1942 to 1943: The Years of Great Hope

The news from the front, more important to the Jewish population than to anybody else in the whole world, afforded cautious optimism. Moscow not only held on, but the Russians were able to mount a counteroffensive, pushing the Germans back and relieving the pressure on that front.

Things were not so good in Leningrad. The city was now completely encircled, but through a truly heroic effort on the part of the military and civilians alike, the city managed to hold out. Supplies could be brought in only while Lake Ladoga was frozen, beginning in late fall and lasting until the spring thaw. The traffic on the frozen lake grew to unbelievable proportions. Even so, the supplies were not enough to sustain life. Children were evacuated, but the adult population stayed and suffered beyond description. Hundreds of thousands died of hunger and exhaustion. There were known cases of cannibalism. The siege finally ended in January 1943.

During the January offensive, the Russians successfully recaptured several important cities like Kursk. Kharkov finally fell in May of that year. The Russian success was even more important to the beleaguered Jews of Hungary, especially those from Carpathia. It gave them a ray of hope. Before, every German victory brought new acts of anti Semitic cruelty. The situation was now reversed. Hungarian thinking about German invincibility started to change, not yet in an avalanche, but in a slow progression of sober and rational thinking. Perhaps a time of reckoning would come.

While the war was far from over, there were ominous signs of Germany's weakening. Consequently, the Hungarian authorities were somewhat more willing to refuse to give in to German pressure and therefore put aside any plans they had with regard to the "Jewish Question". A booming underground industry kept the Jewish population in a position to earn its livelihood. The biggest problems were caused by conscription into the labor battalions, shipping great numbers out to the fronts. Those who survived the immeasurable sufferings deserve our greatest respect, for they were the real unsung heroes.

Our family, after suffering the initial setback of losing the sawmill, recuperated sufficiently to continue in the lumber business. This time we were not producers, but buyers and sellers of lumber products. The Hungarian who took over our mill had absolutely no idea how to run it and was dependent on our help, but there was a price to be paid for his willingness to cooperate. The truth was that we needed him as much as he needed us. There was no sense in letting him go broke, as it would only lead to another privileged Hungarian taking over in his stead.

No agreement with new owners was any good, as the new owner had to be supplied with money regardless of the cash flow. Somehow, many of the former Jewish owners managed to keep those who supplanted them under control. Slowly most of the Jewish entrepreneurs, tradesmen, storekeepers, and manufacturers were back at work in their respective undertakings, one way or another. There were of course some exceptions. Some could not make a deal with the requisitioner and some chose to pursue a different occupation. Many suffered financially due to their loss of livelihood.

At the end of 1941, my father approached me with a proposition to take a job with a large company called OFA. It was located in a small village named GyergyÛ-V·rhegy, practically all of which belonged to the company. This place served as OFA's manufacturing center. Its sawmill there had twenty-four Gatters (a machine that cuts logs into boards). I mention this to provide a comparison to our mill in Volove, with only two Gatters. On this basis, you can easily comprehend the enormity of their mill. The township was in Transylvania, which was under Rumanian sovereignty from 1918 to 1939. It previously had been part of Hungary under the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but was awarded to Hungary in the Vienna agreement.

A friend of my father, Mr. Adler, who was the company's C.E.O., offered me the position--I suspect at my father's request. Taking the job offered me an excellent opportunity to learn how a big lumber enterprise operated, learn new techniques and generally acquire knowledge that I could not get in Volove. I would have less opposition, no relatives in the company and the assurance from Mr. Adler that he would train me in all phases of production. I accepted and left for GyergyÛ-V·rhegy, where I was to spend six months. In one way, I probably had one of the best times of my life. In another, without any friends, I was somewhat lonely there. There were only three Jewish families in this tiny place and, regretfully, only one good-looking girl. Even then, I had a competitor with an advantage over me. He was a serious contender, probably with marriage on his mind, while I was too young even to think of marriage. The girl was all for me, at least that's what she told me, but her parents were all for my competition, Morris.

As for my work I loved every minute of it. There was no cousin Eizik and no Hershel Weiss, both of whom thought they knew it all. When Mr. Adler assigned me to a certain section, he issued a firm order to the foreman to teach me everything he knew. I went from section to section, picking up new ideas everywhere. In six months, I made tremendous progress and developed the skills that would come in handy if and when our mill was returned, which I expected to happen after the war. In fact, I started seriously thinking of making mill work my permanent occupation and forgetting all about textiles. It was mainly an outdoor life, so much more exciting and not confined by four walls.

