He said most Jews who left Edinitz went to New York, Toronto, Germany or Israel. Ruvin said his father was also in South America, in Argentina (he was a "gaucho", he joked). Actually his father, (still alive, in Israel) when questioned if he had heard about any Tolpolar, said “of course, Fima Tolpolar!” Fima, my dad’s first cousin, was a teacher for Ruvin’s mom, and was like part of the family. Ruvin and Gene also know many of the people we met in our 2008 trip, including Semion Furman and Ana Filipona (in the photo below).

We chatted for a while. At last, Ruvin said the old generation, his parents, never talked about their past. For some reason, they didn't want to or feel like it, he wasn't sure if they didn't want to remember the atrocities committed to Jews or just didn't think it was important. Ruvin regretted that, because now he doesn't know as much as he wanted about the past. I thought about my grandparents, who also never said much to my dad.

My in-laws happen to live close to Atlanta, so when I go there, in December, we will meet in person with the Karshenboyms. We'll eat mamaliga and drink wine. As Gene put it in a later e-mail, “Isn't it pretty crazy to think that after everything my dad told us about your family, that we found each other and that a Karshenboym and a Tolpolar are e-mailing each other? Crazy world.”

Crazy world indeed.

WE ARE ON TWITTER!

2011-08-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

Please follow us for quick updates and curiosities at

http://twitter.com/#!/tolpolar

See you there!

GRANDMA MAKES MAMALIGA + SURPRISING E-MAILS!

2011-08-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

The wonders of internet and, I must say, Google. Because of the latter I got a surprising e-mail while in Brazil, from Elina Mendeleev. She said “My name is Elina and I live in Luxembourg. My mother lives in Germany. Today, in the morning, I was telling my mum about an Argentinean Jewish friend that recently moved to Luxembourg and suddenly she said: “It looks like I will never find my relatives from Argentina". And I, absolutely out of the blue, googled -”Tolpolar". Imagine our surprise when your story appeared on the screen! My grandmother's name is (Sosl) Sonja Tolpolar. She was born in Oliscani, but during the WWII they were evacuated to Beltsy, a Jewish town in Moldova. My grandmother's family was mostly from Oliscani and was harvesting tobacco. My mum still remembers my granny telling very often a tragic story of how her dear aunt and uncle were murdered by their employees. She says that their store was probably located in the house where they lived and the robbers came at night and knocked at their door, and subsequently killed and robbed them. “

It turned out that Elina is from a part of the Tolpolars we never heard before, from the brother of Meyer Tolpolar, my great-grandfather. Elina is a direct descendant from Avrum Tolpolar, brother of Meyer, both sons of Haim Topolar.

And then I get another e-mail a few days later: “Hi Cassio, I read your blog and I think we are related. My name is Ella Bernstein, I am the daughter of Leonid Bernstein. His mother Hova (Eva) Tolpolar is the daughter of Leib – the youngest brother of Meir Tolpolar from Olishkany – this makes my father a 2^nd level cousin of your father Mauro. Can you confirm my findings?"

It so happens that Ella is from the part of another unknown (at least to me) Meyer’s brother: Leib Tolpolar!

In one week, many answers have just risen in front of me. We absolutely never knew anything about Meyer’s siblings and then, all of a sudden, they appear!

Ella, Elina and I are still in touch and I’m sure there will be much more to come.

And to relax a little, after the many exciting news that made the adrenaline in my blood go to higher levels, my grandma, mother of my mom, came to our house in Porto Alegre to make mamaliga. Her recipe traveled many countries and years, as it is just like her mom and grandmother used to make. Good times! I made a video of it and will post sometime. But here are a few pictures in the meantime!

FROM BRAZIL: NEWS ABOUT MOLDOVA - part II

2011-07-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

During my latest visit to Brazil I found out, by talking to relatives, that Yeshaya Tolpolar's wife was aunt of Cecilia's Nisemblat. Cecilia is cousin of my dad on his mother's side (Nisemblat). It actually never crossed my mind that besides my grandparents' wedding there was any other relation between a Tolpolar and a Nisemblat. But there was. And much more than this.

Visiting Cecilia at her daughter's apartment, she showed me a bunch of old pictures, letters and documents. These materials are simply amazing, beautiful in the aesthetic side, but also contains a lot of history. Everything is either written in Romanian, Hebrew or Russian, so I could not understand anything, but she would tell me that some letters were from my grandfather to her father, and vice-versa, and even from my grandfather to her grandfather (my grandma's father). There were also some identity documents, postcards and the invitation to my grandparents' wedding in Bessarabia. I selected about 50 of these documents and scanned everything. Hopefully someday I'll have them translated.

But my dad was also keeping a few surprises from me. He had found new documents of his parents, including their ketubah, my grandfather's Brazilian naturalization document and the original picture of the "lost" grave, that now we know it's in Vadul Raskov. I wish I knew Romanian and Russian and Hebrew and Yiddish...

Being in Porto Alegre you see that some old memories are still alive. For example, we were having lunch at a Israeli restaurant (maybe the only one in town), and a friend of my grandmother stopped by to say hi and stared at me: "are you by any chance Mauro Tolpolar's son?" Her name was Berta and said she was a very good friend of my dad when they were children. "We used to play in the street", she said. When I mentioned that to Mauro, he said "Yeah, and I caught pertussis from her". It's things like that that makes every trip back to Porto Alegre a journey into the past as well.

Next: surprising e-mails and grandma makes mamaliga in Brazil!

FROM BRAZIL: NEWS ABOUT MOLDOVA - part I

2011-06-23T14:05:00.000-07:00

I recently came back from a 2-week trip to Brazil, went to visit family and friends. While I was there a few experiences reconnected me to my Moldovan/Bessarabian past.

We arrived on a Saturday afternoon and on Sunday evening I gave a lecture about my trip and documentary on Moldova, Mamaliga Blues. My mom and cousin Estelita Rovinski helped organize the event. Tolpolars, Nisemblats, Pogorelskys, Kretchmans and others met in a small theater room to listen to me. I was actually surprised to see the room full, about 50 people present. It was the first time I was officially talking about the subject in such a formal manner.

I detailed the highlights of the trip and then showed the 2 promos of the documentary. Afterwards there was some time for conversation. It was great. Besides meeting family members I've never met before (strangely Porto Alegre is not a big town...), the audience was curious enough to ask interesting questions and make important remarks: Jaco Zylberstejn, for example, made me realize the deep connection between the infamous Kishinev pogrom in 1903 and my own family history. Jaco pointed out that the incident was the main event that triggered the immigration of many Jews not only to Brazil, but to the SOUTH of Brazil, where I'm from. Currently there is a big Jewish community in Porto Alegre that originates from Bessarabia. I had actually never made the connection: Kishinev pogrom = Jews in Porto Alegre = my grandparents = my father and mother = me and my sister and many others.

Another member in the audience recalled the name of Klara Kielmanowicz, who immigrated from Edinitz to Sao Paulo when she was 10 years old. I spoke to her on the phone a few days later and she mentioned she remembered the surname Tolpolar. "There was a doctor in Edinitz", she said. That was Sioma Tolpolar, Fima's brother, executed in Cepeleutz.

The lecture ended in hugs and kisses, people chatting and greeting each other. I was dead tired. After 13 hours on a plane, your body and mind don’t coordinate much anymore. We headed for some meat sandwiches and then home to get some rest. I was trying to assimilate what happened. But there was more to come, as I would get phone calls of people giving additional information (see next posting). I thought “The past is still present and alive”. Well, at least for now.

Next: News about Moldova - part II: a polemic marriage, old letters and 2 surprising e-mails.

MAMALIGA BLUES NEW PROMO!

2011-05-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

Here you go:

YOU CAN BE A PART OF THIS FILM!

This film needs support to be completed, all donations are tax-deducted. Please visit http://documentaries.org/cid-films/mamaliga-blues/ for more information. Note: If you choose to send a check, it must be made payable and sent to The Center for Independent Documentary. Donors should also indicate producer's name, or the name of the project either on the check ON THE MEMO LINE or on a note enclosed with the check. Any amount is good, any support is important for us. Please spread the word. Thank you for your support!

MAMALIGA BLUES – NEWS

2011-05-14T07:36:00.000-07:00

As we move forward with the completion of the documentary Mamaliga Blues, I’m pleased to announce a few additions to our crew:

Shawn Harris has come on board as motion graphics artist. Shawn’s role as a designer and 3D artist at various studios throughout Los Angeles has allowed him the opportunity to collaborate and lead in various broadcast, commercial and experimental projects for such clients as HBO, MTV, NBC, ABC, VHI, Nike, DirecTV, Redbull and HP.

Christopher Gray is a prolific editor in the post-production field, working in off-line and on-line editing, color correction, graphics and titling for the last 25 years. He has done on-line editing and color correction for many documentary features including Sundance winner "Shakespeare Behind Bars" and Oscar nominees, "Fighting for Life" and "Recycled Lives" . He helms a post-production house in Los Angeles

More news will be coming soon, including the new trailer!

NEW DISCOVERIES!

2011-03-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

My dad just called yesterday at midnight: “I found it, I found it!” he said.

He basically called me to say that he was organizing some papers and suddenly found a bunch of important documents and photographs of my grandparents. My grandfather’s naturalization document, marriage certificate, many photos and the original picture of the Vadul Raskov grave.

Needless to say I’m very excited. I’ll be going to Brazil in June and will see all this material in person. Could I wait till then??

MAMALIGA BLUES - THE DOCUMENTARY

2011-02-26T22:57:00.000-08:00

New link to the documentary video promo:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I08Su-q_a30

Enjoy it!

PROMO #1

2011-02-23T12:12:00.000-08:00

Click on the link below to watch the first promo of Mamaliga Blues, the documentary of our adventures in Moldova. The film is 90 percent finished; however we need extra funding to complete it. If you have access to any company or person who may be interested, or know of any funding application/possibilities, please send them this way for further discussion: mamaligablues@gmail.com

Click on:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-bhrWeL_P0

Thank you!

COMING SOON!

2011-02-09T08:32:00.000-08:00

Very soon I will be posting the trailer of the documentary about our adventures in Moldova, "MAMALIGA BLUES".

Stay tuned for more news.

LIKE SHELLS ON A SHORE

2010-12-29T11:41:00.000-08:00

I recently received the latest book from my Swiss friend Simon Geissbuhler, "Like Shells on a Shore". It briefly covers abandoned cemeteries in Bessarabia, including Botosani, Bucecea, Dorohoi, Rezina, Vadul Rascov and others. Although it's a short book (107 pages), it is at the same time deep, sad, beautiful and contains very nice pictures. I was particularly interested in the Vadul Rascov segment, with pictures and description I haven't seen before.

But more than just a research and collection of abandoned Jewish cemeteries, Simon wanders in a past that is slowly disappearing, as its monuments that attest the passage of time and are the proof of a big Jewish existence in these areas, are in decay.

He writes: "The Jewish cemeteries and the synagogues are often the sole testimonies of what once was. They are powerful memorials to a civilization that was wiped out in the Holocaust, fragments of a shattered world, and reminders of an enterprising Jewish existence."

VADUL RASCOV AND A SWISS DIPLOMAT

2010-10-29T21:55:00.000-07:00

Sometime in March this year I received an e-mail from a Swiss diplomat posted in Bucharest who is extremely interested in Eastern European Jewish history, especially old abandoned Jewish cemeteries. Simon Geissbühler even published books about the subject. He had found this blog and contacted me with a few questions about Moldova, his next destination. It was then that we initiated our e-mail exchange about, amongst many other things, Vadul Rascov.

Simon heard of the city for the first time in this blog and ended up going there. His descriptions just made me more curious about it, since it’s the place where my great-grandparents are buried.

Here are a few words from Simon:
"I'm back from Moldova. We enjoyed the stay there a lot. The highlight of our visit was the Jewish cemetery of Vadul-Rascov. I have visited dozens of Jewish cemeteries before for my research, but Vadul-Rascov beat everything.
…we turned onto to terrible dirt roads to Vadul-Rascov. I have a good car, otherwise it is not advisable to drive there... A villager showed us the cemetery. The villager told us that there are almost never visitors who come to see the cemetery in Vadul-Rascov. Between October and March it is almost impossible to even reach the village. (If you have a horse, you can make it...). As it was already quite late (approximately 5 PM), we couldn't stay for a long time. I just tried to take as many pictures as possible and suck up the unique atmosphere."

