Ganadores del Konkurso de Kuentos 2024
- Daniel Santacruz
- Sep 14
- 16 min read
Updated: Sep 15
Nota del redaktor
Prezaentmos aki los ganadores del Konkurso de Kuerntos 2024 organisado por Ladinokomunita de la kategoria prinsipiantes. Kada uno es de un jenero i un sujeto diferente:
—Miriam Sherman (de San Diego, California) i su kuento "Merkada i Nissim".
—Alicia Ramos Gonzales (de Meksiko) i su kuento"Una Pajna Propria para Lilian".
Merkada i Nissim
Por Miriam Sherman
English below
En mi chikez demandí a mi mamá ke me kontara alguna kozika sovre muestra famiya. Ansí, esta istoria me vino de mi mamá, ke la eskuchó de su mamá, mi bizavuela. El nombre de eya era Fortuna i mi bizavuelo se yamava Avram. Siempre me paresió muy interesante ke los dos eskaparon algo terrivle en sus chikez i por esto les trokaron los nombres.
En su chikez, Fortuna estuvo muy hazina i kaji murió. Ansina, sus djenitores la “vendieron” i le trokaron el nombre a Merkada.
No vash a kreer, ma Avram kuando era un ijiko, ayudó a una mujer ke no podía salir de su kaza en un fuego. En aziendo esto, él también se kemó muy muncho – su kara kedó markada - i achakes de esto también trokaron su nombre a Nissim.
Nissim i Merkada se kazaron i tuvieron tres ijas i dos ijos. Nissim, era un ombre muy bueno ke le plazía muy muncho estar en su kaza kon su famiya i mantenerlos bueno. Malorozamente, su lavoro era vender vidros i espejos ke yevava de la Turkía a la Arjentina i kalía ke pasara muncho tiempo viajando. Ansina, él siempre traía a la
kaza muncha komida para guadrar: komo arina, mansanas, arroz, patatas, avas, ets. porke kería ke su famiya siempre tuviera buena komida kuando él no estava.
La famiya morava en una kaza grande ande Merkada lavorava muy muncho. Asegún disho, kada día de la semana era para un lavoro.
Por eshemplo, los lunes avía de azer la kolada, ke era muy pezgado. Kalía meter las vestimentas a buyir en oyas i después eskurrirlas, enkolgarlas i plancharlas. Después de todo akeyo, ya era noche i era menester dar a senar, yenar agua i akomodar las kamas para echarse.
I ansí, kada día azía otros lavoros. Ma el djueves, la kaza tenía de estar más briyante ke el sol. El viernes pasava todo el día gizando para Shabat i las komidas para la semana, porke no avía tiempo para gizar kada día. Por esto, los otros días komían kozikas komo
peshkado salado, kezo, azeitunas i kozas ansí.
Si alguna tadre avía un poko de tiempo, se metía a aprontar vedruras, arremendar kalsas o azer otros menesteres. Estas kozikas podía azer echando lashón kon las vezinas i ansí paresía más kolay.
Seguro ke kuando Nissim viajava, Merkada tenía de azer todo solika kon la kaza i los ijos. Komo dishe antes, avía muncho lavoro, ma a lo manko, los ijos se ivan a la eskola kada día por unas oras. Un día, los ijos tornaron de la eskola muy kontentes en diziendo:
—No ay más eskola, no ay más klasas!
-—De ké no?—disho Merkada.
-—Porke ay gerra!—respondieron los ijos.
Agora mozotros konosemos a esta gerra komo la Primera Gerra Mundiala, ama en akel tiempo, Merkada no supo muy bueno lo ke estava pasando. Komo eya era muy buena i kería a sus vezinas, pensó ke podía ayudarlas i les dió komida a todas de las rezervas ke Nissim le deshó. Dunke la komida se akavó muy presto i la gerra . . . no.
Al pasar el tiempo, sólo podían komer el pan ke el governo les dava ke era terrivle: asegún dezían, komo piedra i arena. I para esto, kalía estar en kola desde la madrugada para poder arresivir un poko. El enkargado de dar el pan era un pariente de Nissim. Un sovrino riko ke no avía ido a la gerra i por sus parás le dieron este posto. Lo más triste era ke este sovrino siempre mandava a Merkada atrás de todos, diziendo, “No kero ke otros pensen ke te do preferensia por ser de mi famiya”.