On Mr. Adler's insistence, I stayed on another three months. "Now you know how we operate our mill," he said, but how about the exploitation of the forests, where the logs come from?" I stayed. After all, while the salary was nothing to brag about, I could save almost all of it, since I ate at the company's restaurant for free and had a room in a company complex. The eatery was an essential part of life at the mill, as most of the management personnel, without schools in the town for their children, did not live there with their families. Some lived in Gyergyot–Igyes, some thirty-five kilometers away, others in Morosv·s·rhely, some two hundred kilometers from the mill.

The company owned huge tracts of forest that stretched for many kilometers. To bring the logs from the forest to the mill, it had its own narrow-gauge railroad with several locomotives and many railroad cars, especially designed for logging. I had to go out into the forest for two to three days at least once a week, and stayed over in a chata (a log cabin). It contained four bunks: one for the foreman, one for the cook who looked after our meals and two for visitors from the mill. In good weather, it was a wonderful life. Once, I even stayed right where the woodcutters had their Nkolibas (crudely built shelters with an open fire for cooking and for warmth at night) as the temperature often dropped considerably. It was not exactly a life of luxury, especially for one who was not used to it, but I learned how people manage without the comforts we grow so accustomed to. I learned how they prepared their morning, noon and evening meals and how they spent time singing and playing primitive instruments. At night, it was interesting to see how a different person would get up to put some wood on the fire to keep it going.

I also learned all about felling trees, cleaning logs and reseeding the forest. With good feelings about the work and life, I began to think of myself as a lumberman and could now partake in debates with other lumbermen without putting my foot in my mouth.

News was sparse. Once in a while we managed to read the Magyar Nemzet when someone brought an issue from town. Even then, the paper was already two to three days old. We learned about the new German offensive in the South that finally captured Sevastopol after an eight-month-long siege that exacted a heavy toll in dead and wounded. No longer could the Germans make such large conquests as they had in 1941. The Russians and the Allies were getting stronger by the day.

GyergyÛ-V·rhegy was on the main railroad line to the oil refineries in Ploesti, Rumania Periodically, I could see the frantic speeds at which the trains rushed oil from the refineries. At times the need for oil became so urgent that oil trains were given preference over passenger trains, even expresses. We knew then that the Germans had a serious shortage of oil for their offensive. When an oil train stopped to let a passenger train through, I could buy cigarette lighters and Rumanian cigarettes from the German soldiers. I sold the lighters for a profit, but mostly kept the cigarettes for my own use.

Smoking was a habit I acquired in 1939 while buying cigarettes from the Polish Army fleeing the invading Germans. I didn't smoke then, but my Uncle Marton and my father did and sent me out to buy cigarettes from the Poles. Naturally, I had to sample them before buying any, even though I knew little about cigarettes. I doubt very much that I ever learned anything about the quality of the cigarettes, but I surely learned to smoke--a habit I finally kicked in 1965 with great difficulty and suffering.

I returned to Chust in August 1942. Everybody at home was well, and I soon fell into my old routines with my friends. I was not as completely free as some of them were, since I had some responsibilities helping my father with his business. He was selling lumber by the carload to Hungarian wholesalers and also to larger Jewish lumber dealers. In Hungary's homeland, where licenses were not touched as they were in the Carpathian territories, trade went on as before. It always amazed me how my father acquired connections to so many really influential people. It was through one of these connections that he was able to save my Uncle Dudye from being drafted into the work brigades. Father arranged a postponement for him and, with the type of administration the Hungarians ran, he was never called again.

My daily routine included a visit to my Aunt Klara. If Uncle Meir was home, it was likely that we would discuss politics and the latest news from the front. Uncle Laci was still in Chust, but it would not be long before he was called to serve in the work battalions. Lucky to serve in Hungary and the Ukraine instead of at the front, he managed to survive.

