Torn From Childhood: Two Sisters, One War, and a Lifetime of Survival.

Evgenia Segal (b. 1939) and Maria Shaparny (b. 1937)

There were four children in our family: two older brothers: Semyon and Emma, and two sisters: Maria (born 1937) and me, Evgenia (born 1939). Our brothers are no longer with us, and for the past 30 years, Maria and I have lived in Israel, in the Promised Land.

When the war began, my brothers were 18 and 16. I was not yet two, and Maria was four and a half. Sadly, we remember nothing of the prewar years or the early days of the war. We were too young. What we know comes from our mother and other relatives.

Before the war, we lived in a small town in the Zhytomyr region of Ukraine. Our father, Lazar Segal, ran the local pharmacy. Our mother, Raisa Segal, was a teacher of Russian language and literature. Our family was respected in the village. Life was peaceful, and we were happy.

That peace ended suddenly on June 22, 1941. Without warning, German planes began bombing Kyiv.

That morning, my brother Emma was riding his bicycle to a military supply store. He noticed soldiers at every crossroads. As he neared the base, he looked up and saw nine planes. They began dropping bombs. Terrified, he abandoned his bike and ran home. Our father wasn’t there. My mother, my sister Maria, and I were visiting relatives in Kyiv.

Our father returned dressed in a military uniform. He told Emma that the war with Nazi Germany had begun. That same day, he sent a telegram to Kyiv urging us to come home. Our house was only 200 meters from the train station. After the first bombing, the railway was destroyed. Only children and the elderly remained to repair the tracks.

We returned on June 25. My father came home one last time to help evacuate us. In a few short minutes, we packed two suitcases and a small bag of food. Then my mother, Maria, Emma, and I left for Kyiv, and into the unknown.

It was the last time we saw our father. We didn’t know it yet, but he had just weeks to live.

On June 25, 1941 our evacuation began. Passing through Zhytomyr, we saw burning houses and bodies left in the streets. Kyiv was also on fire. We were terrified. German planes bombed Kyiv every day. In early July, we were told to cross the Dnipro by barge to continue the evacuation. Under constant shelling, we somehow made it aboard. The barge was dragged away from Kyiv and anchored near a bridge that was constantly under threat of bombing.

We lived in fear. Hungry, thirsty, and sleep-deprived. An epidemic broke out on the barge, and I, Evgenia, became sick. My mother decided to leave and continue on foot, not knowing where to go.

We made it to Zolotonosha in Poltava region, where some of our relatives were. But bombing soon forced us to leave again. The train station was chaos. When a freight train arrived, people were pushed inside. Along the way, the train was shelled repeatedly. The tracks were often damaged, and we waited for hours in the heat.

Our food ran out. There was little water. During long stops, people risked running into nearby villages for supplies, knowing they might miss the train. At large stations, soup kitchens gave hot food. Women ran with pots and jars to get food for children and the elderly. Often, they returned with only scraps. Bombs fell constantly.

After the bombing, there were only sobs and screams. Emma would pick me up and throw himself on the ground to shield me with his body.

We reached Stalingrad and stayed at a refugee center. A few days later, we were sent further east. The journey lasted nearly a month. There were more bombings. More hunger. More thirst. More illness. I became so sick I was taken off the train and hospitalized. I couldn’t walk or even hold my head up.

Eventually, we made it to Nazarovka in the Urals. A family took us in, gave us warmth and food. The adults worked. People followed the war news and clung to hope.

Our brother Semyon was drafted at 18. Emma joined in January 1943 at age 17. Both returned from the war. Semyon became a lawyer. Emma became a career officer.

Ukraine was liberated in 1944. In August, we returned to Zolotonosha. Life was hard, but at least there were no bombs.

They tried to kill us. But we survived.

Eventually, I earned a degree and became a dairy industry engineer. Maria became a chemical engineer.

When we moved to Israel, we came as a family. It wasn’t easy. But it was meaningful. I was moved by the kindness and resilience of Israelis. Even working as a cleaner and caregiver, I never felt less than others.

Today, I am active in a community of Holocaust survivors, people like me.