And here are excerpts of his very well written paper "Rediscovering Yiddishland in Romania: Bucecea, Mihăileni, Vadul-Rashkov, Carei", presented at the Yiddish(er)Velt Festival 2010 in Bucharest on September 3 2010:

There is only scarce information about Jewish Vadul-Raşcov. Vadul-Rashkov was “a typical Bessarabian shtetl” with a majority Jewish population. In 1930, there were nearly 2,000 Jews living here. The Yiddish writer Ikhil Shraibman was born here. Aged 93, he died in 2005 in Chişinau, “obscure and underappreciated.” Shraibman created the literary Vadul-Raşcov, a poor Jewish shtetl, “unlucky in everything”, and a powerful “symbolic landscape.”

I was unable to find any definite information about Vadul-Rashkov during the Holocaust. But it is certain that a few Jews survived and settled again in Vadul-Raşcov. However, there are no Jews left in the village today. The Jewish cemetery is one of the most impressive you can find in Eastern Europe. It is incredible that it is neither on the list of the International Jewish Cemetery Project nor on the one of Lo Tishkach.

Conclusion:
Like in other regions of Eastern Europe, the picture of Yiddishland in Moldavia, Bessarabia and Northern Transylvania is one of death and extinction. The preservation of what small evidence of the Jewish presence in these parts of Romania and the Republic of Moldova is left must be the highest priority. Not everything is lost yet; there are still wonderful, magical places of Jewish heritage. These synagogues and Jewish cemeteries form together with the Yiddish language, the literature and the music the last traces of Yiddishland. We do not need to build new, costly, architecturally sophisticated memorials. The memorials are already there: the
Jewish cemeteries and the synagogues. They are powerful and real.

GRAVE RESTORATION IN MOLDOVA

2010-08-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

Beginning on January 2009, about 6 months after our trip to Moldova, I started to receive occasional e-mails from a certain Pavel Tuev, up to this day. The only thing was that all e-mails are written in Russian, but with help of some people, I was able to find out that the main subject was grave restoration in Moldova.

It made sense, after our guide Natasha discovered the partially destroyed grave of my great-grandparents in Vadul Rascov. Restoration was something that never occurred to me, until I started to get e-mails from Pavel.

The first e-mail was a list of services and prices. The following ones were just happy holidays’ e-mails, until the last one, which was an update on their services. Unfortunately my understanding of written Russian is zero, so I’m not able here to describe it here in detail. However, they have a website: www.pavetex.md

Who knows, maybe in the near future I will be able to go back and besides visit this grave, make an attempt to restore it to its past.

A DOCUMENTARY SHOT IN MOLDOVA

2010-08-03T10:21:00.000-07:00

When my father, my sister and I went to Moldova 2 years ago, I already had the intention of documenting the trip and turning it into a film (given my filmmaking background). I didn’t have any idea of what the outcome would be, but even though I took a camera, a bunch of tapes, 2 microphones and a few other paraphernalia.

I came back from Moldova with about 20 hours of footage and still no idea of what kind of footage I had and what I would be able to turn this into. This is because although I contemplated the idea, I did not hire any cameramen or anybody to help me. So I spent the whole trip with the camera in my hands, and experiencing it through its lenses. The camera was basically my eye. A very difficult task, to pay attention to your surroundings, to the framing and audio quality and at the same time understand what’s happening and be able to interact with it. And 5 languages were in place: Portuguese, English, Romanian, Russian and Yiddish.
Although I loved the trip, it was a lot of hard work. I must acknowledge my sister helped me with the second microphone, getting images’ authorizations/release and so forth. But in any case, I didn’t have any idea of the material I had. In my mind, I thought I was going to be able to edit a 5 or 10 minute promo to try to get some funding and go back with a proper crew and shoot a “real” documentary.

Two years later, two years of editing, I have to admit I have much more than a promo. I’m still putting pieces together, combining this puzzle into a film that can entertain people other than my own family, but much more confident that I have an almost completed documentary here.

There is still a lot of work to do: finishing the editing, composing the music, creating all the subtitles for the multiple languages, tightening the narrative/structure, etc. But after having directed a few shorts, this could finally be my first feature-length film. And I’m very excited for all that it represents, for everything I care, rediscovering the past, investigating your identity, feelings and perceptions of memory, possibilities for the future, understanding history and its consequences.

When the documentary is more put together, I should post some clips here. Stay tuned!

Next: Grave restoration in Moldova.

WHO IS JANKEL TOLPOLAR? (A VISIT TO THE LIBRARY)

2010-07-17T17:01:00.000-07:00

It was a few years ago when somebody told me one could go to any library in the US and access their genealogy database – for free. It was only a few weeks ago I did that. On a Saturday morning I walked in the building and went to the computer that was booked for me. I sat down and looked for Tolpolar, Nusinkis, Fleck, Fishman and Leizarov. The most relevant result I got was for Jankel Tolpolar.

Jankel Tolpolar was the brother of my grandfather, the first of one his family to come to Brazil. For some reason, he moved back to Moldova and died there during the war. And that is the only information we ever had of him. No pictures, no other stories, nothing. When was he born, was he married, had kids, why did he go back to Europe, where did he die, how? Jankel Tolpolar was almost an unknown to us.

But that day at the library, the genealogy website shared a little bit more of this mysterious Tolpolar. In the database there was a passenger list of a ship named Konig Friedrich August, that left Hamburg in 1913, in Germany, and went to Boulogne, Southampton and then Rio de Janeiro. And in this passenger list there was the name of Jankel Tolpolar.

But it says more. Jankel was Russian, born in 1889 in Olishkany; he was single, was a businessman and travelled in a “zwischendeck” accommodation type. I asked a friend who speaks German what this word meant and he explained “between decks – probably not the best accommodation”.

This little piece of information was more than we ever had. Jankel was 24 years old when he decided to move to Brazil. He had to go to Rio de Janeiro by ship and then from there went to Porto Alegre (where my grandfather moved to in 1930). From there, he called on the other Tolpolars, probably said “this is fine, come over”. And then, one by one, advised by Jankel, some brothers and sisters moved to Brazil. And then Jankel moved back to Europe to die there, most likely single and with no kids.

The same list had another piece of information that puzzled me. It also said that in 1912, a year earlier than Jankel, another Tolpolar took the same ship but this time to Buenos Aires. His name was Herschel Tolpolar, Russian, born in 1893 in Palenesky.

I have never heard of this man before. My first inclination was to research Palenesky, but this location is nowhere to be found in the Internet. I tried different spellings, Talenesky, Palanasky, etc. but nothing.

A research always leads to another research, and there we go, endlessly looking for information that can explain more about our family and about ourselves.

Herschel Tolpolar, who were you?

NEXT: A documentary shot in Moldova.

THE FUTURE

2010-05-28T17:01:00.000-07:00

When my wife Lara told me she was pregnant, I immediately got 2 books from the library: Pregnancy for Dummies and Economics for Dummies. Besides the usual concern for a healthy pregnancy and how we’d be able to support a little one, I was exhilarated.

I have to admit I don’t know exactly how many Tolpolars, direct relatives or not, are out there in the world, but it can’t be many. I’m happy to add it up.

Our baby is due August 29, it’s a little girl and part of the future of the Tolpolars, the continuation of our family and surname. Things like that may seem dumb, but were always in my mind, since I was little. I felt responsible for keeping the family moving on, to kind of honor the struggle of my relatives for survival and searching for a new way of life in the New World.

Now this responsibility became real.

Next: Who is Jankel Tolpolar? (a visit to the library)

THE NATURALIZATION OF MORDECHAI TOLPOLAR

2010-05-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

During my research of the man from Briceni, I ended up getting in contact with Fabio Koifman in Brazil through my sister. It happened that his family came from Briceni. He couldn’t help me much in pinpointing who this “mysterious” man could be, but suggested something I had never thought about: looking up in the Brazilian archives for the naturalization papers of my family members who came from Moldova. That for sure would enrich my roots research. Fabio used to work at the Archives and was able to guide me through.

Around October of 2009, I received the notice that they only found one record: the naturalization of Mordechai Tolpolar, brother of my grandfather, my father’s uncle. It was amazing; since the information we had from his daughter was that he never got the Brazilian citizenship.

I promptly ordered the documents. They would be ready in the city of Rio de Janeiro in a couple of months and then would be sent to my father in Porto Alegre and he would send it to me in Los Angeles.

It took some time, but it finally arrived in Porto Alegre. I was very excited to put my hands on it, so my father quickly mailed me the documents. “It’s a bunch of pages” he said. That got me even more excited.

It so happened that the package was sent on November 2009. It was already February 2010 and I hadn’t received anything. To make a long story short, the documents seemed to be lost somewhere and I was only able to finally see them when my aunt came to the States in April and brought it with her. Actually, the post office is still trying to locate the package at the moment I am writing this.

OK, so finally now I have the documents in my possession. I went through them as I was savoring a chocolate cake. It is amazing the amount of work Mordechai had to go through in order to get his papers, similar to my journey to get the American citizenship. But in those years (1934), they didn’t have computer and internet; things probably took much longer and were more laborious.

The document consists of copies of papers that Mordechai had to submit to get his citizenship in 1934: birth certificate, translation of his passport, affidavit of good faith, proof of no criminal antecedents, marriage certificate, pictures and fingerprints. There is also a letter from the local government office, granting him the citizenship.

I must admit the documents do not reveal anything special, but do present some curiosities. Almost everything is hand written and not very easy to read. There are a lot of misspellings and small mistakes, when attesting that Mordechai was born in “Obiscani” (and not Oliscani) in one page, and another saying he was born in Bucharest. He was also son of “Anna” Tolpolar (it should be Ene).

I guess the most interesting fact is in the passport translation. There, it says that Mordechai came to Brazil in 1923, at the age of 26 years old. It is not clear, but it looks like he came through Czechoslovakia and Germany. And lastly, what really amazed me were his pictures, taken when he was very young. My father said it’s the youngest pictures he’s seen of his uncle. I think he even looks a little like me.

It is nice to collect this kind of documents that actually do not reveal any surprise or exciting news, but attest and confirm facts that could be easily lost in time – and in the post office!

NEXT: THE FUTURE

THE NATURALIZATION OF MORDECHAI TOLPOLAR (not yet)

2010-03-29T09:54:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry for not writing in such a long time, but I'm still waiting for Mordechai's papers to arrive. It seems the mail got stuck or lost somewhere on the way from Brazil, but hopefully I'll be able to get it sooner than later and keep the blog moving forward...

THE MAN FROM BRICHANY

2010-02-06T10:30:00.000-08:00

When we were visiting the Zonis, Grischa gave me a tip. He said: “If you want to learn more about the murders in Cepeleutz, there is a man in Los Angeles who can tell you. I can’t remember his name now, but I know he is originally from Brichany, used to work in a farm in Cepeleutz and now lives in LA. – if he hasn’t passed yet.” So with this little information, I decided to follow Grischa’s lead, in an effort to know more about Cepeleutz, the place where Sioma Tolpolar and his wife were killed.

In order to make my search easier, I was set to find any survivors or their families who were born in Brichany and lived in Los Angeles. It took me some time.

I took advantage my sister was volunteering at the Simon Wiesenthal Center/Museum of Tolerance and asked her to see if there was anybody there who could help. She was directed to Adaire Klein, whom after a few e-mails and calls, we set up a meeting with.

Ms. Klein was very nice, we met at the Center’s library and she gave us a lot of books to research on. It wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for. What I thought she could do was to put us in contact with the survivors’ community in Los Angeles. However, the books were interesting. After rummaging through them, we left. She said to get back to her if we didn’t find anything.

After a couple of weeks, we told her we needed more help. She suggested getting in contact with Mark Katrikh, who was said to have contacts at the Builders of Jewish Education. I sent him an e-mail, but no answer. So I decided to contact the BJE myself. I e-mailed them and then called. They were a bit surprised, because at first there was no relation between them and the Russian community (that was what I started to go after), but they said I could leave a message to Alla Feldman.

I went to the internet and found out Alla was from Moldova, and then I became excited. Next day, she returned my call and was very nice. She couldn’t help much, but gave me the contact of the Soviet Jewish Association in LA. I called them right away and left a message.

Next day, a woman named Sabina returned my call. She said she was going to do some research and would call me back. Later the same day she gave me the number of a man named Simon, whom could help me. I called him and, struggling with his Russian accent, arranged to meet. He told me to meet him at his office on Monday morning.

