Page 2 - Excerpts from the diary

11.10.1941
Yesterday Uncle Isaak was called up into the army. It happened suddenly and unexpectedly. We spent the whole day working in the
vegetable garden, and when we came home in the evening we were met with this “news.”

We saw him off until late at night. We came back tired and worn out by all the worry and commotion. Anya cried a little. Aunt Polya bore
the moments of parting heroically, without shedding a single tear. And now he is gone. Only memories remain of the eternally cheerful
and energetic Uncle Isaak. Today is the first day without him. Aunt Polya talks of nothing but the hunger and cold Uncle Isaak will have
to face. It is very hard for her to accept the thought that Uncle Isaak will no longer come home from work, that we will no longer hear his
voice. I understand her. Poor Aunt Polya! She comforts herself with the thought that Uncle Isaak has been sent not to the front but to a
supply train. I know that, most likely, he has been sent to the front, but I do not let on that I know the bitter, painful truth.

16.10.1941
My aunt’s apartment has turned into an inn. Yesterday two Jews came here and told me—Aunt Polya was not at home—that they had
brought her sunflower seeds and wanted to give them to her, and so on and so forth. At last, after a long preamble, they came to the real
purpose of their visit: they wanted to spend the night. They sat for a long time, driving me mad with their conversation and preventing me
from reading, writing, or doing anything else.

When Aunt Polya came home, they went straight to the matter at hand without even mentioning the sunflower seeds. Aunt Polya herself
offered to buy the seeds from them. They did not refuse, but neither did they agree. In the morning, after sleeping well and eating—Aunt
Polya made potatoes and brewed tea—they prepared to leave. I reminded Aunt Polya about the sunflower seeds, and when she once again
offered to buy them, the crafty fellows promised to bring a whole sack within two hours. Of course, we never saw either the men or the
sunflower seeds again.

Today there were two more. Jews again. An elderly man and woman. Once again they came while Aunt Polya was out, at four o’clock.
And, I must admit, these two were even more tiresome than yesterday’s visitors. The old man in particular: from the moment he arrived,
from four o’clock until Aunt Polya appeared at eight, he... sang! Whether they were prayers or some other “holy songs,” I do not know.
And the old woman—which was even worse, almost horrifying—was combing lice out of herself. Aunt Polya does not know how to
refuse anyone, so they will spend the night here too.

How many people have already passed through her apartment, how many have spent the night here since I arrived! I cannot imagine
where they all come from. And with them come lice, constant filth, and a stench in the apartment.

30.10.1941
6 a.m. Today's report from the Soviet Information Bureau about the surrender of Kharkov to the enemy struck me like a bomb explosion.
Perhaps I would have heard with less regret and sorrow a report about the surrender of the whole Donbas. But Kharkov. However, I do
not know whether the Donbas has already been occupied by the Germans.

The present reports are so confused and so untimely that it is difficult to make sense of the actual facts and events, both at the front and in
the rear. But I believe. I continue blindly to trust all reports of the government and the central newspapers, although every new loss of this
kind makes me more disappointed and makes me trust individual reports less and less.

Thus, the capture of Odessa, or, as it was reported, “its abandonment by our troops for strategic reasons,” caused almost no dissatisfaction
or disbelief in the voluntary-forced surrender of this city. But Kharkov. No, now I do not believe that it was voluntarily, that it was for
strategic reasons, that it was left to the fascists. Such a large city, filled with machine-building, military, and all kinds of other industry of
the greatest importance to the country, especially now, in wartime. Horror seizes me. What will happen next? Kharkov cost several
million German lives. And it was given up so cheaply—120,000 men—that is nothing in comparison with Kharkov.

I took the fall of Kiev less painfully. That fall had been prepared by many days of fierce fighting near the city and by the enemy's
repeated occupation of its outskirts. But Kharkov. Its fall can perhaps be compared only with the fall of Dnepropetrovsk, both in
importance and in its suddenness. However, there is news today from Dnepropetrovsk and the region. The partisans are active again. It
seems to me that the partisans here are acting more decisively than the regular troops did, and if they were a little better armed, had larger
forces and more experienced leaders, they would move mountains, not merely the fascists.

A little after seven.

I am also pleased by the actions of the Serbian partisans of Yugoslavia, tortured by the fascists. During ... they destroyed more than
10,000 German and Italian fascists. But the existence of Soviet Kharkov pleased me even more, instilled in me confidence in victory,
courage, and moral support.

06.05.1942
Today a decisive event took place in my life. I was called up into the army. As a regular Red Army soldier. I was completely unprepared,
and I was called up suddenly: at nine in the morning I was told to report to the military commissariat at ten with my belongings. I arrived
at eleven, but that also turned out to be too early. The whole day was taken up with the business of the call-up. During that time I
managed to remove myself from the rolls at the city Komsomol committee and to cancel my registrations at the city and resort libraries.

I parted with everyone very warmly, and they loaded me with plenty of provisions for the road. Father was more upset than anyone by my
call-up, but he wanted me not to take many things with me. He is right. Aunt Buzya even burst into tears when we parted—her nerves are
badly shaken. Anya was cheerful as always, only her smile acquired a slightly sad shade that day. Nyura too was as she always is.