The story of Gizela - Afik Shiraz. Abinun Shmuel

Zvi David Kochav - The ceremony in Germany in 2005

I have already told that I have not been able to cry since the war; the crying stands in my throat and tears can’t come out. I didn't cry when I lost my dears and neither when I became a mother. Still, I cried once. That was in 2003, when I came across an ad on "Bridge" (Journal of Yugoslavian Immigrants association) , which announced a mass grave discovered with six Yugoslavs of fifty-one buried who perished on the Lost Train near Shipkao. Among the six names in the list, one name stood out to me – Aaron Altarac. My father. Next to the ad was a phone number of a man named Zvi David Kochav. I called Zvi excitedly and learned from him that he had found the place looking for information about his grandmother, who died on the lost train. There was a makeshift monument until then, an erected by Germans law, made of a hinge of a train with a board containing the names of those who perished. Zvi told me that he paid, out of his money, for the erection of a new marble monument near to the former monument. Shmuel and Ella just came out of a movie in a cinema and called me. I could only tell them, "The grave of Dad was found”. I couldn't utter any more words, and they were so amazed to hear me cry for the first time in their lives, rush to my home. In April 2005, the 60th anniversary commemoration ceremony to the "lost train" was in Shipkau. Zvi, who was unable to attend at the ceremony, asked me to take his place with Samuel and sent me a check: NIS 9,000 to cover expenses. When we learned it was out of his personal money, I agreed to receive support of NIS 3,000 and returned the rest.

The trip to Germany was a charged decision for me. It was a violation of the vow that I had vowed at the end of the war, that my foot would no longer be trampled in Germany, so much evil was born out of it, and that I would not listen to the German language and use it anymore. But at the same time, I knew that I had to see, with my own eyes, the monument on my father's grave and respect his memory, and so I went to Germany with Samuel.

In Germany, at Michael Greigorg’s home, an acquaintance of my son, whose work relationship developed into a strong friendship. Michael arranged everything in advance and

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