The plaster on the wall was crumbling. Not the usual plastic façade like today. I remember how my head was pressed against the wall. I had sand on my cheek afterwards. My first day as a Jew. Never understood why he did that.
At H. Primary School in P. there was an older boy who had it for me for a while. I can’t remember his name anymore; let’s call him R. He was strong and good at intimidating younger pupils. One afternoon, I was walking alone from school down the hill to my Uncle M.’s house. Right before the intersection, R. and a group of his henchmen trapped me and pushed me from the curb against the wall of a building. The whole time, my tormentors kept calling me a Jew and left no doubt that they were ready to take tougher measures. I don’t remember exactly how I reacted, but I remember being scared. I survived the encounter with R. without any serious injuries, but my parents later insisted on a meeting with R. in the office of our school principal. R. professed that he hadn’t meant it that way at all and promised to shape up. We shook hands on it and I have deleted him from my memory ever since. I must have been 11 or 12 years old at the time.