I had two unpleasant run-ins with the Hungarian authorities, neither of which I caused. The first happened in Volove, when a detective stopped me on the street and asked for my papers. Examining them, he asked me why I had not attended the required Levente exercises. Levente was a compulsory pre-military organization for boys, I believe, from age fourteen to draft age. Separate work groups existed for Jewish boys, however. They did whatever the officers ordered, from cutting wood for the officers' quarters or for the Gendarmerie to working in the forest. The gentiles were organized in a more military manner and received some weapons training. During all those years, I attended the exercises only three or four times. In Chust, I was registered to attend in Volove and vice versa. I had gotten away with it until the detective stopped me. He arrested me on the spot and took me to the Gendarmerie, headquartered in our requisitioned house. On the way, I saw a Jewish boy I knew well and I asked him to get in touch with any of my cousins who would know what to do. This did not please the detective, whose name was Ujhegyi. In his report, among other things, he wrote that I was a known Russian sympathizer who could hardly wait for their arrival. Bad enough to favor the Allies, but to sympathize with the Russians could be deadly.

Luckily, the message reached my father. He managed to get in touch with the head of the Gendarmes in Chust, who also had jurisdiction over the detachment in Volove. His intervention saved me from being badly beaten, as was the general procedure. Since the head of the Volove detachment recognized me, I might have escaped a beating in any case, but I wouldn't bet on it. They let me go with the explicit order to return to the courthouse at 8:00 a.m., which I did. By that time, my father had arrived from Chust, but there was not much he could do. I was brought before the judge, a man by the name of Medved. The charges were read, accusing me of not attending the Levente for at least six months and of being a Russian sympathizer. I denied both charges. To my great surprise, I knew the court clerk, a man named Bokotey, very well. I soon realized that he remembered me as well. He approached the judge to say, "Your Honor, I know this boy. I know his father and I knew his grandfather. They were always good Hungarians. I therefore cannot believe that he is a Russian sympathizer. As for missing the Leventes, it could have been an error in keeping the records." The judge found me guilty of missing a few Levente sessions and fined me ten pengo, payable within ten days. As instructed by Bokotey, I never paid the fine and the records probably disappeared.

My biggest punishment almost came from my father, who demanded to know why I had not attended the Leventes. It was enough only to remind him that several months earlier I had told him that I had better start attending or there might be trouble. In unison he and Uncle Marton asked me how long it was since I attended last. I told them very long ago, and that I went to exercises probably only four or five times in the last two years. They both told me, "Don't worry. The beating and fine are the same whether you miss six months or one or two years. It's all the same." So now they could not blame me.

The second incident was probably more serious and definitely more prolonged. It started in 1940, but culminated at the end of 1942. As you already know, my father and all his siblings were born in Wyszkov, then Austro-Hungary and later Poland. However, their official domicile was always shown as Prislop, where all their births were registered. There was never any trouble. They all became Czechoslovakian citizens and should have become Hungarian citizens automatically. In 1939, Father was called into the district office and asked to prove his citizenship. During the hearing, the officials wrote down everything, but seemed skeptical. My father, not wanting to leave anything to chance, phoned his good friend, Dr. Dezso Szilagyi, who was a real Hungarian of the old school and a very influential lawyer, to arrange for citizenship papers for the whole family. It took some time, but all the brothers received their citizenship papers long before the 1941 deportations. However, my papers did not come. For some reason, it did not seem important at the time. After all, if father was a citizen, so automatically were all his children. My difficulty in proving citizenship was compounded by my having been born in Vienna. To make the story short, I was ordered to leave the country within ten days and given the right to appeal within fifteen days. When I asked how I could appeal in fifteen days when I had to be out of the country in ten days, I was told, "You can appeal from wherever you will be. If the appeal is granted, you can return."

Through contacts in Budapest, Dr. Szilagyi arranged a stay of the deportation order until an appeal could be heard, which was to be many months later. Nonetheless, they did not wait for the appeal and arrested me one Saturday morning in November 1942. Until 5:00 p.m. that day they interrogated me, repeating the question over and over again, "How come you were a Friedman, then you became a Jakubovic?" They either did not understand or did not want to understand the explanation, which I present in a following chapter, "What's in a Name?" I felt in real danger of being deported to Austria. If that had happened, I don't believe I would have had the chance to write my memoirs, or much else.

They questioned me over and over, first one then another. One of them wore the uniform of the Border Police. They deliberated in hushed voices in the adjoining room, making my situation look very serious. Nobody offered me a cigarette, or anything to eat or drink. Finally, they let me go without any comment whatsoever. My father and uncles believed that someone wanted us out of the way. When they could not get to my father directly, they tried to hurt him through me. We could never prove it, so it remains only a theory.

