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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN

TABLE OF CONTENTS ITEM TRANSCRIPT

ENGLISH TRANSLATION 2 CITATION & RIGHTS 9

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN

TRANSCRIPT ENGLISH TRANSLATION —Today is February 2, 2012. We are at the Jewish Center in Brooklyn, meeting with a veteran of the Great Patriotic War. Kindly introduce yourself, and tell us when and where you were born.

My name is Abram Iosifovich Sapozhnikov. I was born on December 15, 1920, in the city of Berdichev [Berdychiv], Ukrainian SSR.

—What your pre-war life was like, what can you remember?

I remember quite a lot. I had a brother and a sister. In the 1930s we left and traveled like gypsies. We got to Tver and from there to Moscow Oblast, near Moscow. Mom and dad worked in Moscow. I had to cook porridge for myself and for my brother and sister. Then my brother . . . In 1936, I wanted to enroll in a factory apprenticeship school [FZU], but they did not accept me because I was called Abram. I wanted to become an electrician.

—You were refused in 1936 because you were Jewish?

Because my name is Abram. They did not say it was because I am Jewish, but yes, this was the reason. I don’t remember how, but I got all the way to the Kremlin and appealed to Krupskaya to allow me to study. She helped me secure a place at the factory school near Belorussky Railway Terminal. I graduated and was sent to a rail car repair factory, where I electrified rail cars. My parents lived in Kazan. Dad’s brother invited them there. I worked for a while—I don’t remember for how long—and then quit and joined my parents. When I arrived, I got a job as an electrician at the Bolshoi Drama Theater of Kazan. It was 1938. On October 25, 1940, I was conscripted into the Red Army. I was stationed in Gatchina near Leningrad [St. Petersburg] with the 455th Independent Communications Battalion. We were taught how to repair tank transmitters. Then I was transferred to a rifle division in Vyborg, which was deployed on the Finnish border. This was on June 18, 1941.

June 21 was a Saturday. Everyone wanted to relax on Sunday. Our group consisted of five people, we took leave to see the city and the fortress of Vyborg. Everything was fine, we went to bed in the evening. And at four in the morning we were raised by combat alert. We heard artillery salvos along the border. That day, our commanders who lived in and around Leningrad went on leave. We did not know what to do; just ran around. There was an order . . . We had Polish rifles with no cartridges. Warehouses were stocked to the brim with domestically manufactured cartridges, but no rifles. There were gas masks and sapper spades. On June 22 border guards came running from the border and told us that we had been attacked and that war had begun. Villages were ablaze along the border, and everything was clouded in smoke. The day was

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN very clear. Already at five o’clock, Messerschmitt planes with black swastikas were circling over our yard strafing, killing, and wounding. We did not know that the war had begun until the border guards arrived and told us. When we realized that, we began to dig in. We were scared with tales of enemy parachutists and tankettes being dropped off airplanes. We knew nothing and understood even less. We were retreating, and I don’t remember how I found myself in Gatchina again. Planes overtook us and chased every single person, military or civilian; they flew low and strafed anyone in sight. In Gatchina we were formed in groups of ten or fifteen people and told to move along the Vyborg-Leningrad highway, defending ourselves however we could, towards Leningrad, where we would be reassembled. We rested at night, and by day walked in the woods along the highway, eating the remaining rusks and drinking swamp water. Whenever tanks overtook us, we hid in roadside ditches. Each of us had five rounds of ammo in our rifles, so we took cover because we could not fight back. When convoys would pass us by, we would resume our trek in the forest. Eventually we reached Pulkovo Heights, where we came across the people’s militia. We were given an assignment and shown where to dig trenches. On September 8, the Germans were finally stopped; Leningrad had been encircled.

