Since I’ve been talking about the subject of Shine, I’ll tell you about my grandfather.
What do I know about him? Almost nothing though. Just what Dad told me. My dad, whose brightest childhood memory was the stolen piece of thick plexiglass from a German destroyed fighter, from which he made knives, after the war all attached to his grandfather, tell and tell. Not a word. He was silent, or translated the conversation into another.
He was far over thirty when, leaving home two young children, he went to war. Order of infantry. He returned to the airport at the beginning of 1945. Demobilized by injuries. In the state. Where he fought, what he did, he did not tell. Rewards in the box. Medals and the Order of the Red Star. I never wore. Bullet injury to the neck. Bullet injury to the hand. Automatically broken legs. He was no longer able to work in his old profession because of such injuries. He led an orchestra at a club of a factory. They say he was talented and could play on all musical instruments. The consequences of injuries. He died in 1952. 17 years before I was born.
I was always proud of my mother’s relatives when I was a child. How is it. Everyone fought, fought and was rewarded. Only one of her older brother, in whose honor I was named, was worth. Battalion intelligence officer. Skier and athlete. In February 1942, covering up the departure of comrades who dragged the wounded "language", he detonated himself and the persecuting fascists with a grenade. Posthumously presented to the Red Flag. It is mentioned in a book about war. His name is written on an obelisk. Another fought on the Kursk arc. A bullet in the knee. years in hospitals. I walked with a stick. Grandfather, what are you proud of? Maybe he didn’t even kill a fascist?
Understanding comes with time. When you understand that only real frontmen do not like to talk about war. When the nature of wounds tells you more than a hundred stories. When you realize that the man was not in the second level, not in the outskirts. That he got up from the pit and went to attack. He was probably very scared. But he went.
We honour our veterans. We give flowers. Congratulations on Victory Day. There are so few left. They deserve honor and respect. by right.
But we must not forget those who died almost immediately after the war. About the hundreds of thousands of armless and legless people who filled the streets at the time. Those who have suffered for years from the consequences of injuries and injuries. Who was not hanged with the iconostasis of the anniversary medals. Who did not receive benefits and high pensions.
I have nothing from my grandfather. The prizes are lost. The cemetery was demolished in the 1960s. A few photos from the studio where he is with his family. A serious look. My grandmother and my dad are in her arms. Very very small.
I have one thing left of my grandfather. The name. And I will not change her. Per on the other hand it would be easier for me. This is a simple Jewish name. and Feinstein.