Liviu Beris
         Survivor of the deportation to Transnistria

         My name is Liviu Beris. I was born in northern Moldavia, in a small town called Herta; out of 4,000 inhabitants, about 2,000 were Jewish ...

         In 1940, our town was occupied by the Soviet troops. Only one incident was reported: a Romanian officer was killed by a Soviet soldier; a Jewish soldier tried to defend the Romanian and was killed too. These were the only two victims in the town of Herta at the time it was occupied. The Russians deported a number of people to Siberia: 38 breadwinners from the town proper were deported together with their entire family; one family was Romanian and all the rest were Jewish.

         Some Romanian farmers living in the vicinity of Herta were deported too. After the town was liberated by the Romanian Army, all the Jews were gathered in synagogues and were locked in a couple of cellars. A number of outcasts who had been newly appointed in the administration drew up some lists. 132 Jews were executed on the spot, without any trial. They were buried in two mass graves. The remaining Jews were released from the synagogues only to discover their homes had been pillaged by unknown perpetrators. Three weeks later, they lined us all up and the long deportation march began. After a while, we reached a so-called transit camp called Iedinetz. They kept us there until October.

         Along the way, we turned into mere animals, because of the conditions in which we had to survive and because of the way in which we were treated by the gendarmes who were escorting us; it was a subhuman experience. Nobody cared about us in Iedinetz. They simply abandoned us there, surrounded by barbed wire. Food was a major problem, not to mention the hygiene issue: the place had typhus written all over it.

         Around October, when the rains started, they took us and had us walk to the Dniester River. The roads in Bessarabia were covered in a sticky mud that made walking very difficult; those who couldn’t keep up were shot. The worst part is that locals showed up from the side of the road and stripped the victims who were left behind – I witnessed this terrible scene more than once. One evening, we stopped in a grove on the top of a hill and were allowed to spend the night in the commune of Corbu. The frost hit during the night. Many of the people who had fallen asleep froze to death. The morning came with horrifying scenes: boots kicking bodies who would never move again, devastated people who were being forced to leave their loved ones behind, rifle butts kicking the survivors to make them move out.

         We got to the Dniester River, crossed it, and went on. We passed Moghilev and then they abandoned us in a stable located 50 kilometers away from Moghilev. The only people there were the Ukrainian locals. We lacked the most basic means to survive. Those who had extra clothes could trade them for food. The typhus epidemic wasn’t late to hit; the autumn cold made things worse.

         Eventually, we were transferred to Moghilev. My father was sent further east, towards Nicolaev, and ended up in Niemtzi. I had to work in a so-called communal workshop. I ate boiled water with corn seeds; they called it ‘jir’. This kept me alive.