As 1942 came to a close, Jewish circles rejoiced, secretly of course. What had started as a successful German offensive came to a halt. True, they were able to capture Novgorod and penetrate the outskirts of Stalingrad a few days later. Just as the Germans might have seen complete success, Russian forces counterattacked around the city from the northeast and opened a second thrust from the southeast. Without giving the Germans any time to withdraw or consolidate their positions, the Russians intensified their attack on the German forces at Stalingrad and, at the same time, drove toward the city of Kharkov. The list of German defeats took on catastrophic proportions. Russian forces recaptured Veliki Luki and Mozdok relieving the seventeen-month siege of Leningrad. The losses sustained by the Germans and their allies in three months of winter fighting exceeded half a million men.

There was good news coming from other fronts. In November, U.S. forces landed in French North Africa to relatively light resistance and some French collaboration. In retaliation, the Germans occupied the rest of France, which had been under the control of the Vichy government. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting much brighter. As the German defeats mounted, the mood in Hungary toward the Jews changed for the better. As the front neared little by little, Hungarians were less sure of victory and started to realize that there might be a time of reckoning with a heavy price to be paid. It came to a point where some were already seeking alibis in good behavior toward the Jews. There were other important developments close to home. Partisan units were known to be operating in the Carpathian forests. They began as small units, but grew bolder and stronger. Some units, mostly Communist, got their supplies in Russian air drops. But there were other units without any political affiliation, with their sole aim the liberation of the land from the murderous hordes of the occupiers.

I personally know of two such units. One, in which I participated to some degree, operated in the forests of Wyszkov-Dolina, making forays against German units and supply lines throughout the region. Its leader was Vasil Bubicz, a Russian from the former Polish territory. What is especially noteworthy is that he commanded a force of about one hundred and fifty that included about thirty Jews, some of whom were married couples.

As I have already mentioned, foresters had an excellent opportunity to observe partisan maneuvers while out patrolling their territories. Ordinarily, one would assume they would have been neutral, minding their own business. But the government's insult of stripping them of their pride, namely the two-barreled carbines they were used to carrying, was something they could not forgive or forget. Coupled with the reversals suffered on the various fronts, it convinced them that their loyalty lay with the partisans.

The partisans sent me word, through a forester I knew well, that they would like to meet with a reliable person to discuss matters of mutual interest. Simultaneously, the same message reached Zanvel Hoffman, a very close friend of mine. He came from Visna Bisztra, a little settlement fifteen kilometers east of Volove and only about fifteen kilometers from the border. The border was in name only, because civilian traffic was prohibited and the military knew no borders. A meeting was set up. Zanvel and I, accompanied by two foresters we both knew, went up to the border in broad daylight. As my contact had promised, we didn't see anyone on our way there, and arrived at the appointed place by noon.

The meeting took place in a house that belonged to a Polish Russian. The view on all sides was spectacular. One could see for miles down the valley. Three partisans were already there with weapons at the ready. They told us that another dozen or so partisans were hidden all around the house and that our approach had been observed for the last two hours. However, our biggest surprise came when one of the partisans spoke to us in a perfect Yiddish.

The story we learned was most interesting. There were about thirty Jews in the group. Bubicz himself had married a Jewish girl but I am not sure whether it was a legal marriage or simply a common cohabitation they called a marriage. Some of the Jews were single, others were there with their wives. Surprisingly, there were no children in the camp. Among the partisans were tradesmen, like tailors and shoemakers, and a medical doctor. They lacked shoes and leather for repairing the soles of shoes, medicine and certain kinds of food such as beans, barley and salted slab bacon. We promised to provide them with all the help we could muster, but said that we would have to take a few other Jews into our confidence as we could not manage it alone. They consented.

We did our job well. Our fathers were the first to know. Berish, Zanvel's father, organized the transportation of the goods by horseback. My father took a druggist into his confidence, who then supplied the much-needed medicines. Other merchants supplied whatever else the partisans needed, such as used clothing and shoes. Somehow we managed to locate leather, a scarce commodity. It was easy to get the supplies to Bistra, but from there it took a few days, using two to three horses at a time, to get them to the house on the border.

