Martin Roubíček

* 1930

  • “The worst was to leave together with the other children and to be parted from our mummy. She took me all the way to Prague, Father wasn’t allowed to leave Holice, but she could... so she went with me and she saw me inside the wagon. It wasn’t a bad wagon, rather ordinary, there were twenty of us children there or so, no more. And she kept waving to us and she couldn’t come closer. And the second memory, it’s laughable... When they brought us to Terezín, they took us to Bohušovice, that was the train station, and there they sat us onto tractors, onto these kind of trucks. And we each had a suit-case. Some of the suit-cases fell down on the ground, and the tractor just rolled over them like nothing happened. No one minded, no one cared that the suit-case might be ruined...”

  • “The main reason why we decided [to emigrate] was that although Father was administrator of the mill, it was certain that they’d certainly fire him after the coup in 1948. And we wouldn’t have been able to go to university either, we’d have been classified as class enemies, bourgeoisie. So my parents said to themselves: ‘We had the chance, but unfortunately we didn’t emigrate before the war. We survived that, but now is enough, we don’t want any more.’ And as we had relatives in Argentina, they got us a work warrant for Father, and off we went.”

  • “Every war is terrible. Why there are still wars after such a terrible war, I can’t understand that, but I do understand it a bit when I see how people in one family keep on quarrelling amongst themselves and hating each other. That’s how it starts. There’s no other explanation. We’re faulty by nature, and there’s no way without a higher faith. We have to have trust in something higher. For us, that’s religion. I don’t know if there’re other ways to cure human nature, but for me it’s religion. We started with the Jewish religion, we now have the Evangelical religion, we have good Catholic friends, but I also know people from other religions. If they’re searching for peace and love, I have to accept that. I am guided and directed by the Evangelical religion, but the message is: Do what is possible to reconcile people with each other.”

  • “I know that (when we were) in Holice, Mum and Dad, when they made something of a living, then Mum packed parcels which she inscribed with the name of Grandma or some other relative, and at the bottom she wrote the address: Březinka, that is Birkenau in German, and the transport number I think. And in them she packed roux, sugar, flour, bread... stuff that she could send that wouldn’t go bad. And us children took the parcels by bike (we rode by bike) to the post office to get them sent. If any of them ever arrived, we don’t know.”

  • “(Grandad) died in 1933. And he was burned, cremated. When the family wanted to bury him in a Catholic graveyard, they didn’t allow it, because he was cremated, that was unacceptable. So they asked parson Řezníček, who was an Evangelical, he was in charge of the Evangelical graveyard, so he said: ‘By all means, I have no objections.’ So he [Grandad] was buried in an Evangelical graveyard. And from that time on we were on friendly terms, and so also probably because of fears of being persecuted as Jews, we were baptised there. I don’t know if the adults were, but all of us children were baptised by parson Řezníček, we’ve got a certificate too. But as it so happened, the Gestapo and the Nazis didn’t care a bit. They were interested in our ancestry, and our birth certificate had the stamp of the Jewish community, so the baptismal certificate meant nothing...”

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    Choceň, 31.05.2011

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The birth certificate had the stamp of the Jewish community, the baptismal certificate meant nothing.

Martin Roubíček
Martin Roubíček
zdroj: Filip Marek

Martin Roubíček was born on the 24th of April 1930. Although he took his first breath in a maternity ward in Prague, he has always considered himself a native of Choceň. His family owned a cotton mill in the East Bohemian town, and they all lived in the „Small Palace“ villa. His father was of Jewish descent, his mother was a Catholic. After the Nazi occupation, the family came under effect of the Nuremberg Laws, despite the fact the children were baptised and the family professed the Evangelical faith. In September 1941 the Gestapo confiscated the mill and the villa, and the family was forced to move to the nearby town of Holice. His grandmother was taken straight to Birkenau, where she died probably in 1943. Upon reaching 14 years of age, Martin was transported to Terezín in May 1944. To start with he lived in Jugendheim, where he escaped the wave of transports to Auschwitz in October 1944. After that, he did agricultural labour until the end of the war, like his aunt Hönigová and his two cousins. His father, Jan, protected by his mixed marriage status, worked first in Pardubice in a warehouse for goods confiscated by the Gestapo, later he was placed in the labour camp in Hagibor, Prague, before being finally taken to Terezín in February 1945. After the war, Martin Roubíček was able to happily reunite with both his parents and his siblings. The family mill was seized in the first wave of nationalisations already in 1945. Martin joined into the fourth year of an eight-year grammar school in Vysoké Mýto. Until 1948, his father was employed as a national administrator, after the communist coup however, the family decided to emigrate. An invitation from their relatives meant they could go to Argentina. Martin Roubíček did not continue in the family tradition, he did not take an interest in the textile industry. He studied medicine (in Argentina and the US), and after working shortly in the Bolivian city of La Paza, he settled down with his wife and daughter in Mar del Plata, working in the newly built hospital there. He specialised himself in endocrinology, later also in genetics, which he also taught at university. The family has set its roots firmly in Argentina, but Martin Roubíček does still visit his homeland from time to time.