Spring had arrived and John was restless. “What are we going to do all summer if we can’t go swimming at the public pool and we can’t go to the park?” he asked his parents. Like most people his age, John lived for the summer months and the chance to play outdoors in warm weather. The winter months had gone agonizingly slowly for all the Jewish children, with so little to do and nowhere to go.
“We must find a way for you and the other children to play together,” his father agreed. The children needed a place where they could have fun without restrictions and without fear. They could no longer play on the streets or in the parks, and they needed each others’ company during these difficult times. Jewish parents across Budejovice turned to the city’s Jewish council for help in finding a playground.
The council was called the Kile (pronounced Key-leh), and it had always organized the social activities of the Jewish community in Budejovice. Kile comes from the Hebrew word kehilot, which means “communities.” After the arrival of the Nazis in 1939, the Kile had become the group responsible for carrying out the orders of the Nazis. In every occupied city or town, the Nazis encouraged a central Jewish authority; this was a good way to keep track of all the Jews. The Kile was forced to create a list of names of all Jewish people living in Budejovice, along with their properties and businesses. The Kile then enforced all the laws regarding curfews and job restrictions, and chose who would participate in the forced labor.
Sometimes, the Nazis appointed certain Jews to be on these councils. These were often prominent members of the Jewish community, people whom other Jewish families would be inclined to listen to. Many Jews refused to take part in these councils, believing that they would be betraying their own people if they carried out Nazi orders. Other Jews volunteered to be on these councils, hoping that, by doing so, they might improve the lives of their friends and family members, and delay or prevent conditions from worsening.
When the Jewish community wanted to ask the Nazis for some particular treatment or service, the request had to go through the Kile. So it was that in June 1940, the Budejovice Kile appealed to the Nazis for a summer playground for Jewish youth. Then they all held their breath, wondering if the request would be granted.
From his small farmhouse on the banks of the Vltava River, a farmer named Mr. Vorisek (pronounced Vor-ee-shek) heard about this request, and wanted to help. He was a kind man who had many Jewish business friends, and he hated seeing what was happening to the Jews in his town. Most important, he had some land by the river that was not being used. Despite the fact that it was dangerous to show any type of generosity to Jews, Mr. Vorisek came forward and offered his land – the swimming hole – to the city’s Jewish youth.
To everyone’s amazement, the Nazis agreed to his offer. No one could believe that the playground had actually been approved. Perhaps the Nazis thought it was harmless for the children to have a playground of their own, or perhaps they believed that it would be a way to keep the children out of sight. Whatever their reasoning, the answer was yes.
The playground was a patch of land, right on the Vltava River, that was fifty meters deep and three hundred meters long (about fifty-five by three hundred and thirty yards). The swimming hole was located across a bridge, just outside the town limits. On the land was a rundown shack and nothing else. The area was not particularly attractive, and the river flowing past it was polluted, but the playground provided the children with a place to gather. It’s just for us, thought John. There are no signs there to keep Jews out. It’s a place where we can forget what is happening in our town and our country. The swimming hole was where the Jewish youth of Budejovice gathered for the first time in the spring of 1940.
On that first day, John climbed onto his bicycle and said goodbye to his parents. “I’ll be back later today,” he said. He couldn’t wait to get to the playground.
“Be careful,” his parents warned, reminding him that it was dangerous to be a Jew on the streets. But John didn’t care. He was so excited to finally have a place to go. He rode his bike through Budejovice, across the bridge and toward the city limits. He arrived at the swimming hole, and who was the first person he saw? It was Beda, his good friend. Beda missed his sister, Frances, who had by now been away at Aunt Elsa’s for some months. When he saw John, his face brightened. The boys happily greeted one another, and then looked around. About sixty girls and boys were already at the river, and more were arriving.
The swimming hole, painted in 1941.
When John spotted Rita Holzer, his face turned a bright shade of red. John had a secret crush on Rita, a round-faced, curly-haired girl whose nickname was Tulina. (Tulina is Czech for “cuddly.”) She was a pretty girl with big, beautiful eyes and an infectious laugh. John was pleased that Tulina had come out to the swimming hole. That would make things even more interesting. But he was too shy to talk to her, or to show that he liked her. Maybe he would get over that as time went on. For now, it was time to have fun.
One of the older boys suggested a game of soccer, the most popular sport in the area. The boys formed teams and a game began. John loved to play soccer; it was one of his favorite games. He ran with the ball, kicking it down the length of the grassy land in front of the river, dodging this way and that, trying to score. Other bigger and stronger players tried to push him out of the way, but that didn’t stop him. On the sidelines, children cheered and jumped up and down. Maybe Tulina is watching me, thought John, as he ran and kicked the ball harder. By the time the game ended, everyone was exhausted but happy.
That same afternoon, Beda and John played a game of chess by the river, lazily moving their pieces around the chessboard and lying back to let the warm spring sun wash over them.
John looked over at his good friend. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” he asked.
Beda nodded. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”