To my surprise, the address he gave me was from Plummer Park. So I entered the building and noticed many people speaking Russian. “It must be a community center”, I thought. I asked a guard about Simon. He said nobody with this name worked there. I insisted, saying a man named Simon had arranged for me to meet him there. He asked me if the man was a Holocaust survivor, I answered positively. He told me to go to a certain room and ask for Semion. Sure: Simon = Semion.

When I entered the room I saw an unusual configuration of tables, chair and people. Three tables were separated. In each of them there was some kind of leader, who was organizing and distributing documents and information. A small line of seniors were waiting to be attended for in each table. Everybody was speaking Russian and reading Russian newspapers. I stood there for a few minutes, trying to understand what as happening and where my man could be.

I then approached a table and asked for Semion. The woman just pointed out to the other table – there was him. He gestured for me to wait a little. I then sat and observed what was happening. I never understood it, but it looked like some kind of survivor community activity, maybe dealing with bureaucracy.

After sometime, Semion approached me and gave me the numbers of two people who were from Brichany, Anna Vanshtein and Polya Kiselynk. I saw him getting the names form a list and asked to take a look at it. It was the list of all the Holocaust survivors from the former Soviet Union who live in LA. Besides their name, there was their ghetto information. I felt I was holding pure gold. I vividly went through the list a couple of times, but could not find anything familiar.
I thanked Semion and left.

Next day I called Anna and Polya. It was not easy to communicate because they could not speak English, only Russian or Yiddish. For Anna, I had to wait for her husband to come and then he helped me translating my questions. For Polya, her son luckily happened to be there and helped me as well. Unfortunately, they didn’t know about the Cepeleutz killings.

Well, at least I tried. Not sure if it’s worth taking more time for this matter. Maybe the man from Brichany has already passed. Or maybe he doesn’t live in LA anymore, who knows? Without a name, it’s difficult.

In any case, just looking for him was worth it. I made valuable connections that I hope to keep.

Next: The naturalization of Mordechai Tolpolar

A TOLPOLAR IN UKRAINE

2010-01-04T17:59:00.000-08:00

It was the day my sister Kerley and I were in NY to meet with Dina Zonis. A few hours before we drove to her apartment, my sister received a phone call on her cell. She seemed a bit bewildered, and I could see that was not a normal call. Kerley was trying to communicate with the person on the other side, at some point she gave me the phone and said: “Cassio, you know a little German, right? Talk to him, I don’t know what he wants. The only thing I can understand is ‘Tolpolar, Tolpolar’…” I was a little skeptical, didn’t want to get the phone at first, but she insisted and then I got it.

The caller sounded also frustrated for not being able to communicate. I understood “Russian… Yiddish..?” I don’t speak Russian or Yiddish, but I learned some German a while ago, and that could help. So I went ahead with my poor German, better than my non-existent Russian. I don’t know how, but I was able to understand this man was Mikhail Talpalar, from Kiev, who was calling us. The communication was very difficult, but I managed to get his e-mail and he mine and we promised to e-mail each other with more details later on.

Needless to say how confused and excited we were. Whereas the call was totally unexpected, it was not purely magical. It happened that when we were in Moldova, as some of you may have read, we discovered the name of Volodya Tolpolar, dececased, but with a brother in Kiev. More than that, this Tolpolar had a cousin in Philadelphia, Zefira Parnas. Months later after our trip, I used US Search to get Zefiras number and then gave it to my sister who was living in Pittsburgh. If they needed to meet, it would be easier, I thought.

So Kerley called Zefira, who said was going to get in contact with Mikhail for us. And then many months later Kerley got this call, like this, all of a sudden. Zefira had given Mikhail my sister’s number. And then a whole new Tolpolar connection started right there.

After we returned from New York, Mikhail and I started to e-mail each other information and pictures (see two of them here: 1-Mihail’s father and mother 2-His mother and siblings) to try to find a connection between our ancestors. We talked on skype once, and he had his grandson next to him to help with English. But it wasn’t enough. However, Mikhail sent me basic information about his family and I could not find a solid connection. The cities where he and his parents were born are in the same area as my grandparents (Orhei), so besides having the same family name, there must be a relation. It’s like a puzzle that I’m still trying to solve.

A man named Aaron found out this blog and to my surprise e-mailed me saying he knew Volodya and can get in touch with Mikhail for me. Having this valuable supporter of my cause, that can communicate both in Russian and English, I will try to put some pieces together and see what I can do.

OK, the family names are not exactly the same, Talpalar-Tolpolar, but there can be something else behind it, some association, some correlation to be established with some time and research. I do hope so.

Next: The man from Brichany.

DINA ZONIS

2009-11-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

On February 2009, my sister and I flew to New York for a weekend, exclusively to meet with Dina Zonis and her husband Grischa. I know it sounds bad, but given their advanced age, I was hoping nothing would happen with them until we get there. I was anxious and excited. I was going to meet the sister-in-law of my father’s cousin Sioma Tolpolar, murdered in Cepeleutz at the age of 30 together with his wife Iza.

Surprisingly, Dina and Grischa were in good shape for being 92 and 95 years-old respectively. Actually Grischa revealed he had a bleeding nose the night before our meeting, and had he had my phone number, would call and cancel. But luckily that didn’t happen and we were there with them and their daughter Isabelle, named after Sioma’s wife – Dina’s sister.

I wanted to know how Sioma and Iza met, how they were like, how they were killed, if Dina knew other Tolpolars, etc. I didn’t get all my answers as Dina had little contact with the Tolpolars – she had briefly met Sioma, his brother Fima and their father, Yeshaya. But she told us a few interesting – and sad things.

Sioma was a doctor and Iza was a French teacher, she was born in Switzerland due to her father business travels. Grischa remembers seeing Sioma in their wedding. It was brief, he recalls, and so many years ago, but he said I looked a little bit like Sioma, but Sioma was stronger.

For some reason we don’t know, Sioma and Iza got caught in Cepeleutz by the Nazi Romanians, shortly after their wedding. They were supposed to be living in Ataki, where Iza’s family was, so they either fled to Cepeleutz or maybe were actually living there. In any case, Dina said that when the Romanians were ready to shoot them, they thought that Iza “didn’t look Jewish” and offered her to leave. But she confirmed she was Jewish and would stay with her husband. They were promptly shot. It was 1941. There are rumors Iza was pregnant, but the Zonis did not confirm that.

All the stories that Dina and Grischa told us were told to them by friends, acquaintances and family who witnessed or heard all this. So a lot was missed and changed over the years – and memory also plays tricks on us! But I was just excited to be there with probably the only people still alive who met – even for a brief moment – relatives of mine whom I’ve never seen and heard much.

At some point, Grischa stood up and showed me a piece of paper, a copy he made from a book about Yedinitz. In it, there was a picture of Sioma and Iza, and writings in Hebrew. I managed to have the text translated, and it brought more knowledge to us, and also some conflicting information.

After so many years, it is touching to see the Zonis are still deeply affected by the unfortunate incidents of the Holocaust. We spent 2 hours with them and I wished we could have stayed more and talked more, get to know them better, but this was a delicate subject for them and they also got tired quickly. I jut wanted to make sure I had asked all possible questions, not being sure when that event could happen again.

Before we left, Grischa gave us a lead. He mentioned a man from Briceni who may still be living in Los Angeles who could tell us more about what exactly happened in Cepeleutz. Unfortunately, Grishca cold not remember the man’s name. So now I’ve been looking for a man, whom may have already passed, who was originally from Briceni, who may be living in Los Angeles and knows more about Cepeleutz.

Genealogical research never ends, that’s what makes it an exciting detective job-like.

I hope Grischa and Dina are still strong and lucid in New York. I thank them and their daughter for their time and kindness.

Next: Receiving a call from a Tolpolar in Ukraine.

AN UNEXPECTED E-MAIL LEADING TO A SURPRISING DISCOVERY

2009-10-17T11:17:00.000-07:00

On a Friday, October 3rd, 2008, a man named Shaul Sharoni decided to write me an e-mail from Israel. I had never heard of his name, but he had read this blog and was offering to get in contact with Yad Vashem (The Central Database of Shoah Victims' Names) submitters for me. He had found 17 entries under the surname “Tolpolar”, and was willing to help.

Surprised and extremely grateful for this generous offer, I accepted and together we started to research for possible names and their contacts. To make a long story short, 16 days after Mr. Sharoni sent me that wonderful e-mail he managed to get in contact with one of the submitters; a man on his 80’s called Yeruham Golan, who was living in Israel. Mr. Golan was nothing but the submitter of Sioma Tolpolar’s death information to Yad Vashem. And Sioma was Fima’s brother, both first degree cousins of my father. In our trip to Moldova we visited the house where they were born and the place where Sioma was killed by the Romanian Nazis, in Cepeleutz.

I will reproduce here Mr. Sharoni’s amazing e-mail:
“Hello Cassio,

Contrary to my assumption that Yerhuam Golan is no longer alive, it turned out he's very much alive. I spoke to him and his wife this evening, and here's in short what he told me:

Iza Tolpolar nee Fleck was his first cousin-their mothers were sisters, and as noted in the POT she was a Swiss citizen. She and her husband, Sioma Tolpolar, were both medical doctors at the village where they settled in, and shortly before the Nazis invaded that area they were murdered by the locals.

Apparently, Yeruham and his family were living in the same village, and thus knew them very well. Iza's sister is living in NY, and is already over the age of 90. Yeruham would give them a call tomorrow and try to ask for more info.

Now, he also speaks English and I suggest that you try to contact him directly. He's 80 years old and is not computer-savvy, though his wife seems to be a newcomer to the world of Internet.

Lastly, they added that a number of years ago some foreign guy visited or contacted them while on vacation here in Israel-he was also looking for Tolpolar, though they don't recall his name or his whereabouts.

All the best,
Shaul”

After 67 years of Sioma’s assassination, who was wrapped in mystery – nobody I met seemed to know what exactly happened and why he and his wife Iza had gone to Cepeleutz to flee from the Nazis – I could be able to get in touch with somebody who could give me more specific information. I was very excited and grateful for Mr. Sharoni’s efforts and interest.

I called Yeruham a few times. I would ask him questions and he had to check with his cousin Dina (Iza’s sister) in New York and then I had to call him back again. I asked if I could speak directly with her, but for some reason he didn’t want to give me her phone number. I never insisted, I would keep calling him and he would check with Dina, until one day he decided to give me her phone number. Then everything changed. I called Dina, her husband Grischa promptly got the phone. I felt so overwhelmed by the possibilities of things they could tell me I couldn't ask everything on the phone. So I told him I would pay them a visit. He told me something like “You better hurry up. I’m 95 and Dina is 92 years-old. We are fine today but we don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow”.

I immediately bought tickets to New York. In February 2009 I was going to meet the sister of Sioma’s wife. I was bringing the camera to videotape it and my sister was joining me from Pittsburgh. I was anxious, nervous and excited.

Next: Meeting Dina Zonis and uncovering the past.

FINDING LONG LOST RELATIVES IN NEW YORK

2009-08-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

Before going to Moldova, Shlomi mentioned to me a certain Boris Nusinkis, who was a relative from the Tolpolars. I just didn’t have any time to research about it, but once I came back from the trip, I started to look into it more carefully. Asking my relatives in Brazil, it seems there was a Nusinkis who was married to a Tolpolar and he was supposed to have moved to the USA. But that was all info I could get. So it had to be related to Boris. I then took a very simple and fast route: went on US Search (which does not work out every time) and looked for Boris Nusinkis. It gave me an address and a phone number.

It took me a few weeks to gather courage before I could call the number. On the other side of the line, Irina, Boris’ wife picked it up. She said she would ask him and they would research about it to see if my story made any sense. They were in NY and I was in LA. On Saturday at 5 o’clock in the morning I got a call from a very exciting Irina: it seemed we were really related!

I was already going to New York for a wedding on October 2008, so it all worked out perfectly. We exchanged e-mails and arranged to meet. I sent the Nuskinkis in advance some old pictures I had of Tolpolars in Bessarabia. I was extremely excited to hear more about our connection and the other side of the Tolpolars, not Brazilian or Israeli – but a very recent family history in Ukraine.