We met like this three or four times, the last time in October of 1943. We could not meet in winter, as the snow would reveal a trail that was too easy to track. Besides, Zanvel did not ski and I was reluctant to undertake such a trip alone. Furthermore, the partisans themselves were less active in winter, also fearful of leaving trails. We arranged to meet again in March of 1944, but that meeting never materialized.

The other group of partisans operated very close to home. Some of its members lived in Chust and small surrounding townships like Kolocava and Sinovir. Although I had nothing formally to do with them, I learned more about them through my friendship with a few well-known football players who happened to belong to that group. We didn't play football as an organized team, but simply whenever we got together enough players for a friendly game. With time, they grew to trust me and slowly told me their story. They were all from Chust. Among them were prominent professional players like Csancsinov, Popovic and the brothers Joska and Vasil Filiak. Their rendezvous was a tobacco store on Main Street run by a girl named Marika. My involvement with them was limited to the football we played and some socializing, but in the future this was to cause me some scary moments and sleepless nights. In December 1943, the group was arrested and never heard from again. Many of their friends, although not actually involved in any partisan activity, also came under suspicion and suffered the same fate. In the end, I was extremely lucky that my friendship with them had not come to the attention of the authorities. So ended the year 1942.

The Russian winter offensive continued successfully, although there were some setbacks, to be sure. Germany still managed to launch a spring offensive, but their winter losses had been so great that they could no longer sustain an offensive for very long, particularly when they had to fight hard for every inch of territory. By February, the Russians had completely encircled the Germans at Stalingrad and accepted the capitulation of the famous Sixth Army under General Paulus. Kursk, Belgorod and Rostov fell next. Kharkov was recaptured, only to be lost again in the German spring offensive. The setback was merely temporary and the Axis armies were driven back from the Don River halfway to the Dnieper River.

When the Germans tried to open an offensive again in the summer of 1943, they were surprised by the renewed strength of their opponents. With great help from the U.S.A. and Great Britain, the Russians had gathered sufficient supplies and men to counterattack with devastating results. The Russians clearly held superiority in manpower and material. Allied bombing continued to reduce the ability of German industry to produce the planes and tanks needed by the armed forces, thus destroying the plane-tank punch of the mighty Wehrmacht. July's German attack in the Orel Belgorod region lasted but a week checked almost immediately by the Russian counteroffensive.

There were other developments that gave cause to rejoice. In Italy, Mussolini dismissed his entire cabinet, including his son-in-law Count Ciano, who had tried to persuade him to seek a separate peace with the Allies. The Hungarian Parliament dissolved rather than give in to the pressures from the Fascist Deputies. In July, Mussolini resigned and General Badoglio took over as Premier. The Fascist Party was dissolved and Mussolini was arrested. Unfortunately, the Germans managed to free Mussolini in a daring attack on the hilltop prison in which he was being held. Lieutenant Skorszeny, an adventurer of repute, led the raiders and was promoted to Colonel for this successful operation. The Germans promptly occupied all the Italian cities not yet held by the Allies. Skorszeny fled to Ireland after the war, where he became a very rich arms dealer and lived surrounded by bodyguards, fearing for his life. He died several years ago. Also in July, King Boris of Bulgaria died, noteworthy because he was the only ruler of occupied territory who refused to surrender his Jewish citizens to the Germans. His six-year-old son ascended the throne, but the real power was vested in a Council of Regency. King Boris' brother, Prince Cyril, continued to refuse to surrender the Jews, making Bulgaria the only country subject to Nazi rule whose entire Jewish population was saved.

Two things happened in quick succession that were important to me. The first was the rescue of twenty-three Jewish partisans belonging to Bubicz's group. This came about, interestingly enough, because of the Russian offensive. The Germans felt the pressure of the partisan activity and launched an offensive against them to protect their backs and ensure a safe route for retreat. Normally the Germans had been content with protecting the highways and railroads, but this time they chased the partisans deep into the forests and hills. As the partisans retreated, they became cut off from the general population, from whom they drew their support. The food supply became very scarce and the weaker partisans could no longer withstand the rigorous marches and fights. Many partisans were local peasants who lived on small farms throughout the area and who became active only when needed. As such, they could return home facing no greater danger than the rest of the population. But what to do with the Jews?

