Touching juden story during WWll

[Sunni Man]

 

[harmonica]

USA is a great and good country...of course we have flaws-but that's what humans do--they can't help it

 

[Sunni Man]

 

[Ringo]

"This is a terrible story. It's hard for me to write it, but it's probably going to be hard for you to read it. Because this story is true, and its hero, Josya with a kettle, is an absolutely real character, well known to Kharkov (Ukraine) residents living in the city center. I want to tell you about it to remind you once again that war is not just a big tragedy. These are millions of small private tragedies, and behind each of them - someone's crippled destiny.

I was six years old, my grandmother took me to Gorky Park, it was may and the Holiday was approaching. I already knew it was a Victory day, but I didn't know what war was yet.

And at the intersection of Dzerzhinsky and Mayakovsky street, at the dairy store, I ran into it. Into the war.

Like a well-bred boy, I greeted it, and, as my grandfather taught me, asked: "Josya, how are you? How are your parents?"
The meaning of these questions was not understood to me then, I had to grow up a little to understand.

The person I turned to looked at me, recognized me, and began to tell me how he and mamele went to the market to buy shoes for school, that tomorrow he and daddy are going to the zoo to ride a pony, and in the summer they will go to Kherson with the whole family.

Guys, I was really scared! Before me stood a tall, thin man of about forty, completely gray-haired, neatly buttoned up like a schoolboy. He chatted about all sorts of everyday nonsense and cried. Her lips were talking about ponies and Kherson, and her eyes were streaming with tears.

But the worst part was the kettle. What kettle? Brass kettle, three liters full of small change. Got the picture? He was the famous Josya with a Kettle in the center of Kharkov. A product of war, the conscience of our district.
Every single day, he went to the intersection of Dzerzhinsky and Mayakovsky streets, stood at the dairy store and looked at the second-floor balcony of the 76th house, holding the kettle. The kettle served as Josia's wallet, string bag, and document case. Even the lowest petty criminals considered as a shame to steal even a penny from the kettle. The one who did it was severely beaten, because everyone knew Yoshina's story.

The story was like this.

When the Germans first entered the city, Yosya's family did not have time to evacuate. Their apartment on the second floor of building #76 attracted two german lieutenants. And in order not to wallow for a long time, and at the same time "finally solve the Jewish question", Yosya's parents were hung on their own balcony. Before his death, Yossya's mother put some money in the kettle and pushed him out the back door, ostensibly for milk.

How much did a six-year-old kid understand? He went for milk. He stood outside the store and saw everything, and when he realized what had happened, he turned gray and went crazy. From that day on, he was always six years old, and he always waited at the dairy store for his mother. Yosya was hidden by different families until the 1943. And after the liberation of the city, he resumed his post. You may ask why it was necessary to talk to him and ask about his parents?

This was the only way to bring Yosya out of a stupor, take him home, feed him, clean up. And the money in the kettle wasn't charity, no. My grandfather used to say that these are the tears of a ill conscience.
The last time I saw Yosya with a Kettle was in the spring of 1990.
He was still white-haired and neatly buttoned up, standing outside the dairy store.

And the Holiday was approaching."
(c)
Vladimir Kiaschenko