Amongst the pictures I sent there was one of my grandfather when he was young. When Boris, Irina and their son Anatoly came to pick me up in Brooklyn, the first thing I saw coming out of the car was Boris with his arm straight up holding a picture of my grandfather – the exact same one I had sent! I don’t remember the exact words, but he came out of the car saying something like “Now I know who this is!!!!!!” Sure, it was my grandfather. In a few seconds, right there in that street in Brooklyn, a Tolpolar family connection which was lost by travels, immigration and language was reunited again.

Boris is the grandson of Nechome Tolpolar and Shlomo Nusinkis, whom married and lived in Chernovitz, now Ukraine. Nechome was the older sister of my grandfather. Shlomo and Nechome had 3 children: Malvina, Wlad (died in 1993) and Isaac (died in 1993). Isaac had Boris and Matviei Nusinkis (who also lives in NY). Wlad Nusinkis had two daughters: Hana (lives in Giessen, Germany) and Galina (lives in Israel). Hana has a 25 year old daughter, Inna. Galina has 2 sons in Israel. Boris married Irina and had Michael and Anatoly. Nechome and Malvina were killed by the Nazis in the woods. Shlomo died in 1936, before the war, and is buried in Sorocca.

Boris’ last connection with the Tolpolars was through Fima, Shlomi’s grandfather and my father’s first cousin. The thing was that Fima was one of the last Tolpolars to leave Russia and was a very important lawyer at the time – a lot of people knew him.

But better than reuniting again, Boris also knew another sister of my grandfather whom we didn’t know much about either: Surke. Surke Tolpolar used to live in Chernovitz too, and had 2 daughters: Frima and Bronya. Boris would see Surke every weekend; she was “Aunt Surke”. She passed away in 1968/1969 at the age of 80 and her grave should be at the Chernovitz old Jewish cemetery, with her husband, Chaim Fishman. Frima and Bronya came to Philadelphia and died there, in a nursing home.

And now Boris and I, two grandsons of the old timers Tolpolars with very different life stories and ages (he is about 50 and I’m 34), were right next to each other. To me it’s just amazing how the world turns and even with all its wars, tragedies and things that make people apart, we are still able to reunite after so many years. Well, I do have to thank the internet!
Boris’ family was extremely kind. Irina was also very excited, taking pictures and explaining life in the old Soviet Union. They took me to Coney Island for a Jewish Russian experience. It was great. I feel the Tolpolar family got bigger – and that makes you feel comfortable.

After a long day of telling stories, remembrances and making lost connections, the Nusinkis dropped me off back to Brooklyn. But before leaving, they demanded one more thing: to see my wife, Lara. So I went to get her and we took a picture.

We are still in touch and met again when I had another opportunity to go to NY (which I will tell later about it). I then met their other son, Michael. And they met my sister too.

Sometimes I think if the Tolpolars in Besarabia would ever imagine this could happen, and if there had been no war, if I would have grown up having Boris and his family next to my family and maybe we would still be in Moldova, Russia or Ukraine and could be neighbors, classmates or work mates. In any case, history was very different and now here we are to continue it.

Next: an unexpected e-mail leading to a surprising discovery.

DISCOVERY IN THE VADUL RASCOV CEMETERY

2009-06-02T19:16:00.000-07:00

2 months after the trip to Moldova I received this e-mail from Natasha:

"Cassio,
I think I found the grave in Vadul Rashkov!
See the picture attached. It's the only broad one, of a couple, there.
Natasha."

Although it was a brief and simple e-mail, when I looked at the picture I could not breathe for 2 seconds. I was almost sure it was the grave of my great-grandparents we were searching while in Moldova. The same grave we had a picture of. I forwarded it to my sister, who reads a little Hebrew, and she confirmed. It is written “Tolpolar” there!

Incredible, I could not believe it. The grave looks different now, corroded by time. It was in Vadul Rascov, the only place we didn’t go because we were just too exhausted that day. 79 years separate the grave from me now, but I felt like I was somehow reconnecting with my great-grandparents and assuring to myself once more they really existed. And also now I’m sure that trip to Moldova was not the first one. I have to see the grave with my own eyes!

The next e-mail Natasha sent me was full with pictures from the cemetery, which I’m happy to share it here:

"Hi Cassio,

I wish you inspiration!

Please get attached some pictures. You see that the cemetery is ABSOLUTELY deserted. There isn't a single Jew in the village and it's hard to get to this now remote place. "

The original picture of the grave, with my grandfather and his brother, says:
“Here lie the beloved, gracious in living and in death together
Man/husband and woman/wife murdered in their home
And died in martyrdom (“holy death”)
Died the sixth of Tevet (?) (5)690 (according to) the minor era
Enia-Raitsa daughter of Efrayim (?) Meyer son of Chaim
The family Tolpolar (of) Oliscani - January 6, 1930
May his/her soul be bound up in the bonds of eternal life.”

Next: Finding relatives in Staten Island, New York.

POST-TRIP THOUGHTS

2009-05-12T16:02:00.000-07:00

It’s been more than a month after the trip and I’m just finishing writing these memories. A lot of thoughts came through my head since then, as I digested and reflected upon the trip.

A few things I didn’t know where to fit in the text, but worth mentioning, are here:
- Every morning at the hotel breakfast lounge we would meet this very nice Dutch man. As he said, a businessman, trying to make deals in Moldova. As my friend Viorel later told me, “these people are probably not doing anything here, there’s no business to be done”.
- The stray cats in Moldova seemed extremely docile, I’ve never seen street cats being so friendly, and running to you to cuddle, or just staying around in a bar, rolling on the floor. There must be something in the Moldovan air that numbs them, or something.
- Talking about pets, in almost every car we would see these puppy dolls and other kind of animal dolls sitting either in the front shield or in the back. We saw a lot of these in taxi cabs. Funny trend.
- While most young people want to leave Moldova, in lack of better opportunities, we saw a lot of weddings. And it was easy to spot them: cars full of balloons hanging in all sides. It was a pretty sight, and there were lots of these colorful vehicles all over town.
- Roman, my Russian friend, confessed to me the first time he saw the Ocean was a year ago, when he was living in Montenegro. I was very surprised, but then he asked me how many people in Brazil have seen the snow?
- Moldovans are not ashamed to assume their country is the poorest in Europe. I found that people in poor countries tend to be nicer than people in rich countries. Maybe due to the fact that they really have to rely on each other to survive and not on government laws. But on the other hand, people can be very mean in poor countries. So I guess Moldovans are just lucky.

CONCLUSION

Moldova is a country in transition; its identity is still being constructed, as well as its politics, economy and culture. It can be very exciting to be part of this, to help build a nation, but on the other hand it can be very frustrating. Visiting a country for 10 days is not really experience it in its fullest. At the same time I loved our stay there, I was able to see young people wanting to leave the country for the lack of better opportunities and young people wanting to stay in the country for the lack of competition and for the possibility of future opportunities. Moldova is a divided country, split into many mind sets, ethnicities, economical and social problems, ambiguous and complex.

As for myself, I cannot say I found exactly what I was looking for, but at the same time I wasn’t sure what exactly I was looking for. It was all a feeling, a feeling of completion I was trying to achieve. Information about family and understanding of one’s History is also important, but much more than that, I think me, my father and sister were able to bond like never before. Now the future is for me to continue.

Next: continuing the genealogical research - the discovery of the Tolpolar grave.

GOODBYE CHISINAU

2009-04-04T16:38:00.000-07:00

Our flight was very early in the morning, so we needed to be at the airport by 6AM. We asked the hotel receptionist to call us a big cab, since we had a lot of luggage and wanted some comfort. The cab that came was very small, old and falling apart. Only one bag fitted in the trunk, and the others were in our laps. We could notice that the car’s break discs were extremely worn out, as they made this constant noise. The car was also in the gas reserve. We thought we may not make it to the airport. Well, one last adventure.

We finally arrived safe at the airport and for our surprise the place was packed. A LOT of people in the check in line. But there was not a line; it was just a conglomerate of people trying to reach the counter. We couldn’t believe all these people were flying: youngsters, their parents, grandparents, babies, the whole shebang. We then realized most of these people were not boarding, but yet saying goodbye to the ones who were flying. So the person checks in, waves his/her hand to the family, and enters the boarding gate. Didn’t they know after you check in you can hang out at the lobby and still spare some words and hugs? Another cultural difference, or something like that.

It’s funny, once you are in the country, everything is an experience, everything is different, interesting, nice. But when you’re leaving, you just want to get home, and all the country’s hassles come to you at once! So my sister got furious and started to push away the crowd, opening a path, like Moses in the desert, so we could finally check-in. My bag was a little overweight, so I had to transfer some stuff to my carry in luggage.
After that, we exchange our last lei for dollars and went to our gate.

As we were waiting to board, Kerley receives a call from her friend Maria: the receptionist at our hotel had called her (somehow she had her number, but not ours). We had forgotten the hotel keys and she needed it back desperately. The key was actually in my pocket. The receptionist wanted my sister to put the key in a cab and bring it back to the hotel. My sister said we were already in the boarding area, had passed through security and couldn’t leave just now. After a lot of talk (gee, it was just a regular key – but I think the poor girl would have to pay for another one herself), Kerley tried to see if any of the airport shops would agree to hold onto the key until the receptionist gets it. But they all said no. So Kerley went back to security and asked for a policeman to keep the key. Of course they couldn’t communicate very well, but thanks to a woman who was around and spoke English, the policeman agreed to have the key. And he gave Kerley his phone number, in case the hotel people needed to locate him. His name was Ruslan.

OK, the airplane to Frankfurt was there. I’ve never seen this, but we had to board through the back of the plane. It literally looked as if we were entering in the plane’s ass. Other people found it funny too, and were taking pictures. We took one too.

We soon found our seats. Kerley and Mauro were behind me. By my side, in the window, was a young mother and her baby. The Air Moldova plane is very small and simple, and on the other side, across from me, a very tall man was fighting against his seat. His long legs simply couldn’t fit in it! He complained and complained, until finally the flight attendant moved him to a better location, some kind of first class seat.

The flight to Frankfurt was calm. The baby next to me couldn’t stop looking at me. His mother said I looked like his father. I was so tired I quickly fell asleep. Sometimes I would open my eyes, and the baby was there, looking at me and holding my arm. And like this I spent the entire flight, protected by these young Moldovan hands.

When we got to Frankfurt there was no time to say good-bye, we had to part ways and I had to run like hell to try to catch my flight to London. I quickly saw Shlomi waiting for us and ran to the British Airways counter. I was extremely late.
The last image of my dad I remember was him looking for his luggage in the carrousel.

Next: post-trip reflections

View from our hotel window:

LAST DAY IN MOLDOVA

2009-03-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

Last day in Moldova! The exclamation point doesn’t mean we were happy. I think it was a mix of excitement, sadness and an advanced nostalgia. We had seen a lot, met a lot of people and would come back with a lot to tell.

Because this was more like a “do what you want” kind of day, I don’t remember exactly what we did. I do remember we met up with Maria, Kerley's friend, bought my Zdob si Zdub CD (they didn’t have any nice shirts – I wanted to get one of the Moldovan soccer team, but it was getting too complicated to find it), walked in the park, etc.

In order to go get my CD, we needed to take a shuttle. It was our first experience using public transportation. The shuttle was nice and I was soon amused by another cultural shock. Suddenly the driver wanted to give me some cash. I couldn’t understand why, but he was insisting. Maria then explained very quickly it was the change for somebody in the back of the shuttle. Basically, when people get in they pay and sit right away. At some point, the driver has their change, and asks for the other passengers to pass it onto the person. So I got the money and gave to the person behind me, and this person gave to the person behind her and so on, until it reached its ultimate destiny. If this happened anywhere else I’m not sure if the change would reach its owner in its entirety.

Soon, there was the announcement of rain, black clouds, strong wind… So we decided to stop there and go back to the hotel. And it started to rain, for the first time since we were there.
At the hotel, I called Viorel, and he said he would come by. My dad stayed to get some rest, and my sister and I met Viorel for some late lunch. He took us to this old typical Soviet bar, something I’ve never seen before, really cool, like a Russian movie. Kerley would wait and eat with Mauro, so Viorel bought me what he called a “Georgian barbecue” and some beer. It was very cheap and good. The barbecued pork came in a skewer, with some pickled salad, fries and bread.

