(This excerpt takes approximately eight minutes to read.)

Maja Abramowitch, born in Daugavpils in 1929, had relatives in Poland and remembers that her family received letters from them after they moved into the Warsaw ghetto, which was established in October 1940. The letters contained messages with ambiguous phrases like “birds are being shot continuously,” implying an ominous fate for ghetto inhabitants.

Abramowitch describes an encounter shortly before [June 17, 1940] with a German Jewish couple who came to her father’s shop in Daugavpils. The couple, refugees from [the Third Reich], told of their plight and sought her father’s help.¹⁰ She writes, “The flood of refugees increased day by day. The whole town was agog with the revelations of those unfortunate people” (2002, 17).

Abramowitch’s family did not flee after the [Axis] attack, though her brothers left to join the Red Army. Adele Honigwill, born in 1912 in Daugavpils, recalls that in spite of having relatives in the Warsaw ghetto, there was not a sense in her home that the family should flee: “We never expected […] what really happened.”¹¹

Decisions about flight were taken in a short window of time in which “the evacuation dilemma compelled people to evaluate both the risks of remaining and the dangers of departure” (Manley 2009, 86). [The Third Reich] attacked the USSR on June 22. The killing of Latvia’s Jews commenced quickly: on 23 June, six Jews were murdered by an Einsatzgruppe A subgroup in the town of Grobiņa near Liepāja (Stranga 2008).

In the following days, there were still limited opportunities for flight. It is challenging to say when the doors to departure closed, as they shut sooner for those around Liepāja, where the [Wehrmacht] moved in first, than they did for those closer to the Russian border or in Riga, which fell on 1 July.

[…]

Irina Golbreich, born in Riga in 1934, remembers that her mother was desperate to evacuate, though her father was “quite optimistic. He comforted Mama, telling her that if the Red Army had been successful fighting against German forces in Poland, they would have no problem defeating them in their own land.”

Golbreich fled with her mother; her father later followed. The family lost her father’s siblings: “They believed that the Germans were not as bad as the Soviets and were resolute about staying. None of them survived.”¹⁵

[…]

Levin writes that, “Solidarity with one’s family was the dominant factor in delaying Jewish attempts to flee,” noting that some younger Jews and heads of family who had the opportunity to leave chose not to abandon older or younger family members or gave in to the pleas of parents to remain (1990a, 124).

Ella Medal’e, born in 1912 in Tukums, wanted to flee with her mother, sister, and husband, but her mother had medical issues and Medal’e did not want to leave her behind.²⁴ Maksim Felton, born in 1925 in Riga, recalls that his multi-generational family did not want to separate. In the end, his father, who “did not believe [that] it could happen,” was among those who chose with his family to stay.²⁵

Sara Munic, born in 1926 in Liepāja, remembers that her father, who had worked on construction for the Latvian Army and later the Soviet Army, had the opportunity to go to Russia because he was employed by the military. He had, however, family that he did not want to leave behind. She adds, “maybe he decided [that] he was scared for nothing,” even though the family was aware of events in [the Third Reich].²⁶

Some Jewish families remained in place because they had lost track of a family member or were waiting for his or her return. In his memoir, Jack Ratz recalls, “My father begged my mother to go on the bus [out of Riga], but she refused. She insisted upon waiting for my older brother to come home and remained with me and my brothers.”

Ratz’s brother did not return, having been conscripted into the Red Army without the family’s knowledge (2004, 20). Bella Bogdanova, born in Liepāja in 1926, remembers that, “My mother wanted to flee, but I insisted not a step be taken without my father,” whom the family had lost track of after [the Axis’s] attack. Bogdanova later learned that he had been murdered.²⁷

Some Jewish families resisted flight because, in addition to leaving family and friends, they feared losing homes and property that had been earned over generations. Max Kaufmann writes, “There were […] many Jews who did not want to part from their possessions, which they had worked so hard to acquire” (2010, 35). The fear of loss and the fear of what awaited them outside of Latvia were powerful motivations to remain.

A mighty army

Soviet authorities were relentless in their message that the Red Army was the guardian of the people, instilling, arguably, a sense that the [Axis] onslaught was not a mortal threat. Levin writes that,

By June 1941, the majority of the Jewish inhabitants in the annexed territories had become full-fledged Soviet citizens who felt relatively safe from the ravages of war which had engulfed almost all of Europe. This feeling was largely grounded in their trust in the might of the Soviet Union, particularly the “great Red Army,” glorified day in, day out as “invincible”. (1990a, 119)

The realization that the Red Army could not [always] protect Latvia’s Jews came quickly, though for many it came too late. Ruvin Fridman remembers that students in his school were taught that the Soviet army was the strongest in the world.

He adds that when the [Axis] attacked, he saw Russian soldiers in retreat, some shoeless, leaving without putting up resistance,²⁸ a picture that is consistent with the testimony of Shmuel Shusan, who remembers that on 27 June 1941, “While the [Soviet] radio was broadcasting victory announcements, we saw the soldiers of the Red Army coming down the street […] they walked without order, their uniforms soiled and in tatters, their heads bowed. They trudged along in dust-covered boots” (cited in Levin 1990a, 116).

Confidence in victory in some cases included the certainty of Allied help: Valentīna Freimane writes, “My father didn’t doubt for a moment — the U.S. and other Allies would join the war and beat Hitler. Until then, we would have to manage and prepare for offenses, humiliations, and repressions. But we would be alright” (2010, 233).

Paradoxically, the belief in the mighty Soviet military may also have encouraged flight, as the duration of one’s absence would not be long if the army could rapidly push back the occupier. Many who left Latvia ahead of [Axis] occupation did so with few provisions. Few expected that expulsion of [Axis] forces would take years. Mavriks Vulfsons, who volunteered for military service, writes that he “believed [that] the military activity would end soon” (1998, 30).