Stalin did not foresee this; he did not think Leningrad would hold on. He was unhappy with Voroshilov who commanded the Leningrad Front, and sent Zhukov instead. On September 14, Zhukov took command and arrived at Pulkovo Heights at the 42nd Army headquarters. During the blockade, I was sent to junior signals officer courses, located near the Vitebsk Train Station. I finished the course in the rank of junior lieutenant and was posted to Nevskaya Dubrovka. There were five of us going there. As we were passing by our “Katyusha” rocket launchers, bombs thundered down. We were covered with dirt. I was dug up, but couldn’t hear anything, only saw how bombs dropped. I am still deaf in my left ear. When I came to my senses, I got to a destroyed paper mill in Nevskaya Dubrovka. There, the chief of staff of the 86th Division met me and said, “You are taking command of a platoon.” He gave me a list—the entire platoon consisted of Uzbeks, and Tajiks . . . There were only three Russians in it who knew the language; the rest did not understand the Russian language. I had to accept and proceed. I immediately received orders for the platoon to set up and maintain communication lines between the 330th Regiment, positioned on Nevsky Pyatachok, and the command of the 86th Division on the right bank. When we got into the trenches, I assigned tasks to my men, but not knowing the names, I called them 1st, 2nd, 3rd and so on. I stationed them along the trench and gave commands for the crossing to the Nevsky Pyatachok bridgehead on the left bank. The terrible wonders we saw that night, the goings-on, only God knows. I remember the Neva was alight with parachute flares. The Germans fired machine guns from the right and left flanks, and shelled us repeatedly. A battalion after battalion arrived at the crossing: first went the infantry and sappers; signalmen were told to wait for orders. None came that night. We witnessed frightful things. Before our eyes a shell would hit a boat, it would rise up in the air and all those voices would cry out, “Help!” But what could we do, we were up next.

An order arrived at night to move from the first to the third crossing. It was up the trench. The trenches were stuffed with people of all ranks—sappers, signalmen, infantry, artillerymen—and all kinds of military

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN equipment. Having arrived at the third crossing, we received a signal with a flashlight. An operation group got into a boat. When they sailed off, the flashlight flickered several times, but no more signals came afterwards. We waited and waited, sent messengers to report to the division headquarters, and the order came to return to the first crossing. And so, nobody ever found out what had happened to that operation group. We stayed until the morning at the first crossing. It was a clear, sunny morning. The commandant of the crossing ordered the signalmen into a boat. The operators carrying a telephone set boarded, while the radio operator stayed behind with the radio. Having connected its wires to the telephone, I grabbed the coil, put people in the boat and sat in the rear bench seat. Fear grants one strength and courage. I hadn’t even noticed how we got to the middle of the river. The wire stuck, but with a good yank and a push from the oars, the wire began to unwind again. What seemed like moments later, we crashed into the shore. Fortunately for us, when we were crossing the river, not a single shot was fired. But as soon as we went up the trench, an artillery salvo hit our shore. I took one soldier with me and we ran down the trench. We found broken wires, I peeled them with my teeth, linked them together, secured and made a call. Both banks responded, the line of communication had been established. We were shown our positions in the trench. There were three trenches on Nevsky Pyatachok, which was five kilometers wide and about a kilometer in depth: two ours and one German. The trenches had been dug in the sand. It was a sandy bridgehead, and with each explosion the sand crumbled, the trenches became more and more shallow. And the trenches sheltered our soldiers from snipers, from the shelling.

I remember several incidents during the breakout. Connection with the right bank was lost. I went with one soldier carrying a telephone set and two carrying a coil. I went ahead along the trench checking the line. As we ran along the trench, we came across a body. We stepped over him and ran towards this ravine. A tree grew in the ravine, and on the other side of the ravine there were carts with the wounded, and . . . as they say, it was absolute horror . . . living meat. Having walked around the ravine, we turned on the telephone and checked the connection: the right bank answered, but our telephone operator didn’t. That meant the wire in the tree was broken. I am still surprised how I climbed that tree and found the wire severed either by a shard or a bullet. I fixed the wire and rang both sides: the right and left banks answered. We sprinted back. And as we did, we saw two soldiers lying where one had been. I had to jump. At that moment, I felt my hair moving. I sat down, took off my cap, and touched my head. It was intact, but the cap was shot through by a sniper who was hiding among the chimneys of the village of Arbuzovo; it had burned down, and only chimneys remained. There was another episode. A blast wave knocked me down, and my overcoat looked like a sieve. I had four shell fragments stuck in me but they were easily removed. Once, at night, we were sitting in the dugout together with messengers, platoon commanders, infantrymen—there were twelve of us, joking, laughing . . . Suddenly, around 1 a.m., I get this urge to check on our telephone operator, lest he fall asleep. So, I walked out, went down the trench, turned the corner . . . A long-range projectile buzzed over my head and hit the dugout directly. Eleven people . . . hands, legs, everything is turned upside down. I alone remained alive. We’ve survived a lot on Nevsky Pyatachok. There was not a single minute without shelling or gunfire. How I survived, I cannot fathom. By the end of the fall we were given orders to cross to the right bank by any means.

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN

—What year was it?