Viorel invited us to go to a concert. Kerley declined, she had to get food for dad and herself – and rest. I was very tired, but accepted right away. As my last night in Moldova, I wanted to enjoy it.
So Viorel and I walked to the venue and met with some of his friends, most of them the same ones I had met before, but I didn’t see the French guy. We drank a bit, talked, they smoked a lot. We soon entered the venue to see this band called Snails, the second most popular rock band in Moldova. For my surprise, they sounded like any regular Brazilian pop/rock band. Later, listening to Zdob si Zdub, I found out they were the real deal. More personal and fresh, combining elements of Moldovan folklore and modern rock.

The place was sizzling hot, I was sweating all over the place, had to take in a few beers to cool down. The crowd was very young and enthusiastic, dancing cheerfully. But I don’t dance, so I talked a bit with Viorel and then seated on a table with some of his friends. It was then one of them told me the most important documents were transferred from Moldova to the Archives in Iasi, Romania, after the World War II or after the independence, not sure now. I kept this information on a safe place in my drunken mind to check out later.

It was getting late, I had an early flight next day, was sweating like crazy and my ears were hurting. So I made the difficult decision to leave. Although I wanted to walk back, Viorel called me a cab. On the way to the cab we ran into Viorel’s friend, who practices capoeira. He said there are no Brazilian capoeira masters in Moldova, and they kinda have to learn it on their own. Unfortunately I don’t know much about capoeira, but was surprised to see it had reached those lands.

And then I went home.

Kerley was still kinda of awake so we talked a bit. Dad also woke up, and we had a little family conversation in the middle of the night. And then I went to sleep.

Next: Flying back and seeing Chisinau for the last time.

MILESTII MICI

2009-02-12T17:53:00.000-08:00

Milestii Mici is also the name of the village where the winery is. Today it was a special holiday there, so the winery had all tours already booked for this day of festivities. It’s funny, because it was not a holiday in the rest of the country, only there. However, we managed to get a quick tour. It was kind of costly, but our only chance to see the wonders of wine making.

And it was definitely wonderful. Not so much for the wine tasting, as we got a very small tasting compared to what they usually serve, but for the place itself. It’s almost like an underground city, where you go by car and see its streets and alleys full with barrels and wine bottles. Each street is named after a specific kind of wine or grape.
You don’t need to love wine to appreciate it. It’s nice, it’s touristy, it’s part of the culture, if you’re there, you have to do it.
The tour was really quick, and we took the rest of the day to walk around, buy some gifts, eat in a cheap – but very good place – we had discovered close to our hotel.

At evening, I had my lecture scheduled at KSAK, the Art Institute in Chisinau. By 6PM we got there and waited until there were enough people. I showed my films, talked about them and my career and answered questions with the help of a translator. The crowd was very friendly, I felt very welcomed there. Soon after the lecture we took a cab to the Jazz bar, where Maria Turculets was waiting for us with some friends. Kerley had met Maria through the internet, and she revealed to be a great resource, very interested and a good friend. A band was playing some kind of “gipsy jazz”, very pleasant. I had this amazing cheese pancakes. It was then I discovered pancakes in Moldova were my favorite food.
Everybody was laidback, my dad was moving in the chair to the sound of the music, and I was doing my last “cameraman work”. I decided I wouldn’t take the video camera with me the next day. I needed to be at least one day without it.

Next to me was a local guy, one of Maria’s friends. I could hardly understand his English, but the little we communicated was very enjoyable. He worked in this radio station and also for the Jewish community. His sister lives in Kazakhstan, and for the first time I heard great things about this country.

Roman, my Russian friend, tried to meet us, but that didn’t happen. I knew I was not going to see him again.

We were tired and didn’t stay too long. We arranged with Maria to meet next day for a walk in the city. I also wanted to buy a Szdob szi Sdub CD (a famous local band) and get a shirt as souvenir.

Next day would be our last full day. We had done a lot for sure, but I felt the mission wasn’t totally accomplished, that we needed much more time to find out more things. However, I was happy just to enjoy this last day with my dad and sister, and relax.

Next: Last day in Moldova and final impressions.

SOROCCA AND VOLODYA TOLPOLAR

2009-01-28T17:19:00.000-08:00

This was a much more relaxing day. We left at 10AM, which gave us plenty of time to rest and get prepared to go to the Sorocca fortress, one of Moldova’s main’s sight. That would be our first “tourism only” day, and we were definitely happy about it. Going after your roots is fantastic, but it takes a lot from you, and we needed a day like this.

BUT… Before getting on the road, we came back to the Jewish Community Center in Chisinau. People there had found one of the few images of Volodya Tolpolar, who had just died a few years ago and could be a relative. It was a video image, and a very quick one, so we had to pause it to see his face better. But they couldn’t find the remote and therefore we couldn’t pause it. So Kerley had to take the picture on the go, with the VCR playing. She did a good job and now we have a digital picture of this Tolpolar we never knew existed. This time there was no time to talk at all as we needed to get going to Sorocca, in the very north of Moldova. But I promised to search for Volodya’s family, possibly living in Ukraine.

The fortress is a niece piece of History, but nothing very impressive. Cool thing was to see Ukraine right on the other side of the river.

There’s also a Jewish community there and a gipsy village, but we didn’t have much time to investigate it, only to drive by the synagogue. I do have much more images in my video camera.

For lunch we went to this restaurant across the fortress park. Kerley was happy to eat varenikes. I think I got some chicken.

It was our last day with Natasha and Sergei. We came back fairly early, compared to the other days, if I remember. We said our goodbyes and Sergei drove us to the hotel. He said he had a lot of fun, and we got his e-mail address. I promised to send some pictures.

I don’t remember what we did at night. As time passes by, I forget things.

(Apart from this trip, I wanted to share my excitement with a recent discovery. The sister-in-law of Sioma Tolpolar - my cousin who was killed in Cepleutz, is still alive, 91 years-old and living in New York. I am going there next week to meet her.)

Next: going to the famous winery Milestti Mici.

OLISCANI – PART II

2009-01-05T18:15:00.000-08:00

On our way to Oliscani, we picked up Vladimir Drutsa, a police commander from the Soldanesti region, and who would help us in our quest for the Tolpolars. There are 4 thousand people living in Oliscani today, the last Jewish family left in 1954. Our first visit was Constantin Biroe, who served as the mayor’s secretary for 36 years. He had just lost his wife, but welcomed us to his house, served home made wine and some sweets.

For the first time I saw the little underground cellar most villagers have at home. They don’t have water (every house has its own well – oddly decorated), the toilet is a hole in the ground, but the wine is extremely sophisticated and delicious!

Constantin didn’t know of any Tolpolars, but was glad to show us the neighborhood and help us out. So we all got in the van, Natasha, Sergei, Mauro, Kerley, Vladimir, Constantin and me. We went straight to a 91-year old man’s house, a World War II veteran, who could be able to remember something. At first, the policeman Vladimir didn’t find him, so he had to interrogate a few people to discover the old man’s whereabouts.

As we were entering his home, geese were fleeing out. In front of the house, the wife was sitting. Due to an illness, she couldn’t stand up to greet us. The old man was excited to receive visitors, talked a lot about women and flirted with my sister. Vladimir was taking his job very seriously, and vigorously interrogated the man, but he couldn’t remember much of the Jewish community of that time, only the names of the last Jewish couple to have lived there: Basha and Avrum Starosta.

In front of the old man’s house, I got a rock from Oliscani’s own earthly and sandy ground, and put the souvenir in my pocket.

Before going to our next visit, we stopped by the old Jewish neighborhood. There’s not much there, but Constantin showed us where once was a synagogue, where once Jews lived, etc.

Running out of time, we rushed to Victoria’s parent’s house. Victoria is a very nice lady whom I met in the internet, as I said before. She gave me the address of her parents and we felt like paying them a visit. Although the dogs couldn’t stop barking at us, Maria and Ghiorgi Thimofte were very nice. One more time we had some placinta and homemade wine.

Victoria confessed her grandmother was frequently mentioning in her stories a family which was a neighbor, and a certain Mrs. Tolpolar. According to her grandmother, this lady was at this time very upset, because she had a daughter, which got married in Craiova (this is a city in Romania, but at that time Romania and Moldova were one country) and she was not very happy with this marriage. She said: “Oh, as long as you have small children, you have small troubles, once you have big children, you get big troubles!". She said the whole family left the village when she was a teenager. Very impressive, but who was she??? I guess we'll never know...

I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point we got the information that Oliscani Jews could also be buried in Vadul Rascov, a town an hour from there. So we felt like going there to try to find the grave. Because of little time, we had to rush out again, this time from the Thimofte’s house.

We left Constantin at his place and headed for the police station. With a picture of the grave in his hands, Vladimir and his colleague were trying to find out where that place could be. Another piece of information was that Jews from that region cold also be buried in Floresti, a place farther away. At that time, we were completely exhausted. It was 5PM, and we had to decide quickly if we wanted to go to Vadul Rascov or not. Sure we wanted to go, but did we have the energy for one more hour driving to a place even farther from Chisinau?

After examining the picture carefully, the policemen assured that kind of grave didn’t exist in Vadul Rascov. I really wished we had more time and energy to go there. We thought about it for a while. Time was passing. It could be our only chance. It was up to us, I really didn’t know what to do, would it be worthy considering the situation? We had done more and gone farther than we ever imagined, but since we had gone so far, could we stretch a little bit? It was very hot, Natasha was working bravely hard all the time, my shoulder was already hurting bad from carrying the video camera… Tired, we decided to call it a day. I felt sad, but you can’t do it all. We left a copy of the picture in the police station, in case they find the place.

Vladimir worked hard for our cause and we wanted to give him some presents from Brazil. He said “If you want to give this to my kids and to me, you have to come to my house”. So we surrendered one more time to the Moldovan hospitality and warmth. Vladimir, who had a serious expression on his face all the time, as if he was in his most daunting police task ever, completely changed once we got to his place. He opened up this most friendly smile and introduced us to his wife and two little boys. We sat by the table outside and had… guess what? Food and home made wine.

Vladimir told us about their life, he feels that a person shouldn’t leave its birthplace; he/she should stay, build a family and help his/her town. I felt like that was a humble and simple family, who didn’t have much, but were very happy. I had the same impression with most of Moldovans. Moldova is the poorest country in Europe, but its people are very special.
Vladimir wanted to take a picture “his style”. What that would mean? He left the table and went in the back of the house. We waited a little and saw him coming out with three bunnies, one for my dad, one for my sister and one for me. And that was the picture. This closed our trip to Oliscani with a “golden key”, like we say in Brazil. I loved seeing that family, just happy of being a family. Vadul Rascov – next time!
The houses, streets, people in Oliscani are very simple, but fascinating to a foreigner’s eye. You don’t see cars, you see horses. There’s no pavement. In front of every house, a well. In every house’s roof, a different ornament. Progress hasn’t reached it yet, and things are as authentic as they can be. Oliscani stopped in time, but its memories were engulfed by time as well.

For dinner, I think we went to eat in a very nice restaurant in Stefan Cel Mare (the main street in Chisinau), very touristy. The service was weird and it took forever. That was part of my observations, that Moldovans are still learning costumer service, and find themselves in a mind set of transition. So they are able to use certain things and behave in a different way than during communism, but they’re still learning how to do it.

I had a goulash, my sister had pasta. For dessert, my dad had a cake.

Next: Sorocca and seeing Volodya Tolpolar for the first time.

REZINA AND OLISCANI

2008-12-12T15:47:00.001-08:00

We have a picture of my grandfather and his brother (Shlomi’s grandfather, Yeshaya) beside the grave of their parents, in 1930. It’s black and white, you can read the inscriptions, but we don’t know where the cemetery is. My great-grandparents, Meyer and Ene Tolpolar, harvested tobacco and had a grocery store in Oliscani. They were killed by their own employees, who wanted to rob them. According to my grandfather, the killers were arrested. In their graves it’s written in Yiddish: “Here resting in peace husband and his wife that were killed in their own house Enia-raisa, Efrayim's Daughter and Meyer, son of Chaim Tolpolar, that were buried on 6 January 1930”.

Victoria Stoiciu, a contact I made through the internet and born in Oliscani (but now lives in Bucharest), told me Jews from Oliscani used to be buried in Rezina, a village close by, and there never was a Jewish cemetery in Oliscani. So we headed to Rezina first, to try to find the grave.

The new cemetery in Rezina looks well kept, it’s partaken with the Catholic cemetery. Jewish people started to be buried there in the 50’s. Naum Cleinic, the head of the Rezina Jewish community, guided us through. We walked a little in the area, but couldn’t find any relatives. So we went to the old cemetery.