Rejection of Soviet power

While some Jews stayed behind because of their belief in the Red Army, others welcomed the Soviet retreat and hoped that [the Axis] would restore the societal and political order disrupted by Soviet [governance].

In Latvia, middle- and upper class Jewish families, particularly those who were merchants or members of the intellectual or political élite, had suffered under Soviet rule and few lamented the departure of Communist functionaries and military and security forces.

As Gerta Feigin, born in 1928 in Riga, writes, “When the Soviets occupied Latvia, my life, and the lives of my loved ones, were turned upside down.” (2006, 7). Several points underscore the importance of this factor in the choice to remain in Latvia.

First, thousands of Jewish families had experienced the nationalization of their property during Soviet [governance] and had little sympathy for Soviet-style socialism. Arkadius Scheinker writes that,

Many well-to-do Jews could not get over this injustice and adverseness of the laws […] For Jews of German education and upbringing [many of whom were in the merchant class], the thought “of fleeing to the country that had done us so much harm” was absolutely unacceptable.

Scheinker notes that his brother Benno was among those who were compelled to give up their businesses and Benno rejected the idea of flight to Russia. Even the appearance of the […] Wehrmacht, “who were good looking in their uniforms in comparison to the Soviet soldiers,” convinced him of the rightness of his decision. Benno Scheinker was arrested on 3 July 1941 by Latvian auxiliary police and shot (2010, 45–46).

The homes of well-off residents were also, in Feigin’s words, “nationalized.” She writes that, “a Soviet officer settled in our house […] He settled in mom’s living room. Mom was very nervous, because he wore big black boots and walked around on her Persian carpet” (2006, 9). Soviet regulations foresaw limitations on the allocation of living space, so many residents were forced to take in military personnel.

Jews were also affected by the closure of Hebrew-language schools (Lumans 2006). Naum Lifshits, born in 1923 in Krāslava, recalls the closure of schools, as well as the arrest of some teachers after [June 17, 1940]. Lifshits says that the effect of Soviet [activity] on Jewish life was profound: his father was prosecuted for Zionist activities in Betar and deported by Soviet authorities shortly before the [Axis] attack.²⁹

Paradoxically, deported Jews were among the small number who survived the Holocaust, though Lifshits’s father and uncle did not survive the Soviet labor camps. Hana Rayzberg, born in 1927 in Ludza, tells that,

Men were taken to the Gulag to timber cutting, and children and women were exiles. This was terrible, but in the long run, this saved the life of many of them. The intelligentsia or wealthy people would hardly have evacuated during World War II, hoping that the Germans would restitute their property nationalized by the Soviets.³⁰

Lumans notes a source that estimates a “one-third-survival rate” for Jews deported to Russia (2006, 227).

Second, Soviet political culture and social norms were foreign to many of Latvia’s residents. Styles of dress and behavior were regarded as “uncultured,” particularly among the middle- and upper classes. Feigin writes that, “Mom told me that the officers’ wives bought silk nightgowns and wore them as elegant evening gowns. Nobody would say anything, but privately the local population laughed and jeered.” (2006, 9). Zelda-Rivka Heit remembers the story of the nightgowns, adding that Russian officers stole goods like watches from shops.³¹

In the choice between what Margaret Kagan called the “red devil” and the “brown devil,”³² some opted for the latter. Feigin recalls that when the war began, Sirens were blaring and bombs began dropping. We hid in the basement. Some of the relatives said that we had to go to Russia because Hitler would come to Riga. In the end, my whole huge family decided to stay in Riga, figuring that the [Fascists] were at least better than the Communists: “Besser die braune Pest als die rote” (Better the brown plague than the red one). They thought that it would be easier to get by under the [Axis] (2006, 11).

Edward Anders adds,

[The Fascists] had killed some tens of thousands of Poles and Jews in Poland in 1939/40, but we had not heard of these killings from either the local press — which wanted to keep good relations with Germany — or the BBC and the Swiss weekly Weltwoche. […] What we knew was bad enough and should have made us worry, but we were all so sickened by the Soviets’ deceit, hypocrisy, sophistry, coercion, terror, and lies, that the Nazis seemed the lesser evil. (2010, 46)

Third, the deportation of leaders of the secular and religious Jewish communities denied Jews the benefit of a leadership that might have offered guidance in the chaotic days after [the Axis’s] attack. Among the prominent Jewish leaders deported by the Soviets in 1941 were Mordechai Dubin, a leader of Agodus Israel, a former elected member of the Saeima, and an associate of Ulmanis, as well as Rabbi Mordechai Nurock, a leader of Mizrachi and also a former member of the Saeima (Levin 1995).

Some Latvian Jews actively rejected Communism and Soviet power. In addition to this, some were strongly oriented toward German culture and language, a factor that also affected decisions taken in the war’s opening days.

(Some emphasis added.)

It is easy to laugh at the Jewish holdouts who naïvely believed that Axis rule could not be worse than Soviet governance, but I want to kindly remind readers that nobody deserves white supremacy… no, not even capitalists and horseshoe theorists deserve to be victims of white supremacy; nobody should be punished for the wrong reasons.

Not every person of color whom I’ve ever met has been pleasant. In fact, I have met a few who were downright loathsome, to say the least… and yet I’d still warn them if ICE, or any other white supremacist organization, were looking for them, because hate groups do not exist to redress our grievances. Can you guess whose job that is? That’s right, it’s ours, and giving that up to hate groups is giving them a privilege that they do not deserve and cannot be trusted to handle properly.