Chapter 5
Next
morning, the militia went around town with a dozen horse drawn wagons,
manned by farmers and collected the families to be exiled. We loaded
our two valises onto the wagon and climbed on top. Some of our relatives
were there to wish us a last goodbye, their faces clouded by sadness,
their eyes in tears. Many curious onlookers were standing by in utter
silence, only their faces expressed a deep concern, probably because
of their own uncertain future. The horses pulled the heavily loaded
wagons at a steady, slow pace. I could see our house and the people
on main street gradually receding in the distance. I was sitting between
my mother's legs, leaning against her with my back. She held onto me
tightly and cried soundlessly, only her tears dropped onto my neck from
time to time. I tried to comfort her by caressing her hands with which
she embraced me. We all felt pretty miserable. As time went by, the
passengers struck up conversations concerning their husbands, whose
whereabouts were mostly unknown, and a multitude of rumours concerning
our destination. We were only told that we are going to Chemovitz.
Among
the passengers, there was a very pretty seventeen year-old girl, Irena
Drabic, whose family we knew well because her father, Mr.Drabic, was
my music teacher. He was of Polish descent, married to a local Ukrainian
girl and decided to settle in Zastavna. He practiced his profession
as a violinist by playing in a local band, as well as giving private
violin lessons. He was well known in Zastavna, as a very likable easy-going
person and highly respected for his musical skills. Irena told us that
for the last week she was visiting her mother's relatives in a nearby
village. When she arrived home the other day, her parents were gone.
She was very distraught, questioned her neighbours and found out that
the militia arrested her parents. All her efforts to extract some information
from the militia about the whereabouts of her parents were in vain.
She assumed that they were on their way to the same destination as all
the other people who were being exiled and she decided to join the exiles
voluntarily, hoping that eventually she will find her parents. "Mrs.Scharf,"
she said, "I know you better than the other people and I would
like you to permit me to travel with you until I find my parents."
My mother accepted her request and so this chance encounter transformed
our two member family into a three member family instantaneously.
Some
four hours later we arrived in Chernovitz in front of a high school.
We were ordered to pick up our baggage and march into a very large gymnasium.
The place was crowded with people, very noisy, stuffy, and at first
glance, bewildering. Irena was quite an organizer. In no time she correctly
assessed the situation, picked a free space on the floor in a convenient
comer which will afford us some protection from the constant traffic
of people and said: "this is our new home, let's make our bed here."
Then she went on a reconnaissance tour; she found out where the bathroom
was, drinking water, and that food was given once a day. She talked
to the militia men in charge (it was hard to resist her
good looks) and found out that this was only a transit center for processing
purposes. We spent about one week in that gymnasium, and there was a
constant flow of people in and out. People of all ages, different nationalities,
but mostly Jews and Ukrainians. The Jews were either business people
or skilled professionals like doctors, lawyers. The Ukrainians were
mostly landowners and some professionals. All the people were considered
undesirable elements of society, seen by the regime as an obstacle in
their drive to a quick nationalization of all the means of production
and the collectivization of all the farms.
I
quickly made friends with children of my age and we spent many hours
playing our games. Sometimes the hall would be so crowded that we could
only sit in one place, and other times it would empty out, enabling
us to run around freely, to play ball, to climb the hanging ropes, or
even to be a bit of a nuisance to the adults. On June 22 1941, it was
our turn to be transported by truck to the railway station and quickly
loaded into cattle railway cars. These cars were specially fitted with
three extra layers of boards on either side of the wide centrally located
entrance door. The floor was strewn with straw; two large barrels were
standing there: one was used for excrement, and the other was filled
with drinking water. Irena, in her usual practical manner, managed to
occupy a place for us on the middle floor, near a small window covered
with iron bars. "Since the car is packed with people and it is
summer, it will become hot and stuffy," she explained to us, "it
is important that Berti should have some fresh air."
As
soon as the exiles were packed into the cars and the large doors were
shut tight by the guards, I could see a lot of excitement taking place
on the station platform. Many uniformed men were running to and fro
apparently aimlessly and in great confusion. There was a great deal
of shouting, of orders, pointing to the sky (it was a very clear sunny
day), setting up of machine guns on either end of the platform and then,
suddenly, there was a different kind of noise, a noise I have never
heard before. All the soldiers dove down, hiding underneath the cars.
I could hear now the awful whining sound of diving planes and the staccato
sound of the machine guns spraying the cars and the buildings. Other
planes seemed to be dropping loaves of bread, which exploded when they
hit the ground. I was fascinated and very frightened at the same time.