The old Rezina cemetery doesn’t have any gates or people looking after it. It’s all in the open, overlooking the Dniester river and the (in)famous region of Transnistria, which self proclaimed an independent country and is not acknowledge by any other nation. When Moldova became independent in 1991, this region still wanted to have Russian “ties”, and after a civil war, it stated its own independency. Transnistria has a communist regime, its own money currency and stamps, not usable and recognized anywhere except for there. What Moldavians regret is that all industries of former Soviet Republic of Moldova, were in Transnistria, and once it separated from Moldova, it kept them all. So it’s a richer place than Moldova. Yes, you need a visa to get in, but nobody knows where to get it. When reading about it, it seemed pretty much a surreal place I’d love to visit. We didn’t go there, and this deserves a separate chapter.

Natasha mentioned she has never seen a cemetery in such a bad shape as this old one in Rezina. Most graves are partially broken, encrusted in the ground, torn, impossible to identify. The grass is tall, covering everything; it’s difficult to walk around. It all gives an odd charm to it, but this does not help us. Even if my great-grandparents had been buried there, there was no way to know. So we left to Oliscani, a bit mesmerized by the inevitability and power of time. Between the old stones and the sight of Transnistria.

There were about 15 thousand Jews in Rezina, today it’s 30 total.

My grandfather, Abram Moishe Tolpolar, was born in Oliscani, in the Soldanesti region. His parents were also born in Oliscani, a remote village in Northern Moldova. The tourist agent that provided us with the invitation to get the visa said Oliscani didn’t exist. Was it all part of our imagination? As far as I could understand, the Tolpolars came from there. Before that, I don’t know, maybe Poland, or even Spain. But Oliscani was the farthest reference in time of my ancestors. And all of a sudden I was taking a picture with my father and sister in the entrance of the village, where a sign with the writing “Oliscani”was standing. I was sure it existed.

Next: being in Oliscani and our quest for the Tolpolar grave.

Wish you all a great 2009.

ORHEI AND THE BEAUTIFUL ORHEI VECCHI + LAST DAY OF CRONOGRAF

2008-11-24T16:46:00.000-08:00

Our guide Natasha had told us they had found a few Tolpolars graves in Orhei. That was exciting, although it was the birthplace of my grandmother, a Nisenblat. We picked up the head of the Jewish community in Orhei, Izia Mundrean, and went to the cemetery. Like the other towns, there’s not much of a Jewish life in Orhei. Izia said 80 percent of the city was Jewish (around 32,000 people). Today, there’s about 100 Jews. The reality of Moldova is, Jewish or non Jewish, most of youngsters leave the country for a better future. Most Jews go to Israel or the USA. Other Moldovans go to Italy, Germany, Spain, etc. Orhei is the city with the highest number of Jews who move to Israel.

The Orhei Jewish cemetery is one of the 10 oldest in Europe; it is 450 years-old, whereas the city is 570 years-old. The cemetery is not totally abandoned. There’s a keeper, people also give donations and family relatives repair graves. There are a few Holocaust memorials there. One, from 1991, says: “To our compatriots, Jews, victims of the Holocaust”. 4,000 Jews were killed in Orhei, and their names are in the memorial.

We found a few Tolpolar and Nisenblat graves. The most beautiful and mythical part of the cemetery is where the old graves are. I mean, very old, falling apart in the grown grass, attesting the passage of time.

Back in the new part, we went to see a few war memorials. I though the father of my grandmother would be listed in the memorial as a Holocaust victim, but there was a bunch of names, written in Russian and Hebrew, and we couldn’t find his.

After the cemetery, we drove by old Jewish buildings (old Jewish neighborhood and synagogue. During the drive, I spotted the Orhei soccer stadium.) and then stopped at a house that serves as the Jewish center, so people can meet for the holidays and such. Ana, our host, was waiting for us with food, wine, champagne and sweet wine, all homemade. Ana has been working for 11 years with the Jewish community. Her father was Jewish. She used to cook and people would come to buy her food. Now, as the city’s Jews are old, she goes to their places and cooks for them.

Through the “couchsurfing” website, Kerley had made contact with Annie, an American who was working for the Peace Corps and living in Orhei, and she joined us for lunch. It was a nice afternoon, we all at the table, eating and drinking. Ana gave us a bottle of homemade wine and a bottle of champagne to Natasha. We gave her a skin crème from the Amazon, she loved it.

Our next destiny was Orhei Vecchi, Old Orhei. Nothing Jewish, just pure sightseeing. I had read about it and was excited to see it.

This old, archeological sight was a place for monasteries back in the 1400’s (I think). Close by there are also the remains of a Tartar bath. The landscape was gorgeous, it’s like this huge semi-circular wall that jots out of the ground, with caves in it, where the monks used to live. In the ground, there’s a river, a plantation and some peasants working. A surreal idyllic image. Moldova is now a landlocked country, but thousands of years ago the ocean was there, and this wall is full of shells encrusted in it. Amazing.

We stopped by the road to appreciate the landscape from afar. On the other side of the river is a village, very pretty too. Natasha took us to a path of grass and collected some plants with a very different – but pleasant smell. She said it’s good for tea, and I got some. We then drive towards the caves, passing by the museum of Orhei Vecchi, but it was closed.

We finally get to the actual site, and enter the monastery. One monk still lives there and maintains a sanctuary. We go down the stairs and enter one of the caves, where a few monks used to sleep. It’s very cold in there. A local young girl comes in with her family, we talk a little and she reveals she wants to leave Moldova and go to Italy.

We leave the cave and go out to see we were in the place where we spotted from afar in the road. We are right in one of the holes of this huge wall. Looking down, it’s like an abyss. Very impressing.

The drive back to the hotel was calm, as Orhei is about 30 minutes from Chisinau. We dropped Natasha off at her place, as usual, and headed for the hotel. Time to rest and get ready for Oliscani. At least for my dad and sister, as I went to the last day of the CRONOGRAF Film Festival, to meet up with my Russian friend Roma, who had some music to give to me. I also took it as a good opportunity to see the festival goers one more time. But I had one mission: to bring food back to the hotel for my family. They were going to be starving soon.

When I got to the theater, the Awards Ceremony was already happening. So I stood there, waiting it to be finished. I soon spotted Roma, and we went to the outdoor bar next to the theater, where most people were. Roma bought me some delicious tea, and I became aware that Russians love tea, and that’s a popular drink there. It was much better than the Brazilian or American tea. And the waitress gives you some dates and raisins, which were also very good. I became to know better a Serbian filmmaker sitting on the same table, and his girlfriend/wife/film partner, and they were very nice. They studied in Bucharest and told me things I didn’t know about Serbia. Unfortunately I don’t remember our conversation very much, but it just reinforced the idea that people all over the world have the same necessities, everybody goes through difficulties and nothing is perfect.

OK, now everybody was ready for the closing party, which I didn’t even know it was going to happen. Meanwhile, I’m thinking of my father and sister waiting for me to return to the hotel room with dinner. But in this German-like bar (called Bierplatz, conveniently located between the theater and the bar where we were), there was a banquet of Moldovan specialties. There was bread, shrimp, bryza cheese, herring, pickles, things I couldn’t identify. One of them was pork tongue, which I ate before knowing it. To drink, wine of course. But I had drunk so much wine lately I had some sparkling water.

I couldn’t stay there too long. Just enough to satisfy my hunger and talk to people. After a while, it was time for me to go.

It was about 10PM, and I called my sister at the hotel. She said they were indeed waiting for food, and I had to get something. But I missed the 24 hour supermarket and nothing else was open. I walked around for a bit and, very tired already, got back to the hotel with empty hands. Kerley got angry, but she’s smart and asked the receptionist for help. She called us a pizza (I remember, it was “Andy’s Pizza)”, it took almost an hour to arrive. It was the first pizza I’ve seen that had mayonnaise instead of tomato sauce. I liked it, and so did my dad and sister. It was about 1PM when we went to sleep.

Next: the long awaited trip to Oliscani

YEDINITZ PART II – DISCOVERING MORE ABOUT THE TRUTH

2008-11-10T18:46:00.000-08:00

Our next stop was in Cupcini to get Iuri Zagorcea, a Historian and researcher of the Jewish community in the area. Iuri is part of the NGO Eternity, financed by Akkerman. He would take us to Cepleutz, about 30km away from Yedinitz. Cepleutz was supposed to be the village where Yeshaya Tolpolar and his wife (and maybe Sioma and his wife) were murdered. We were looking for their graves as well.

While we were all in the van, Iuri started to tell the story of what he knew of the murder. It was then a chilling feeling ran through my spine. Difficult to describe, but I felt I was part of History, belonged to something, and that the few things I knew about the Tolpolars were true. It was almost like a feeling of completion, of accomplishment of an identity. Or something like that.

But our feeling grew even stronger when we arrived in Cepleutz. It looked like a very small and primitive village, non-paved road and lots of green. We stopped by a street, right in front of the entrance to this path. We walked in, following Iuri, and soon we understood that there was the place where Yeshaya Tolpolar, his wife plus 4 Jews were shot to death. Iuri said their bodies were thrown in the river, where now is just tall grass. He pointed out: “it was right here”.

Basically this is what happened. Two weeks before the Germans invaded the Soviet Union in June 22nd, 1941, Yeshaya Tolpolar and his family felt something wrong was going to happen, the Jewish people in Yedinitz were fleeing to smaller villages surrounding the area and hiding with non-Jews. By July 7th 1941, Yeshaya and his wife and maybe his son Sioma moved to Cepleutz. There, they paid Ivan Afanasyevich Kistruga to hide them. But they were betrayed by this man, who was married to the sister of Dumitru Gontsa, chief of the anti-Semitic party Cuzist.

Six locals from the Cuzist party in Cepleutz, including Dumitru Gontsa and Timoftei Nemirenko, organized the capture of Jews in that village. The Nazi Romanians said they didn’t care about those Jews and that the locals could do whatever they wanted with them. And they ended up killing most of them. Iuri confirmed that Dumitru and Timoftei were the ones who shot Yeshaya and his wife. He was not sure of Sioma.

Dumitru Gontsa e Timoftei Nemirenko were arrested and sent to Siberia. In 1945, one became a priest in Bukovina, Ukraine, returned to Cepleutz and died there. Nemirenko’s son still lives in Cepleutz. Another killer was also identified: Petru Lupan.

189 Jews were murdered in Cepleutz and 300 were sent to concentration camps. In Yedinitz there were 15 thousand Jews, today there are only 30 families. We gave 100 lei to Iuri and he said he would use the money to help build a monument in Cepleutz, an old plan of his. The problem is that there are still survivors and families of the murderers living there.

As Iuri was telling his story and we were digesting all of that, something magical happened. This goes to show that life in these Moldovan villages doesn’t change so quickly. An old man appeared and started to walk towards us, speaking Romanian. According to our translator, he was saying: “it was here, right here”, pointing a little bit more to the left were Iuri had shown us.

For our surprise, this old man was a witness of that killing. He was 5 years old when he was passing by, taking a horse to his dad, and saw some people on their knees. The Nazi looked at him and told him to leave; otherwise he’d be shot as well. This was a living witness of the tragedy that occurred so many years ago and involved our family. It was just incredible.

This man’s name is Giorghi Kistruga. In the midst of the victims, he saw a few books written in Hebrew, he didn’t know what they meant. He said the bodies were naked. While the Jews were being killed, some inhabitants of the village were around, crying and asking why they were doing that. The local Nazis said if they didn’t stop crying they would kill them as well.

Giorghi also told us that after being arrested, Dumitru came back to Cepleutz. He then met him and asked about his participation in the massacre. He also said when there was a trial in the village in 1946, the bones and remains were uncovered, right at the spot we were looking at. But they didn’t have a place to bury them, so they left them there.

Because Ghiorghi has the surname Kistruga, and he calls Dumitru “uncle”, he may be the son of Ivan Kistruga, whom hid and betrayed the Tolpolars, and was married to Dumitru’s sister. The old man also remembered a lawyer called Tolpolar. That was Fima who, enlisted in the Russian army, ended up surviving the war.

As he was talking non-stop, we were taking pictures and listening carefully. Kerley stepped in a puddle of mud and her white snickers were damped and now brown-colored. We started to leave that place. Iuri was very interested in the old man, and they were both in conversation. To show he was still strong, the old man broke a rock with his hands. Amazing.

