Our First Day in Vilnius
We arrived safely after a harrowing journey by sea from Kiel beset by singing German Jesus Army, Lithuanian lorry drivers spoiling for a fight, and grumpy waiters. What a relief then to met by the genteel Saulius, who took us to his charming apartment in Shnipishkes. Try saying that after a mouthful of vodka and herrings. Having settled in and had a good nights sleep, we awoke the next morning to begin our search for any clues as to our family’s sojourn in Vilnius.
Looking online, we found out that as well as the Beinart family in Rokiskis, on our paternal grandmothers side the Apter family had prior to being in Dvinsk (Latvia) descended from the Meisels of Vilnius. About 6 generations back, Moshe Meisels had been a Rabbi and spy and his father Moshe had been the Shamash of Vilnius (we’re not sure what this is and although it sounds like a disco track, its more likely it is something religious). There was some information about where they had lived so we set off into town via the Jewish Museum.
Thence we got entrapped by a fascinating display on rescuers and rescued during the Nazi period, how Jewish kids were able to be smuggled out of the Vilnius ghetto by pretending to be Lithuanian and were adopted by Lithuanian families. The photos and testimonies were haunting, and it felt unreal when we stepped back out into the bright sunshine and tourist bars on the streets. We then spent a couple of hours walking the ghetto as was, now full of swanky cafes, bijou boutiques and discreet but no doubt expensive hotels. A few plaques and monuments told the story of its former life as a ghetto and prior to that as the Jewish quarter of town, going back centuries. At the Museum we had picked up some postcards including one of Jatowka street where the Meisels lived, but the streets we walked down were unrecognisable, brightly spick and span plaster and none of the stalls spilling out from buildings onto the streets selling all manner of goods.
Walking back to Saulius’s along a bustling street with shops selling typical tourist tack, we joked about setting up a stall to sell ‘Ghetto souvenirs’. It might sound tasteless, but perhaps it would create a more living reminder of the silent ghosts of Vilnius than marble stones and bronzes. It seemed the history we were looking for felt only possible to access through imagination, and that only those who were looking for it would see it.
Katy Beinart