La povre de Merkada tuvo menester de vender poko por poko todo lo ke avía en su kaza i mandar a las ijas a lavorar en la kaza de la “tía rika”. Akéya las tratava muy mal i sólo les dava káshkaras o sovras de su komida. Malorozamente, las kozas se izieron más negras kuando la ija grande se izo hazina de mala hazinura i Merkada desidió de no mandar a sus ijas más ayí.
Entremientes, Nissim no estava bueno en la Arjentina. Estava dezesperado i kería aboltar a su famiya. No savía si estavan bivos isanos... I él se izo hazino de tanto merrekiarse i lo metieron al ospital. Kuando a la fin se eskapó la gerra, Nissim tuvo la shans de aboltar i kería traer un regaliko espesial para alegrar a su famiya.
Kuálo merkó? Un ermozo papagayo vedre al ke ambezó muestra lingua! Toda la famiya i todos los vezinos estavan enkantados de ver akeya “gaína vedre ke avla komo la djente”.
A la fin, bendicho el Dió sien mil vezes, estavan todos endjuntos otra vez. Ma kalía lavorar muy muncho para ke todo tornara a ser komo antes. No era kolay! Agora Nissim ya no kería viajar más i deshar solika a su famiya. Endemás, salió otra belá: Las ijas ya estavan grandes i avía de kazarlas, i parás no avía!
Ma esta es otra istoria para otro día …
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Merkada and Nissim
By Miriam Sherman
In my childhood, I asked my mother to tell me something about our family. So, this story came to me from my mother, who heard it from her mother, my great-grandmother. Her name was Fortuna and my great- grandfather’s name was Abraham. It always seemed very interesting to me that both of them survived something terrible in their childhood, and because of that, their names were changed.
In her childhood, Fortuna was very sick and almost died. Thus, her parents “sold” her and changed her name to Merkada.*
You won’t believe this, but when Abraham was a young boy, he helped a woman who could not go out of her house on fire. Doing this, he also got burnt, so much so that his face remained scarred. Due to this, his name was also changed to Nissim** .
Nissim and Merkada got married and had three daughters and two sons. Nissim was a very good man, who very much enjoyed being at home with his family and provide for them well. Unfortunately, his work involved selling glass and mirrors that he took from Turkey to Argentina, so he had to spend long periods of time traveling. Therefore, he always
brought home a lot of food to keep, like flour, apples, rice, potatoes, beans, etc. because he wanted his family to have good food when he was not there.
The family lived in a big house where Merkada worked very hard. As she
said, each day of the week was for a different job.
For example, on Mondays, she had to do the laundry, which was a lot of work. She had to
put the clothes in big pots to boil, and then drain them, hang them, and iron them. After all that, it was already evening and she had to see to dinner, fill water, and make the beds for all to lie down.
And so, each day she did other work. But on Thursdays, the house had to be more sparkling than the sun. On Fridays, she spent all day cooking for Shabbat and for the following week’s meals because there was no time to cook each day. Therefore, the other days they ate foods like salted fish, cheese, olives, and things like that.
If some afternoon there was a little bit of time, she would prepare vegetables, mend socks or work on some other things. These chores she could so while talking with the neighbors, which made it seem easier.
Of course, when Nissim traveled, Merkada had to do everything on her own with the house and the children. As I mentioned before, there was a lot of work, but at least the children went to school each day for a few hours. One day, the children came back from school very happy, saying:
—There’s no more school, no more classes!
—Why not? — asked Merkada.
—Because there’s a war! — the children answered.
Now we know this war as the First World War, but at that time, Merkada did not know very well what was happening. Since she was a very good woman and she loved her neighbors, she thought she could help them and gave all of them food from the stores that Nissim had left her.
Therefore, the food was finished very soon, but the war … was not.
As time went by, they could only eat the bread that the government gave them, which was terrible: as they said, like rocks and sand. And for this, t was necessary to line up at dawn to be able to receive a little bit. The person in charge of doling out the bread was a relative of Nissim’s. A rich nephew who had not gone to war, and because of his money he was given the job. The saddest part was that this nephew always sent Merkada to the back of the line, saying: “I don’t want others to think that I’m giving you preferred treatment for being part of my family.”
Poor Merkada had to sell everything that was in her house little by little, and send her daughters to work at the “rich” aunt’s house. That woman treated them badly and only gave them the peels and leftovers. Unfortunately, things got worse when the oldest daughter became ill with a grave illness, and Merkada decided not to send her daughters there anymore.
Meanwhile, Nissim was not doing well in Argentina. He was desperate and wanted to return to his family. He didn’t know if they were alive and healthy … He also became ill from so much worry and ended up in the hospital. When the war was finally over, Nissim had the chance of returning, and he wanted to bring a special gift to bring some joy to his fqmily.