The answer was clear. The Jewish partisans had to be saved by getting them to Hungary, where they would be interned in Budapest but at least they would be safe. The Jewish community there could look after them and try to make their lives a little easier during internment. With the Germans collapsing on all fronts, we didn't expect that the war would last much longer. We managed to get the plan organized, again relying on the help of many good Jewish families who were willing to take the risk. A man named Leo Hoffman, from Volove, constructed an apparatus on his truck that looked like a full load of cut boards from the outside, but was completely hollow. The fugitives had to squeeze inside for a 3-4 hour drive to Chust. Once there, the family of Shiye Rattenbach, a former grain dealer, would look after them for a day or two, enough time to clean up, dress up and rest. The Hartstein family would provide a place to gather prior to departure, as they lived only a few meters from the railroad station. Enough help was organized to bring the Jewish partisans in small groups of two or three from the Rattenbach's to the Hartstein's, and from there to the station. Different people were to purchase tickets at the railroad station in small quantities, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Zanvel Hoffman and I, together with a forester, were to meet the partisans at the border. From there we would escort them to an assigned meeting place on the highway in Torun, where the truck would pick us all up and take us to Chust. At the last minute, we decided that Zanvel should stay in Bisztra and ride the truck to meet us at the appointed rendezvous.

Everything went as scheduled, except that a mix-up in exactly where the truck was supposed to wait almost gave the operation away. However, luck was with us. When we came to meet the truck, we didn't find it. Although we were all scared, we did not lose our heads. The forester decided to take the partisans down a steep embankment toward the river, where they could stay without being seen from the highway. He and I then walked down the highway away from the border, hoping to find the truck somewhere close by. We figured that Zanvel and the driver would not have gone further up the road, since we were already so close to the border. What a relief when we saw the truck just a few hundred meters down the road! The rest went quickly and surprisingly smoothly.

In Chust, my small group and I were the last to arrive at the Hartstein's. Although everyone reached the house without incident, one other hitch developed when the man designated to take the fugitives to Budapest did not show up. One of the Hartstein girls instantly volunteered to fill in, and the crisis was solved faster than we could have ever anticipated. They left by 11:00 p.m. and arrived safely the next morning. Although we never received any news about them, I hope at least some of the partisans survived their internment. I met the Hartstein girl a few days later and thanked her for her help. She was a fine and heroic girl, indeed, and I hope she survived the war. I never met her again.

The second rescue was a two-man operation with me as principal participant. Word reached the brother of my very good friend, David Weiss of Izka, that a family of three was hiding with a Russian family near the border and needed to be taken across into Hungary. The family had rich relatives in Visor, two brothers by the name of Junkman. The brothers knew my father well and turned to him for advice and help and wound up with me.

The operation was relatively simple. David Weiss' brother and I, again with the help of a forester, were to escort them to David's house in Izka. We arranged for an ambulance to pick us up there and take the family and me to the Jewish General Hospital in Szatmar, where the Jungmans would be waiting to take over. The ambulance was a contribution from Mr. Unger, who had been chief of the Volunteer Firefighter Brigade in Chust until he was fired by the Hungarians when they took over. He retained tremendous influence with the new chief and also knew who could be trusted.

The forester brought the family to the highway, leaving us there because he didn't want to be involved any further. Then we had a ten-kilometer walk to the house in Izka. I walked in front. In case of danger, we arranged that I would light a cigarette as a signal for them to hide by the side of the road. Everything went smoothly and the ambulance arrived the next evening. Since I wanted to avoid being spotted in Volove, I squeezed into the back with the family. The driver and his helper sat in front. Late that night we arrived in Chust, where Mr. Unger and my father met us. Leaving Chust, we continued through a bigger city and arrived at a bridge guarded by a sentry who asked for our papers. The driver rolled down the window and yelled at the soldier, "You stupid S.O.B. Are you blind? Don't you see this is an ambulance carrying a wounded man and his family to the hospital?" The soldier jumped out of the way and we proceeded without further incident to Szatmar.

As 1943 ended, things looked promising. The Russian offensive was in full swing. Regardless of what happened in the West, we thought the Russians would liberate Hungary soon, and the Carpathian territories probably even sooner, probably within six months. In November, the Russians recaptured Kiev and the year ended on a positive note with every expectation that the Eastern front would collapse momentarily. Zhitomir fell on December 31,1943. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting ever brighter.