He invited us to have tea and sweets and his place, but it was getting late, we were exhausted and needed to go.

On our way back to leave Iuri at Cupcini, he revealed the word “Holocaust” was unheard of in Soviet times. That was unknown to us. Zionism was considered anti-soviet, and Iuri, a History teacher, heard “Holocaust” for the first time in 2001.

After we left him, we started to head back to Chisinau. We were all so tired, but since we were going to drive by Beltsy (where our cousin Shlomi was born and lived together with his father and Fima), I asked if it could be possible to stop there for a few minutes and see the building where our Tolpolar relatives used to live. Shlomi had shown it to me on a map, and I had it in my head.

Beltsy revealed itself as a pleasant town. Sure it was Sunday; people were more relaxed, walking around as if in a holiday, with their families and friends. It felt very comfortable, like a city in the mountains of Southern Brazil.

We saw the building where the Tolpolars lived and the school where Shlomi and his sister went. Then we walked to a Ukrainian grocery store to buy some garnishments for the hotel room. The supermarket was very nice; we got the famous Moldovan bryza goat cheese, ham, beverages and chocolates. Natasha mentioned Beltsy was famous for its brandy, so I got some bottles. One for me, the others were presents.

It was already night time, I think about 9:30PM, when we started to drive back. All of us slept in this 3 hour trip. It was almost midnight when we got to the hotel. The next day we would meet at 10AM to go to Orhei, where my grandmother was born. If I remember correctly, I didn’t hear the alarm clock in the morning, and when my father and sister woke me up, I couldn’t understand what was going on. Suddenly I realized I had about 20 minutes to get ready for one more day in Moldova.

Next: Orhei, the beautiful Orhei Vecchi and back for the last day of CRONOGRAF

YEDINITZ - PART I

2008-11-01T10:12:00.000-07:00

Little I knew this was going to be the busiest day of our journey in Moldova. We woke up early to drive to Yedinitz, a 3 hour road trip. In Yedinitz, Fima Tolpolar was born, son of Yeshaya Tolpolar, brother of my grandfather. We knew that there was still an old neighbor of Fima living in Yedinitz, who could tell us more about him.

The trip went smooth. I was fascinated by the landscape, full of green hills. Our first appointment was going to be with Efim Akkerman, the head of the Jewish community and the cemetery manager. There are about only 30 Jewish families living there now. Mr. Akkerman is a construction businessman and designated his son, Edik, to guide us through the cemetery before our visit. The cemetery is old and not very well organized. They’re still trying to catalogue all the graves.

We didn’t find anything there, so headed to Mr. Akkerman’s office.

Mr. Akkerman went straight to the point; he wanted to know what we needed and how he could help. We explained our story briefly, and then he started to make phone calls. In between the calls, he affirmed that all Jewish people buried in Oliscani were unburied and buried again in Rezina or Floresti.

After many calls, he arranged two appointments with us, with an elder lady who could tell us more about the Jewish community and with Semion Mikhalovic, Fima’s old neighbor. Edik would take us to the lady, whose name I cannot remember.

She was very nice, not Jewish, but married to a Jewish man, who already passed away. Only I and Natasha went up to her small apartment. It was the first time I was entering a local’s home, it was exciting. She showed me pictures of her family, gave me chocolates and a jar of homemade pickled mushrooms (very popular there). She talked a bit, but couldn’t remember any Tolpolars or Nisenblats.

The 85 year-old lady is an active Math teacher, and it so happens that Semion was one of her students. So she called him and advised we were coming. While I was at the lady’s apartment, my dad and sister waited in front of the building and became friends with some other old ladies. We found out later everybody was so friendly in the villages.

Semion was there with his wife. Energetic and serious, he promptly started to lead us on a walk towards the house where Fima and his brother Sioma were born. Semion told us that Fima and many Jews were evacuated from Yedinitz in 1941 to Ukraine and other countries. He himself went to a concentration camp in Ukraine and met Fima again when he came back to Yedinitz in 1945. In that occasion, Fima said he was coming from Moscow and that his family was dead. He spent 2 days there and then moved to Beltsy. Semion’s father bought Fima’s house. At that time, it was good business, it was cheap. Then they sold to another Fima, who sold to the actual owner. She has a restaurant in front of the house and lives in the back with her family.

The 15 minute walk made us arrive in a big yellow house, a restaurant now. The owner, named Francesca, happily greeted us and Natasha ran to fetch my dad and Sergio, the driver. Once they arrived, we started to tour the house. Francesca explained what she built and what was there originally. There it was. We were inside the house of my great granduncle and his family, which I never met.

Afterwards, Francesca offered us some food. It was already 3PM and we were completely weakened by starvation. While we were waiting on the table, we talked to Semion about the war, what he knew of Fima and so on. We also discovered that his wife was a Nisenblat. She was happy to see some pictures of my grandmother, a Nisenblat as well.

Semion confessed being a communist. He was sent to a concentration camp, but then freed by the soviets. He didn’t think the communism affected the Jews, and that even the first communist leaders were Jews.

They served us soup, placinta, some rolled minced meat, mashed potatoes and beverages. We were so grateful. And later she said it was a present, she didn’t accept any money from us. And that was a restaurant!

Semion said my dad resembled Fima. The both communicated in Yiddish, and it was touching when at the time of saying good-bye, Semion hugged and kissed my dad. I unfortunately lost this great moment on my camera.

Everybody in front of Fima's old house

Next: Driving to Cepleutz, the place where Yeshaya Tolpolar was murdered, and an unbelievable surprise.

(CORRECTION: In the “Getting to know Jewish Chisinau” posting, I wrote a comment from my “stepfather”. I actually meant “father-in-law”! I don’t have a stepfather, and my mom and dad are together. Thanks for my friend Judah, who pointed it out and I promptly corrected it.)

JEWISH CHISINAU AND CRONOGRAF FILM FESTIVAL

2008-10-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

Natasha and Sergei, our driver, met us at the hotel at 10AM for our tour of the Jewish Chisinau: Jewish holocaust memorial, the Jewish cemetery and historical sights related to the (in)famous 1903 pogrom, including the house number 13 where Jewish families were slaughtered by the ravaged mob.

Alla, our researcher, had found a street address in Chisinau where a certain Shabsa Tolpolar used to live. We went there first, but the new tenants knew nothing about it. An old lady who had been living there for 10 years said that everything there was changed and rebuilt.

Aftewards we went by the house number 13, where many victims perished in the 1903 Jewish pogrom.

Jewish Holocaust Memorial (Ghetto Prisoner’s Memorial)

Stadium where Jews were executed, in the old Jewish neghborhood.

We went by the stadium where Jews were executed in the pogrom and by another synagogue, also orthodox, that belongs to Agudat Israel. We drove by a blue church in the same place where the 1903 pogrom started. We saw a few buildings related to Rabbi Tirilson, very active at that time.

The Jewish cemetery is huge and wildly beautiful. We walked a lot there and found a few graves, not of Tolpolar, but of Nisenblat, my grandmother’s maiden name.

After the cemetery, we had lunch in another fancy restaurant, Vatra Neamului, worth the visit. The food and service were excellent. I had the famous mamaliga with tocana, something like a cornmeal/polenta with bryza (their special goat cheese), sour cream and slices of meat. Besides that, the place was decorated like a museum of national history, with ornaments and paintings, and every room had a different theme. They also had a wine tasting area.

We came back to the hotel to rest a little before our late afternoon trip to the Museum of National History. That night was museum night, and all museums were free and open to the public until midnight. Mauro stayed in the room for a nap, Kerley and I went to the Odeon Theater, where the only Moldovan Film Festival, CRONOGRAF, was taking place.

I found that in my walks in Chisinau, the stray cats were not afraid of people, on the contrary. They come to you if you call them and seem pretty comfortable. Here in the States, and also in Brazil, stray cats run away by the sight of humans.

The Odeon Theatre is small, but clean and well put together. They told me is a typical soviet building, but I didn’t notice a lot of difference from the art houses in America, for example. Except for the fact that the seats are not very comfortable.
We were looking for Dumitru, one of the Festival’s organizers who I got in contact via e-mail beforehand. He was very busy, but took some time and took us to the outdoor café next door.

Then we met people from Russia, Georgia, Armenia and even Moldova on the table. All very friendly. I soon connected with Roman, the Russian, who said wanted to move to Brazil.
My sister had to leave soon to meet Natasha and Mauro to go to the Museum, but I decided to stay, and even watched some films. The CRONOGRAF festival is small but organized. I never imagined finding such an international crowd in Moldova: Germans, Austrians, Russians, Armenians, Serbians, Romanians… Nobody from the US or Latin America though.

My new friend Roman, from a region close to Siberia, brought me some home made wine he had store somewhere in the theater. It was my first contact with the famous Moldovan wine. Since then I didn’t know almost every person in the villages has their own little winery and makes his/her own wine. I remember it was night already; I was sitting in the stairs in front of the Odeon with my friend Roman drinking one of the softest and most delicious wines I had ever tasted, in a plastic glass.

I had gotten a message that somebody else I had contacted through e-mail, a local filmmaker named Viorel, was going to meet me there. (The wonders of cell phones!). So I waited, and drank a bit more, until he arrived. We went to the same bar I was before to meet some of his friends, a very different crowd then. They were very nice as well.

In the same bar, another “internet friend”, Alecu, was having a beer with his friends. He signed me to sit with them. Alecu doesn’t speak English, but we could communicate somehow. For my surprise, one of his friends, Boris, was speaking Portuguese to me. He’s from Moldova and lived in Sao Paulo for 2 years. I could never imagine I was going to find a Portuguese speaker in Moldova! That was nice. They reminded me that this TV station wanted to make a report on our journey. I gave them my sister’s cell number and supposed to wait for a contact. Alecu had already told me about this through e-mail. Funny, because Viorel and his friends wanted to make a short film about our journey.

Viorel invited me to an outdoor concert, I promptly joined his group and said bye to Alecu and Boris. The local band “Snails” was playing in front of the Museum of National History, funny coincidence, right where my father and sister were a few hours ago. We watched the concert for about 5 minutes and then Viorel, who’s very agitated, took us to a bar across the street.

There, I became acquainted with a lot of interesting stories from the soviet era, but from a modern perspective. Viorel told me when he was going to school, I think about 12 years old, everybody was a “pioneer”. A pioneer means you had to wear a specific soviet uniform, be impeccably clean and obey/admire the soviet ideology. I guess something like a scout boy. I asked what would happen if a kid was against it, he answered that nobody really thought about being a rebel. Not that they felt oppressed, but it was such a common thing, like having breakfast or using a hat, that nobody really questioned it. He said that one time his brother forgot a bandana they had to wear, and he was considered the shame of the school for months.
I also learned that once Moldova became independent in 1991, there was a huge backlash against the Russian influence. Nationalistic ideas started to rise, and some people even wanted to ban the Russian language. Nowadays, people in Moldova speak Russian and “Moldovan” (more like Romanian with a Russian accent) and there is little adversity between Russian and Romanian ethnicities. However when Moldova became independent, some wanted to ban the Russian influence, other wanted to stick with it. So a region called Transnistria self-proclaimed its separation from Moldova in order to be like in soviet times. I found that Viorel and his friends were much more proud to have a Romanian heritage than Russian.

Before Viorel and his friend gave me a ride back to the hotel, I learned that Moldovans love Brazilian soap operas and every Thursday night there’s the “Salsa night”, where people can dance to Latin rhythms.

My dad and sister were asleep at the hotel room. Kerley was actually very worried about me. I should have called her, but got so entangled in the conversation I ended up forgetting it. We catched up a bit.

Kerley said the Museum of National History is kind of poor, there are not a lot of visual resources or installations, but it was good to be in a cultural event in Chisinau. Each room has a different theme according to a specific age: Middle Ages, 19th century and so on. There were people in traditional old costumes serving typical food. The best thing was the Diorama, a mix of painting and installation about the battle between the Russian and the German army during the World War II. The weapons and tanks exposed were real. There were also relics, vases, from 4 thousand, 6 thousand years ago.

After hearing their adventures, I went to sleep. I was exhausted and knew I needed to rest. The next day would be our first time on the road.

Next: Driving to Yedinitz and vicinity.

GETTING TO KNOW JEWISH CHISINAU

2008-10-16T21:09:00.000-07:00

Breakfast at the hotel was fair. Bread, butter, three types of cheese, salami, tomatoes, some cookies, milk and cereal. Sometimes they would have eggs or this delicious Ukrainian yogurt. My sister had to mimic a lot to explain she wanted aspartame instead of sugar.