Fall of 1942. I led my platoon from the bridgehead to the river and I told them to get across however they could. I personally crossed over to the right bank on a log. Couldn’t swim but somehow I managed. Fear gives one strength and courage. When we assembled on the right bank, I was transferred to the 2nd Shock Army stationed near Sinyavino Swamps, where in the fall of 1942, the Army was preparing to break the siege of Leningrad, while maintaining defensive positions. On January 12, 1943, the 2nd Shock Army and the 67th Army launched an attack. It was freezing cold, drifts everywhere; we had to take a steep overhang near the 8th Hydroelectric Station. The German positions were heavily-armed and well-fortified, but we knocked them out near the 8th Hydroelectric Station and liberated several villages. We also liberated the city of Shlisselburg, breached a narrow corridor and linked up with the 59th Army. This was noted by President Roosevelt who praised the courage of fighters, the valiance of men, women, and children of the city of Leningrad. But we had no strength to expand the bridgehead and widen the corridor. We were exhausted, hadn’t slept for days. Reinforcements arrived and already in the fall of 1943, the 2nd Shock Army redeployed to Lisiy Nos, a coastal area near Kronshtadt. And from there, under cover of darkness and smoke screen, the 2nd Shock Army crossed over on barges to the Oranienbaum bridgehead. Preparations began for the full liberation of Leningrad and the Oblast. These preparations lasted until January 13. On the night of the 12th, after a lengthy artillery preparation, the enemy defenses were overpowered, and the offensive began. Day and night, we fought for every step, every piece of land, every meter. On January 27, 1944, we linked up with the 59th Army, that is, with the mainland. Having been reinforced, replenished and outfitted, we continued the liberation of the city of Pskov. It was winter. We were tasked with the provision of radio and telephone communication for the launch of the offensive. We were driving two carts with equipment, when two planes appeared in the distance. Suddenly a soldier shouts to me, “Comrade lieutenant, the planes are upon us.” I looked up and saw the Messerschmitts with swastikas. I only managed to cry out, “Run and lie face down.” The carts remained standing on the road. Each aircraft shot two rounds from large-caliber machine guns. One horse, the best in our battalion, was killed, another horse was injured and one soldier was lightly wounded. The rest survived. Everything went quiet then. I found our telephone line, turned it on. My future wife was on duty . . . I reported that I could not move ahead, for one of our horses had been killed, and we could not manage the equipment and telephone connection by ourselves. I was instructed to get off the road and wait for reinforcements. Naturally, we dragged the dead horse with us, skinned it and had a nice meal. When I received a new horse, I proceeded with the mission and we reached the Pskov line, where the river had to be crossed and the city taken. It was easier said than done “to take” the city. We liberated Pskov and then Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Pärnu . . . and other cities, I can’t recall them all now. We were back again on the Leningrad- Vyborg highway, along which I had retreated.

—From the Baltics you turned to Vyborg?

Yes, yes, stay with me. We drove up to Vyborg and established a telephone connection. When the city of

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN

Vyborg had been taken, we continued our advance towards the Mannerheim line, but met fierce resistance there. We could not move forward—their defenses were as strong as in 1939. But sometime later, we received Studebakers and a new order to redeploy from Vyborg to Warsaw, Poland, for an offensive against East Prussia and Germany. We were transported on the Studebakers to the region of Warsaw, where our units began to prepare for an offensive on East Prussia, which resulted in the liberation of Marienberg, Elbing and the crossing of the Vistula. Heavy battles were fought for the Graudenz fortress not far from Warsaw. We continued the offensive along the Vistula. Each hill had to be fought for, many people died, but the offensive went on. So we approached Danzig [Gdansk]. There were many civilians in Danzig: Poles, Jews, Russians . . . There were also retreating Germans, the SS. They all redeployed to the island of Rügen in the Baltic Sea. We took Tranzund. There, were heard on the radio about Victory Day. The war was over. But we received a new order to cross to the island of Rügen through the isthmus between the mainland and the island. It was to be liberated from the German invaders, who had all escaped there and sailed and swam to other countries situated along the sea shore. Naturally, many of our people were killed on that isthmus by Panzerfaust fired from the shore—we’d been expected. Still, we got to the island and liberated its towns. The Germans latched to their machine guns, and we could not lift our heads. We had to outflank them. As I mentioned, some of them fled in boats. Thus ended our war.

