This is the story of my Bisabuela (great-grandmother), Leia Cudisevich de Dejman, Z”L, or Lolita, as she was known in Venezuela. I cannot emphasise enough the immense gratitude I have to be able to recount her story with as much clarity and detail as I have. There are several reasons for this unbelievable fortuna — firstly, the custom in Venezuela (and in Latin America in general) is to marry very young, and have children within the first few years of marriage.
My great-grandmother was married at 16, my grandmother at 18, and my mother at 21. I was born when my mother was 24 — at the very same later stages of her 24th year that I currently find myself in. The very small generational gaps in my family allowed me to know and interact with my Bis until she passed at age 83, when I was 17. Secondly, it is nothing short of miraculous to be able to trace the narrative of a Jewish family that lived past the Second World War.
Nicole’s great-grandmother Leia, who married when she was 16
The Shoah (Hebrew word for “Holocaust”) decimated not only millions of individuals, but fragmented countless families as well. Even when I recount Leia and her family’s amazing story of migration from pre-war Romania to Venezuela, it weighs heavily that other Cudisevich and Malevotsky nuclear families did not have similar fates in the Shoah.
On my father’s side, only his Abuelito (grandpa) Moises Zisman survived — his immediate family was killed in the Einsatzgruppen of German-occupied Romania (responsible for the persecution and massacre of up to 260,000 Jews in Romanian-controlled territories). What’s more, the obliteration of entire families cuts off any possibility of tracing and recording family histories and details. These vanish alongside the people.
The Shoah (Hebrew word for “Holocaust”) decimated not only millions of individuals, but fragmented countless families as well.
I’d like to thank my grandmother, Fanny Dejman (currently isolating like a campeóna in her home in Aventura, Florida.) What knowledge I have of Bis’s story has been recounted to me and my family in immaculate detail by her.
My mother’s family has origins in Telenești, Romania (present-day Moldova). Her grandmother’s immediate family was comprised of Josef Cudisevich and Hannah Cudisevich Malevotsky (her great-grandparents), with children Rose, Feige (who passed at aged 2), Haim, Leia and Yuye.
A family photograph of the Cudisevich-Malevotskys of Telenești, Romania (present-day Moldova), with Leia on the left
The family had moved temporarily to Venezuela in 1930 to seek better economic opportunities, but had no intentions of settling there at the time. Once a bit of money was made, they returned home to Romania in 1935, They found their return to be brief — in the few years Josef and Hannah Cudisevich had been abroad, pogroms (violent riots aimed specifically at the persecution or massacre of Jews) in Romania had intensified.
Local authorities and the rising fascist political forces of the Iron Guard were responsible for these specific incidents; German invasion happened afterwards in July 1940 and Romania officially joined the Axis powers that November, but antisemitism had been rife in Europe for centuries. Josef and Hannah understood very clearly that the difficult social and political circumstances that had, as standard practice, plagued the reality of European Jews in general for centuries was exponentially worsening.
Romania officially joined the Axis powers in November 1940, but antisemitism had been rife in Europe for centuries.
One morning, from one day to the next, the father said to the family, “We are leaving tonight.” And they did, with only the clothes on their backs and perhaps a small bag. They left the lights on in the house so that no one would suspect that they weren’t coming back.
I must stipulate that their timing was extremely lucky, because it became increasingly difficult for poor Jews to escape Nazi-occupied territories, as they couldn’t assume the extortionate amounts the Nazis charged for emigration rights (which they eventually stopped altogether). They went via Paris, where eleven year-old Rose (equipped with minor amounts of Spanish) managed to negotiate visas at the Venezuelan embassy. The family then boarded a cross-Atlantic ship bound for Valencia, Venezuela.
Leia and her husband, José Dejman
Life was considerably better for Jews in Venezuela — as one of the very, very few countries taking in European Jewish refugees at the time, the country demonstrated higher favourability towards immigrants by charging lower immigration fees (about $20 USD, $370 in today’s currency). South American sun and the cultural warmth proved to be a stark contrast from the cold and general anxiety of Eastern Europe. The weight of assimilationist expectations awaited the Jewish immigrants — they were immediately asked to change their names from Josef, Hannah, Rose, Haim, Leia and Yuye to José, Ana, Rosita, Jaime, Lola and Julieta.
South American sun and the cultural warmth proved to be a stark contrast from the cold and general anxiety of Eastern Europe.
The children learned and spoke Spanish in favour of Yiddish, though their parents kept the majority of their communication in Yiddish. They were also extremely poor. José earned his family’s living by selling furniture. The girls had two school uniforms and one weekend dress — Bis would come home from school and wash her uniform from that day. On the following day, she would wear the one she’d cleaned the previous day. The family couldn’t even get enough money together for three weekend bus tickets — the girls would get on and Jamie would stay behind and run behind the bus, following it into town.
Nicole’s Bis told her that the most important thing in life is study and hard work
When Bis eventually married her husband, José Dejman, (my mother’s Zeide) they eventually raised enough to build a fabric shop called Almacenes La Selecta. They worked their whole lives — Zeide until his passing in 1987, and Bis until age 81 (two years before her passing). I remember Bis telling me throughout my childhood, in her heavily Yiddish-accented Spanish, that the most important thing in life is to study and work hard, and opportunities would come.
The advice was the same at family weddings in Caracas, in holidays at Hebraica and Puerto Azul, and during her visits at home in California. The honesty behind her advice was overwhelming to me, even at a young age. I’d frequently steal her vintage fabric scissors from Almacenes La Selecta off my mother’s desk and force their blunted blades through lengths of fabric to make my entry design portfolio for university.
Leia and José raised enough money to build a fabric shop called Almacenes La Selecta
It is imperative to contextualise the narratives of our grandparents and great-grandparents into contemporary guidance. When asked by the Venezuelan immigration authorities, “Qué trae para este paiz?” (‘What are you bringing in to this country?”) Josef, having taken only the bare necessities from Telenești, replied: “Traigo a mi familia y a D’s” (I bring my family and G’d).
During COVID-19, though levels of health, economic, and emotional impact have varied from person to person, this pandemic has tasked us all with the honest redefinition of what is essential and what is non-essential. In the UK, where I currently reside, the government has classified the “essential activities” to leave home for as the following: grocery shopping, medical needs, exercise, going to the bank, and going to work if one is a key worker.
Even if we are lucky enough not to be suffering financially or grieving loved ones, many of us have dealt with shock or frustration as certain realities that we took for granted have shifted. An honest redefinition for me, in the context of the lifestyle that Bis and her family led in Romania and Venezuela, radically reduces everything that is not my health and financial stability, and the general wellbeing of my loved ones, as “non-essential.”
Leia Cudisevich de Dejman (November 1, 1929 – September 2012)
Bis’s most powerful phrase “Bueno es un minuto de felicidad” (“Goodness is one minute of happiness”) maintains that one tiny moment of happiness is good enough — no more is needed. It maintains, from her family’s firsthand experience of migration and rebuilding, that the capacity to live within limits and find happiness with what we are given in life is liberating and enriching.
Bis’s most powerful phrase maintains that one tiny moment of happiness is good enough — no more is needed.
It is enough to enjoy this moment, to be present in this experience and to cherish any opportunities presented by this pandemic without having to crave the next. If we focus on the missing “non-essentials,” the things that we don’t or may never have, we become debilitated in our strife for happiness, stability, connection and community during these uncertain times. Bueno es un minuto de felicidad.