What did he buy? A beautiful green parrot, to which he taught our language! The whole family and all the neighbors were astonished to see that “green chicken that speaks like a person.”
Finally, blessed be God one hundred thousand times, they were all together again. But it was necessary to work very hard for everything to go back to what it was before. It was not easy! Now Nissim did not want to travel anymore and leave his family alone. Besides, another problem came up: the daughters were now grown up and had to be married, and there was no money!
But this is another story for another day …
________________________________
*One who was bought.
** Hebrew for miracles.
_______________________________________________________________________
Salónica 1938. Famiya Amir. Lilian, abasho, en el sentro, entre sus primas Marsel i Ninon Menashe. (Yad Vashem Photo Archive, 10073/5).
Una pajina propia para Lilian a
Por Alicia Ramos González
English below
En eskadrunyando en el Archivo Fotografiko de Yad Vashem, topí algunas fotografías ke enrejistravan rekordos sinyifikativos de la famiya Amir de Salónika en los anyos antes de la okupasión nazí de la Grecha. En tres estampas aparesía una djovinika i su nombre, Lilian Menashe, m’era konosido.
Anyos avia ke tuve meldado por la primera vez este nombre en el livro de su padre, el doktor Albert Menashe, reskapado de la Shoá. Durante los anyos, mientres ke investigava sovre el «klan de las gregas»* en la frauenkapelle** de Birkenau, rasladeí en unos kuantos manaderos un punyadiko de sitasiones, magajikas de los kapitulos d’alkavo de su kurta vida, interrompida violentemente en el inferno Auschwitz. Ama el aparesimiento de Lilian en akeyas fotografias amanzió mi korasón i dechizí de adjuntar todas las fingas en una pájina propia.
No tengo haberes de Lilian fina 1938, data de la primera estampa: Lilian está en la edad de onse anyos i es la ijika regalada de Albert Menashe i su mujer, Zoly, de la alkunya Angel. El padre profita de una nombradía en Salónika en lavorando komo médiko i es un múziko muy talentuozo; su mujer es menajera i perkura ke su unika kriatura, agora eleva de la eskola primera i el konservatorio, devenga una kriansa adoravle. Lilian tiene airada de dramajona i kon su ojada manyetika parese ke entra al objektivo del aparey fotografiko ke la enrejistra para siempre i siempre.
En otra foto, datada de dos mezes antes ke la Italia fashista okupa la Grecha, Lilian se amostra kresida i enfloresida, i tiene buen parpar. Serkamente eskapará sus estudios muzikales i, meoyuda, pensa de ir a la eskola de medikería. Su padre topa mumcho plazer kuando en su tiempo libero pratika múzika endjunto a su ijika galana. En esta estampa Lilian parese sonriir lejeramente sin saver de la loka tempesta ke va deskadenarse al punt, ke amurchara su vida i deskalkara la alkunya Menashe de akea vieja sivdá djudiá ke ya nunka no va tornar.
Ayo un otro pedasiko de la vida de Lilian después ke pasaron tres anyos. Al empesar el mez de djunio 1943, viaja kon sus parientes en un treno a una destinasion deskonosida. En un vagón para bestiambre ande se apretan kaji sheshentos djudiós kon los sovrajes de sus vidas, la brava muchachika kompoza un poema en grego ⎯»Eskrito en vagón siyado»⎯, testimoniansa de akeyos ocho dyas de arrebashante suplisio, trezoriko remanisido del koraje de la manseveriya akayada. Aun entre la mizeria i la suziedad parese ⎯komo marko el poeta Avner Perez⎯ ke el korasón de Lilian kontinuava kantar.
Ama su kante pishín devendrá alguayas en viendo el nombre de la estasión finala: ¡Auschwitz!
Algunos días se pasan. Se sienten alegres sones en razgando los sielos enkargados del frauenlager*** de Birkenau. Es la rezín kreada frauenkapelle ke tanye la unika múzika ke no es defendida de djugar en este kampo. Dainda es un chiko grupamiento de vente prizonieras i una de estas es Lilian. Apenas se rekonose: kashkuda, vistida kon handrajos, la matrikulasion al braso i la temoridad tatuada en su kuero.
Durante unas kuantas semanadas la mas chikitika de las muzisianas esta enkargada kon una emportante misión: los sones de su tambur basho son la latida de los marshes almanes ke de manyana matrana i a la tadre asegundan a las esklavas de los komandos de lavoro en la ida i la venida a lazdrar i penar. Lilian, a la kavesera del komando musikal, karga el pompozo instrumento i sus kansos brasos se bambolean rítmikamente para produsir el sonido agudo ke marka el meneadero de las sirás de esklavas.