The machine gun bullets striking the tin roof of the railway station
sounded to me the same as pouring dry peas on the floor of my father's
warehouse. The flashes of fire, the billows of smoke, the screams of
the wounded, the frightful sounds of war, finally forced me to move
away from the window as far as possible. I was trembling like a leaf
in the wind and pleading with the Almighty to please stop this awful
sound. My mother placed a pillow over my head and said in a very calm
and comforting voice: "now you are safe, the pillow will not let
anything happen to you." I believed her, wholeheartedly, and felt
somewhat better.
Hitler
had just broken the peace treaty which he concluded with Stalin and
attacked the Soviet Union. Thousands of innocent people were jammed
into tightly locked railway cars, exposed to the most vicious bombardment
from the air, without any possibility of escaping and seeking some minimal
protection. Fortunately for us, our train placed on a remote siding,
made us a lesser target and consequently the numbers of killed and wounded
were relatively small. When the all clear was sounded our "brave"
guards began crawling out from underneath tee railway cars. No one bothered
to check inside the cars, to help the wounded, to remove the dead. They
were busy clearing the debris, taking care of their own wounded, preparing
the train for a quick departure. Indeed, sometimes late at night the
train was on its way moving eastward into the unknown, carrying a load
of miserable human beings, crammed together with the sick, wounded and
dead. Hungry and thirsty, arguing and fighting for the use of the barrel,
a place to lie down, a breath of air by the window. The train was in
continuous motion for about three days and nights with some brief stops
for refueling. During those stops we were subjected to several air raids
but somehow we were fortunate to escape the worst of it. On the third
day the air attacks did not come our way anymore.
Conditions
inside the cars grew steadily worse, with the rising tension so high
that people were unable to communicate with each other in a civilized
manner. It was then that the train was parked on a side line at a considerable
distance from the station, and the guards opened the doors, ordered
some men to empty the toilet barrel, another group of exiles were sent
to fill up the water barrel and to bring some food. Every person received
half a loaf of bread and a bowl of soup. The dead were removed and buried
nearby, the seriously wounded were sent away to a local hospital, the
lightly wounded were treated on the spot and they remained in the cars.
A few farmers appeared near the train offering to sell some food. Everybody
still had a little money and although the prices were exorbitant, we
all bought some bread, boiled eggs, cheese and even some milk. We still
had a small amount of food left over from the provisions that my mother
brought along from Zastavna. We knew that this food may have to last
us a long time, so Irena, with her organizational skills, was in charge
of rationing the food. As a child, I was in a privileged position, and
received a relatively more nutritious diet. During the stopover, the
exiles not engaged in work, were not allowed out of the car,
however, since there were fewer people inside, we managed to clean up
the interior and stretch our legs in the center of the car. When all
the activities were completed, the large sliding doors were shut tight.
We
spent over a week immobile on the siding. The railway station was very
busy, the traffic was mostly going in the opposite direction. The Russians
were moving people and equipment to the front. We know now how single-minded
a totalitarian regime could be. The Soviets must have had a hundred
such trains packed with exiles from the three Baltic states, from Soviet
occupied Poland, from Bessarabia and from Bucovina. Maybe a million
people or more, uprooted and enslaved, a majority never to see their
loved ones and their homes again, they either died in their place of
exile or were never able to leave it. There were tens of thousands of
soldiers, railway personnel, bureaucrats, all busy doing their job of
exiling innocent people, all this while the country was at war, with
the Germans advancing at a Blitzkrieg pace. Why did the Soviet Union
allocate badly needed personnel and equipment to a seemingly not vital
enterprise? The same question begs for an answer concerning another
totalitarian regime: the Germans, transporting the Jews to the death
camps.
Even
in the confined space of the car, life had to follow a certain routine,
when to sleep, when to eat, to go to the barrel, to stretch one's legs
in the center of the car, to play cards, to talk. I think my mother
and Irena knew every intimate detail about each other's family life.
Irena was a good storyteller, she also kept me busy with some oral exercises
in arithmetic, geography and other subjects. Meanwhile we began to feel
again the approaching war. First, signs were exhibited by the nervous
activities of the guards. They were not patrolling in front of the cars,
more often they would be crouching under. The supplies of food stopped,
the doors were not opened up. The farmers did not come to sell their
food. Finally, there was another bombing and strafing attack, fortunately
for us we were not affected in our remote location.
That
night we were again on the move and this time for at least a week. Provisions
were supplied in an irregular manner, in small quantities, mostly as
bread and water. The sparse diet caused a significant change in my appearance.