Later I came to Lithuania . . . No, before that, I had been given a task to harvest hay in three German villages. This was in June 1945. But since I had few people and could not cope, I mobilized the remaining elderly Germans and set up a security cordon to protect them from our tankmen and other guys on Studebakers. When the old people saw how I was defending them, they sent envoys to the city, and their children showed up. They worked for us as well. Our platoon had enough food—we had pigs and cows—the field mess was well provisioned. My people cooked the food, and the local German villagers mowed hay and made sheaves for shipment. When the train cars arrived, the hay was loaded into the rail cars. In 1946 we did not know where they were taking us. We were carried by train from Germany across the country to the ruined Stalingrad [Volgograd]. They brought the entire army to the Red Barracks. Officers billeted wherever they could, in dugouts and such. Throughout the whole war, I had been sick only once . . . I contracted malaria and was shaking. They gave me quinine, but no doctor could cure me. An old woman told me to drink a glass of my own urine. I did and vomited . . . And I forgot and still don’t remember how I was shaking and that I had malaria. That was the treatment I received. We did not stay in Stalingrad for long. Five officers were sent to the Volga Military District. I thought we would stay in Stalingrad, but I was wrong. I brought my wife and child from Kazan . . . In February 1947 I was demobilized . . . I invited my mother, father who had returned from the front, brother, my student sister, wife and daughter to come to Stalingrad, for I thought we would stay there. But we were sent to the Baltic Military District, and I had to take them back to Kazan. So, we got to the Baltic Military District, first to Riga, from there to Šiauliai, then to Vilna [Vilnius]. There, I got into a Lithuanian signals battalion comprised of Lithuanians, Jews . . . When I was demobilized in 1947, I went to Kazan. Since I had been an electrician in Kazan, lit the stage and repaired electric things at the Bolshoi Theater, I thought I could get my old job

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Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN back. But I met a good friend who came to see performances, and he said, “Well, Abram, now that you have returned, you and I are going to open an electric and radio workshop.” I said to him, “How do you propose to open such a workshop? We have no private enterprise in this country.” And he said, “No matter, there are cooperatives. We’ll apply to a cooperative association.” I said, “Alright, we’ll get admitted into an association, but do they have premises?”

—I am sorry, this is from the post-war years. I have several questions for you. I am sorry for interrupting. You said that when you occupied Danzig, there were Jews there.

Did I say that?

—There couldn’t have been any Jews there.

No, of course, not. There were many civilians and Germans.

—During the war, when you were in the army, in the trenches, at the crossings, did you feel any manifestations of Anti-Semitism?

At the front, I had four award recommendations refused. Relations with soldiers and even officers were . . . During rest times, when we were being reinforced, officers would get together, drink and so on, they would tell me, “Listen, Abram, it’s kinda awkward to call you Abram. We’ll call you Alexander instead.” I replied, “I’m not Alexander of Macedon. I was Abram, I am Abram and will remain Abram.” And so I still am.

—Have they agreed to it?

They said okay . . . I didn’t smoke. We were issued tobacco, initially even got cigarettes. I exchanged them for sugar. How did they take it?. . We had a captain, a political commissar in the signals battalion; he was a Tatar. He didn’t like us particularly, you know . . .

—When did you receive the medal “For Courage”?

Medal “For Courage”? . . . When we were advancing already in Germany, I was ordered to establish a radio-telephone link with the settlement we were about to occupy. I told my guys what our mission was. I took a map, located our whereabouts, and without waiting for the infantry, surveyed the swamps at night and came to this locality. When we got there, it was burned to the ground and only chimneys remained. I heard voices. I understand Yiddish; it is similar to German. Turns out the conversation was in German. It came from the southern outskirts, and I was located to the north. I stayed with the telephone operator and

Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN told the lineman to drop the coil and look for a deep cellar. He looked around: “Comrade lieutenant, I found a good deep cellar.” We went down, hooked up the telephone and called the colonel: “Comrade colonel, Lieutenant Sapozhnikov speaking. Mission completed. I am in the village on the south side.” I gave him exact coordinates. “The Germans are to the north, carry out an artillery preparation and send the infantry in.” The remaining Germans ran past us. For this, I received the medal “For Courage.” And I forgot to mention that when we partially lifted the blockade and took the city of Shlisselburg in 1943, I received the Order of the Red Star.

—Thank you very much for meeting with us.

Abram Sapozhnikov. Full, unedited interview, 2012

ID NY092.interview PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4639k70g

ITEM TYPE VIDEO ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN

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