I had an early appointment at KSAK, to meet up with the director and curator of this art institute. I managed to contact them through Jon Davis, who worked at the San Francisco Art Institute, where I took my masters in Film. Kerley and I got a cab to the “Botanic” neighborhood, where the Institute was. The driver didn’t say a word the whole trip, but waited for us to get inside the building, just to make sure we were in the right place, I guess.

We first met Igor, a teacher, Lilia, director, and then at last Stephan, artist and curator. They asked about our visit there and we asked about the country’s situation, we talked about the soviet age and the idea that the communists had to build a Moldovan identity. According to Stephan, this was an illusion, because Moldova has many different ethnicities. They were surprised to hear that it took almost 2 years to finally travel there. They were all really nice and asked me to give a presentation about my work towards the end of our trip. I gladly accepted. Igor, one of the teachers, sadly confessed he earns US$ 100 a month, that there are no Apple computers in Moldova, PCs crash all the time and food and cell phones are very expensive for Moldovans. That was our first contact with their reality.

We had lunch at a fancy and touristy restaurant, called Old City, recommended by our hotel receptionist. I was a bit embarrassed to be there, felt like a rich tourist taking advantage of the fact that most locals could not afford that place. But later on my father-in-law said “You should feel good, at least you gave them business.” They charged my dad twice for the salmon and then later explained they charged for the fish weight and my dad had a big fish. Weird. But the food was very good.

In the afternoon, we walked with our guide Natasha to the Jewish Community Center (JCC), where we met Alla Chastina. We hired Alla to research documents at the Moldovan National Archives and we were meeting for the first time to talk about her findings (mostly census information, school and other documents related to the Tolpolars). She had started the research a year prior to our trip and was always very nice and supportive.

At some point the staff of the JCC unexpectedly told us that a certain Valodya Tolpolar used to be an active member of the community and had passed away a few years ago. Was he related to us? We had never heard of this name. He never married nor had children, and his brother came from Ukraine for the funeral. We showed pictures of Meyer (my great-grandfather) and they thought it looked like Valodya. They told us he used to say his family was very far away. Was he referring to us? We arranged to come back there to see a video of him, the only image they had. Very interesting.

The Jewish Library is attached to the JCC and opened in 1991 as an initiative of the Moldovan Jewish community. It is the only Jewish library in the former Soviet Union that also works as a community center. It has documents and books about the 1903 Kishinev pogrom, and books in Russian, Romanian, English and French about the Holocaust. Only in St. Petersburg they have books like these. Before it was a children’s library, but when they closed, drug addicts and homeless started to come there. Today it’s part of the Municipal public library, so they don’t pay rent. They have rooms used for dance, pilates, theater classes, etc.

We left the JCC and crossed the street to the next building, heading to the Museum of Besarabian Jews. The keeper of this museum knew a lot of the History and stories, and it was a pleasure to hear her talk. She IS the museum itself. She told us about Jews in Moldova, past and present. She said because Jews were different, they called attention to them. Different because they didn’t have the same costumes, ate differently (kashrut), didn’t work on Saturday but worked on Sunday, the children had education even if the family was poor, they didn’t accept invitation to eat at the neighbors' house (because of kashrut), what made them look not nice. The museum is small and simple, but worth the visit.

Then at 6PM we walked to the Organ Hall for a concert in homage to a Jewish composer who would be completing 80 years that day. In the program, songs in Yiddish, Russian and Romanian. It was nice to seat and rest before going to Shabbat at the Glazier’s synagogue (from Beit Chabad).

People at the synagogue were very friendly and one of the religious men knew everything about Brazilian soccer. He said it was better than Argentinean, which made me smile.

The Shabbat was a special experience, with people from all ages, including children. The synagogue is small and looks old, but it’s charming and has a very unique ceiling painting. I recently heard they are refurbishing it. Kerley sat separately from us, at the women’s section. Later she said the woman by her side was very nice and was trying to explain her everything since the sidur (pray book) was written in Russian and Hebrew, impossible for us to follow. It was 9PM and we felt we needed to leave, to go to eat and sleep. They invited us to eat with them, but it was only for men, so Kerley couldn’t stay.

So we ended up going to the Irish Pub, close to our hotel. Mauro and Kerley had the saddest hamburgers I’ve ever seen (why do you wanna have hamburgers in Moldova anyway?): grey meat, falling apart. I had a delicious lamb stew. The waitress charged twice for my bottle of sparkling water, and then explained the price in the menu was for the glass. Because a bottle contains two glasses, she charged twice. So I asked her what would she do with the bottle if I had drank only one glass, given it to the next costumer, a half-emptied bottle? She groaned at me and we paid twice.

Walking back to the hotel there were the same group of stray dogs we would encounter every night. They barked, but were harmless.

Mauro didn’t snore, and I slept like a baby while my sister was writing in her diary.

Next: more Jewish Chisinau: the cemetery, the holocaust memorial, historical sights related to the (in)famous 1903 pogrom and attending the CRONOGRAF Film Festival.

EXPECTATIONS / HELLO CHISINAU!!

2008-10-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

I left my home in Los Angeles at about 6:00 AM on May 14th, 2008. Since last week I couldn’t sleep well, just thinking of things that could go wrong, having strange dreams, but also with the hope of having a great time. My mother said nothing could go wrong with such a tight planning. She was right; there was no room for any accident, only for improvisation. So with a heart beating faster than usual, I boarded on the plane that would take me to Frankfurt, and then Moldova.

Probably almost at the same time, my dad and sister were having similar thoughts at the other side of the world, in Brazil. Sitting at the plane that would take them to Sao Paulo and then Frankfurt, my dad said “It’s the beginning, our adventure is beginning.” Later on he said “I don’t know what to expect, I hope all is going to be fine, I don’t have a precise idea of things”.

My father, sister and I were supposed to meet in Frankfurt in order to take the plane together to Moldova. I arrived 3 hours before them, so had the time to look for the Air Moldova booth and check-in. For my surprise, it was not easy to find it, even with the organizational skills of the Germans. After walking around and asking people, I finally located the booth and checked in.

Well, now I had plenty of time to wait for Shlomi. Shlomi is the grandson of Fima Tolpolar, my father’s first degree cousin, who was also born in Moldova, survived the II World War and moved to Israel with his family. A trip “back to the roots” is not the same if you don’t meet your kind.

Shlomi studies near Frankfurt and took this rare opportunity to meet us. He was as excited and nervous as us, and was extremely nice and generous. We hung out for about 3 hours before we had to take the plane to Chisinau. What can you do in a first meeting with a person that comes from afar, but is a close relative? We all tried to do everything. We laughed, hugged each other, talked about our families, and ate lunch. Shlomi is 31, so we share similar interests from our generation. He was very touched to see Mauro resembles his grandfather, and later on confessed he felt a strong connection with my father.

Shlomi also told interesting stories, like the one that his grandfather came back to Moldova years after leaving it and took revenge on the killers of his father. But he thought that also could be just a story.

My first “Moldovan experience” was actually a little misunderstanding in the plane. My seat was 6F, but when I get in the plane, there were no seats with the letter “F”. The flight attendant said I could seat anywhere, so I joined my father and sister in the same row, until somebody came over and claimed that was his seat. The flight attendant noticed that and told him there were more empty seats in the back. It worked pretty well.

Moldova from above looks beautiful, full of green hills and slopes, going up and down, like a wave.

After 3 hours we arrived in Chisinau, I could see it written in the airport. The bus took us from the plane to the arrival gate, a 30 second trip, as the airport is fairly small. I think we could have walked. The immigration area is packed with people and nobody is queuing. When I was researching on how to get the visa, some people told me I shouldn’t worry and that I could get it at the airport. That could have been true if the visa booth wasn’t closed. I was glad I had it done beforehand.

I was a bit nervous. We heard many stories of the immigration police being rude and weird, asking you stupid questions and wanting money. This was not true. The woman in the booth was actually nice and even said “Welcome”. I was finally in the country of my grandparents, a long anticipated feeling. The first thing I see coming out of the airport is a beautiful hill. The landscape is different here.

With a sign that reads “Tolpolar Family”, the cab driver is calling us; he looks like the driver from “Everything is Illuminated”. He was very tall and thin, with a big chin and almost no teeth (and the ones remaining were bad), could barely speak English and had this “special welcoming” attitude – a grin in his face and a rude feeling of annoyance. I felt like I was in a movie.

“Stop, car”, the driver would say, I guess expecting us to wait until he gets the car. He was always at his cell phone. Our first look into Moldovan streets was accompanied by a Slavic song playing in the car. But soon the regional song was followed by a well known “Come together, right now…” Beatles are Beatles anywhere…

Driving into Chisinau for the first time was an interesting experience. You see it’s a poor place (they call it the poorest country in Europe), with really old buildings. I wonder if Cuba is the same, but my dad said it’s worse. From a foreign perspective, the buildings looked extremely attractive. I had never seen such a soviet architecture in person.

The hotel is small but cute; it’s been there for only 2 years. The receptionist, a very nice tourism student called Natalie, was there to greet us. But there was nobody to help us with the luggage. At least the room was pretty spacious and nice. The beds had great mattresses, and later we learned the hotel was in a very good area in town. Time went by fast and it was almost time to meet up with our guide and translator, Natasha Alhazov.

Natasha arrived punctually at 7:30PM at the hotel for some orientation; she brought some balloons with the colors of the Israeli flag to my dad. We spent a considerable amount of time talking to her, asking questions and so on. Natasha went out with us in downtown to show where to exchange money, where to buy groceries, get a SIM card and so on.

In order to save energy, the streets are pretty dim at night, giving a peculiar atmosphere. Most of the light comes from the buildings around. After several blocks, walking by some administrative buildings and theaters, we arrived at N1 (Number 1), the grocery store. We got some beverages, cream cheese, bread, and the local delicacy “placinta”.

We came back to the hotel by ourselves, a little bit suspicious, trying not to speak Portuguese too loud, but all went well. Everything is written in two languages – Romanian and Russian – and we don’t understand either of them. We were happy to be in Chisinau.

Next: Walking around, first impressions, the first Shabbat and more pictures.

WHY MOLDOVA?

2008-09-27T15:16:00.000-07:00

My grandparents were born in Moldova and moved to Brazil in 1931. I never met them, never knew much information about them, and so was always involved in this mystique, in this historical puzzle. Every time my dad and I would go to a different country, and that happened several times in the 90’s, we would check the phone book for a person with the “Tolpolar” family name. Oslo, Munich, Vienna, Budapest, Prag, Asuncion, Sao Paulo, etc. In New York we once found somebody named “Tolpo”. Could it be a relative? Unfortunately we never called.

My dad doesn’t know a lot about their history, so my infinite questions were never fully satisfied. How was life in Oliscani and Orhei? Why did they move to the South of Brazil? Did they have an accent? How were their voices like? How did they move? Were they nice? Intelligent? Are there any Tolpolars in other countries? What happened with the Tolpolars before living in Moldova? How my life would be affected had I met them?
I can only relate to them through pictures, stories and imagination. It was almost unbelievable and so exciting to think that a Brazilian like me actually belonged to a very recent history of such a distant region of the world. Different culture, language, mind frame. So remote from the Brazilian reality. My reality.

You could compare my grandfathers’ pictures with mines and certify that we came from different planets. They spoke Russian, Romanian and Yiddish. I speak Portuguese and English. They lived in a difficult age of pogroms, persecution, war, no TV. I cannot live without air conditioning.

Going to Moldova to visit their birthplaces was a way to try to connect to them, understand my past and maybe settle my curiosity, anxiety and uneasiness. But this was a distant dream that could only be accomplished after I moved to the USA and after Moldova became an independent democracy.

In 2006 I started to research about a possible trip and getting information about all the operational stuff: visa, plane tickets, country information, accommodations, etc. Because there’s not a lot of information, and mainly firsthand information about Moldova, it took me 2 years to finally get everything together. On May 14th 2008, my father, sister and I were boarding on a plane to Bessarabia, the old land of our ancestors.

I had read a lot about Moldova, and heard many conflicting information about this country in construction, that not many people know about. Myths, stereotypes, urban stories, jokes, everything made me realize I was going in to a place far from my reality and comprehension.

Next week: the trip, the excitement and anxiety, arriving in Frankfurt and boarding Air Moldova.