Disho el eskritor Lawrence Durrell ke la múzika es el amor ke bushka biervos. Ama en Auschwitz la múzika se enguerka siendo la voz del lager, la ekspresion presiza de su avanamiento. La múzika, ke espasió el korasón de Lilian desde su chikes, endagora es esklavaje: oras i oras de pratika, konsiertos repetando sin fin ni atemo las mizmas ovras muzikalas; djugar kon luvia i sol, akavada de kansería, atormentada en permanensia por el ambre, kon la alma kuvrida solo kon panyos de amargura.
Dunke afriida, la djovenika Menashe no esta asolada enteramente. De un lado, entre las prizonieras del komando de la múzika ay unas kuantas salonikiotas i adientro de este sírkolo puede sintir la lingua de su nonas i topar arrimo i mamparansa. Por seguro la kompanyía konfraternala akudia a Lilian para no deskaer.
Del otro lado, su padre, de mizmo ke eya, lavora en el komando de la múzika de los prizoniero i durante kaji un mez su «banda» esta aplazada en el kampamiento de Lilian. Ansina ke en vezes eya se eskonde en un kantón para verlo tanyer la flavta i sekretamente arresevir de su moruk (viejo) una mirada kayente.
Ama a la primera metad del mez djulio se anunsia el trokamiento del komando de Albert Menashe a un muevo kampamiento. Albert da su adío a Lilian i los dos se abrasan silensiozamente, en perkurando amahar sus yoro.
El frauenlager es un lugar monstruozo i violente ama la inosente Lilian parese sana i salva en la frauenkapelle por mor de ke esta es un kapricho de Maria Mandl, kunduktrisa del kampo de mujeres, i las tanyederas son konsideradas a su ojos komo «animales de kompanyía».
Dezdichozamente, la kapo muzikante de la frauenkapelle, responsavle a engajar las múzikas, arondja a Lilian de su posto para klasar una amiga del grupo deskojido de «viejas polonezas», en deshando a la dezmazalada muchachika sin la proteksión de un lavoro.
A la fin de enverano 1943. Son días de tansión i temor. ¡Lagersperre!**** Se desbrocha una furia de seleksiones adientro el kampamiento de mujeres. Kon el korasón akevrantado, Lilian eskrive un avizo: «Mi dulse papa, m’espanta de no verte mas nunka i mizmo a mamá. Echame tu bendisyón».
En una luvioza i freska tadrada del mez de oktobre, 800 ninyas lindas de Salónika, deskalsas i kaji deznudas, sin amparo i sin esperansa, viajan suvidas sovre kamiones desde el maldicho bloko 25 fina el kavo de sus sufriensa. De afuera sienten la múzika de una lagerkapelle, el aire les yeva el susurro mielozo de una flauta ke el solisto, el prizoniero 124.454, tanye kon muncha maestrería. Una de estas ninyas se yama Lilian i tiene diezisesh anyos.
Se aleshan… Ama la lagerkapelle kontunea sonando mientres los sielos yoran lágrimas de siniza.
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* En el kapmo de mujeres de Birkenau, la orkestra estava divizada en chikos grupos asegún nasionalitá o lingua avlada. Uno de los grupos mas numerozos era el de las muzikas gregas, todas djovinikas orijinarias de Salónika.
** Komando de lavoro muzikal forsado de mujeres.
*** Kampamiento de mujeres.
**** Sierre del kampamiento
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A Page of One’s Own for Lilian
By Alicia Ramos González
Translated by Daniel Santacruz and Nazaret Abad Ramos
While investigating the Yad Vashem Photo Archive, I discovered several photographs that captured poignant memories of the Amir family of Thessaloniki in the years leading up to the Nazi occupation of Greece. Three of the pictures showed a young girl. Her name, Lilian Menashe, was known to me.
Years before, I had come across this name for the first time in the book authored by her father, Dr. Albert Menashe, a Holocaust survivor. Over the years, while researching the “Greek Clan”* in the Frauenkapelle** in Birkenau, I found by chance in a few sources a series of facts, tidbits from chapters of her short life, violently cut short in the hell of Auschwitz. Seeing Lilian in those photographs stirred my heart, and I decided to gather all the scraps into a page dedicated only to her.