I was chubby, even fat, when we left Zastavna in the middle of June,
but now about a month later, I was a pretty slim and pale looking ten-year
old, somewhat unsteady on my feet, when I subjected them to the test
of carrying my body a couple of times every day. On one occasion, when
Irena was practicing some school work with me, I noticed that the farmers
took off their lambskin vests, which they were wearing with the wool
inside, and were searching for something among the long strands of wool.
From time to time the fingernails of the two thumbs were pressed together
emitting a slight cracking sound. When I asked Irena what they were
doing, she said that they are killing lice.
Lice
became almost a constant companion for us for many years to come. As
soon as sanitary conditions improved, we managed to get rid of them,
but when they deteriorated we had to cope with the presence of lice,
especially in the hairy parts of our body. We removed them as best as
we could, mostly manually, one by one, similar to what our neighbors
were doing. Lice could be, at best, very annoying, they constantly suck
one's blood on which they feed and the skin becomes very itchy, causing
us to scratch all the time. At worst, they are carriers of diseases
such as typhus. We were fortunate, that by some miracle, we were spared
an outbreak of an epidemic while we were cooped up in very close quarters
for about two months.
As
soon as we crossed the Ural mountains we stopped in some remote railway
station for a period of three weeks. There was a lot of railway traffic
in both directions. There were only rumours about the war and they were
mostly not good. Not good is, of course, a relative term. As far as
the Jews were concerned, the German advance was a disaster, for the
Ukrainians it was a different matter. They had no love for the Jews
and they expressed their hatred openly and constantly, but they bore
a greater hatred for the Russians and their Communist regime. They regarded
the Germans as liberators. They were not the only ones in the Soviet
Union who felt this way. This was the first time that I came face to
face with such virulent anti-Semitism under such unfavourable conditions.
It
was now the middle of July, the days were long, the weather was hot
and although the sliding doors were opened every day for a few hours,
conditions inside the car were quite unbearable. The heat, the lice,
the lack of hygiene, the lack of exercise, the very poor diet, all of
these took their toll. As usual, it was the young and the old who suffered
most. Many people became quite ill, there was no medical treatment,
they either became well or they perished. The guards were now calmer,
more relaxed in their treatment of the exiles. The dangers of war were
behind them. However, this relaxation was not expressed in improved
provisions of food: it was still a very meager portion of bread, refill
of the barrel of water and the occasional bowl of soup. Some local people
were selling food at astronomical prices, mostly boiled potatoes and
pickled cabbage. Irena insisted that we should never miss an opportunity
to buy food as long as we are able to do so. Irena was looking after
my spiritual well being as well, my mother was quite depressed all the
time. Irena was young, pretty, not particularly cheerful, but always
in a practical busy mood, tried to keep me occupied much of the time.
She was my older sister, my playmate and my teacher, simultaneously.
At
the end of July all the exiles reached a high point of restlessness
and irritation, however, as time went by, the weakened physical condition
of the inmates made their bickering less vehement and less frequent,
they seemed to be more resigned to their fate. And then, as July ended
and August started, the Soviet bureaucracy, in its inexplicable wisdom,
decided that our train must continue to its final destination: none
of the passengers knew what it was. This part of the trip lasted for
another two weeks. It was a fairly slow, stop and go affair, with the
usual treatment of the human cargo, the same rules and regulations causing
the same misery and suffering. We were now in the middle of August,
some two months since we left Zastavna, many thousands of kilometers
to the east, many time zones apart, and in a different continent. We
were, as a matter of fact, in a different world, in the heart of Siberia,
in the city of Novosibirsk.
When
we were ordered to disembark, upon our arrival at the railway station,
most of us had great difficulty standing up straight. Many collapsed
on the platform and had to try several times to stand, to walk, to simply
move about freely. Mercifully, the Soviet bureaucracy was just as slow
moving, so we spent about two hours waiting for the order to move to
our next destination. Although we all looked like shadows of our previous
selves, by the end of the two hours the children were running around
the platforrn, happy to see again our friends from the Chernovitz gymnasium
where we played together for a week. We were finally loaded into trucks
and transferred to a spacious school yard. We were to camp outdoors,
there were outdoor toilet facilities, just a cabin on top of a hole
in the ground, there was a tap with running water nearby, there was
hot food, soup, boiled potatoes and some bread, there was also the sun
shining late at night, at least till 11 P.M., maybe even midnight. By
3 A.M. the sun was up again. There was, of course, lots of clean fresh
air. There were mixed feelings of relief and sorrow: relief from the
torturous trip and sorrow because we were now in that dreaded place
called Siberia. There was desperation of being doomed, but there was
also hope that the exile will last only a short while, maybe for the
duration of the war. Many of us spent a sleepless night with our spirits
in a great upheaval.