Until 1938, the date of the first photograph, I have no news of Lilian. She is eleven years old, the only child of Albert Menashe and his wife, Zoly, of the Angel family. Her father enjoys a good reputation as a doctor in Thessaloniki and is also a very talented musician. His wife, a housekeeper, strives to ensure that her daughter, a student in elementary school and at the Conservatory, grows up to be a lovely girl. Lilian has the air of a naughty girl who seems to be the focus of a camera tha captures her forever with her magnetic gaze.
In another photo, dated two months before Fascist Italy invaded Greece, Lilian appears grown up, radiant and captivating. She will soon finish her musical studies and, given her intelligence, is considering attending medical school. Her father takes great pleasure in practicing music with his beautiful daughter in his free time. In the portrait, Lilian seems to smile faintly, unaware of the nightmarish storm that is about to break out, to the point that it will weaken her life and erase the surname Menashe from that old Jewish city that is no more.
After three years, I found another piece of Lilian’s life. At the beginning of June 1943, she travels with her parents on a train to an unknown destination. In a livestock car, crammed with some six hundred Jews with what is left of their lives, the brave girl composed a poem in Greek —“Written in a Sealed Railway-Car”— a testament to those eight days of overwhelming suffering, a precious remainder of the youth that was silenced. Even amidst the misery and filth, it seemed—as the poet Avner Perez noted—that Lilian’s heart continued to sing.
However, her song will soon turn into a lament when she sees the name of the final station: Auschwitz!
Some days pass. Joyful sounds are heard piercing the loaded heavens of the Frauenlager*** in Birkenau. It is the newly created Frauenkapelle, where the only music not prohibited in this camp is played by a small group of twenty prisoners, and one of them is Lilian. She is barely recognizable: her head is shaved, she is dressed in rags, with a number on her arm and fear tattooed on her skin.
For several weeks, the youngest of the musicians is entrusted with a critical mission: to mark with her bass drum the rhythm of the German marches, early in the morning and in the afternoon, who follow the slaves of the work units as they go to and come from their hard labor and suffering. Lilian, at the head of the orchestra, carries the grandiose instrument, and her exhausted arms sway rhythmically to produce the high-pitched sound that marks the movement of the slaves’ formation.
The writer Lawrence Durrell said that music is love seeking words. Nevertheless, at Auschwitz, music becomes the voice of the camp, the exact expression of its madness. The music that filled Lilian’s heart since childhood is now a synonym of slavery: hours and hours of practice, concerts endlessly repeating the same pieces of music, playing under the rain and the sun, exhausted by fatigue, permanently tormented by hunger, with a soul covered only by clothes of bitterness.
Though tortured, young Menashe is not entirely devastated. On the one hand, there are a few Thessalonians among the prisoners in the women’s orchestra and in this circle she can listen to her grandmother’s language and find shelter and protection. This friendly group reached out to Lilian so that they would not lose heart. On the other hand, her father, like her, works in the men’s music ensamble and for about a month his “band” is stationed at Lilian’s camp. So sometimes she hides in a corner to watch him play the flute and secretly receive a warm look from her old papa.
However, in mid-July, it was announced that Albert Menashe’s group would be transferred to a new camp. He bids farewell to Lilian, and the two of them silently embrace, trying to calm their tears.
The Frauenlager is a monstrous and violent place, but innocent Lilian appears to be safe and sound in the Frauenkapelle because Maria Mandl, director of the women’s camp, wishes so. She seems to consider musicians “company animals.”
Unfortunately, the chief musician of the Frauenkapelle, responsible for recruiting the musicians, dismisses Lilian from her post to bring in a friend from the select group of “old Poles,” leaving the unfortunate girl without the security of a job.
It is the end of summer 1943, days of tension and fear. Lagersperre!**** A furious wave of selections is carried out in the women’s camp. With a broken heart, Lilian writes a note: “My sweet papa, I fear I shall never see you again. I fear I shall never see my mother again. Send me your blessings.”
On a rainy and cool afternoon of October, 800 beautiful girls from Thessaloniki, barefoot, almost naked and without shelter or hope, travel on trucks from the cursed Block 25 to the end of their suffering. From there, they hear the music of a camp orchestra as the air carries the honeyed whisper of a flute that the soloist, prisoner 124,454, plays with mastery. One of these girls is called Lilian, and she is sixteen years old.
They move away . . . but the camp orchestra continues to play while the skies weep tears of ash.
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*In the Birkenau women's camp, the orchestra was divided into small groups by nationality or spoken language. One of the largest groups was that of female Greek musicians, all of whom hailed from Thessaloniki.
** Compulsory women’s orchestra.
*** Women’s camp.
**** Camp lockdown.
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