Memoirs of A Survivor
PIOTRKOW TRYBUNALSKI
Piotrkow, a city of 50,000
inhabitants, is in pre-war western Poland, not far from the capital,
Warsaw. It is one of the oldest cities in Poland, dating back to 1102.
It was mentioned for the first time in official documents in the year
1217. Parliamentary sessions took place there until 1867, when they
were transferred to Warsaw.
In the year 1578,
King Stefan Batory ordered that Piotrkow become the seat of the Highest
Tribunals for all of Poland, thus the name Piotrkow Trybunalski.
At the outbreak of
World War II, there were about 13,000 Jewish inhabitants in our city,
about 26% of the total population.
The Jews in Piotrkow
did not just exist there. Like in many other major centers in Poland,
it was a thriving community with religious, cultural, social and political
parties, i.e., the Bund (Jewish Socialists), prototype of the P.P.S.,
(Polish Socialist Party), all Zionist organizations and the outlawed
Communist Party. Most of the political parties had their own youth movements,
with sports clubs, choirs, orchestras, dramatic circles and so on.
There were three Jewish
weekly newspapers published in our city. Many Jewish printing shops
were working full-speed publishing Jewish religious books, demanded
in almost all of Europe. Our great synagogue was world renowned because
of its oriental style and massive structure. It was built in 1791 by
the great Jewish architect David A. Friedlander. In 1850 the synagogue
was ornamented with beautiful wall paintings by the artist David Goldstein.
It was renovated in the 1930s by Peretz Willenberg of Czestochowa.
We also had a Jewish
Higher School of learning. There they educated our future teachers,
lawyers, doctors and writers. We could see in the schools and in the
party organizations a vibrant, lively youth very anxious to contribute
to different endeavours.
In the 1930s, a cool
political and military wind started to blow from our western border.
The Nazi menace in Germany turned its expansionist propaganda toward
the south and the east. Hitler Germany rearmed its war machine, while
the western countries yawned themselves to sleep. Eventually they were
awakened, but too late for everybody concerned.
WORLD WAR II
On Thursday, August
31, 1939, the German radio broadcast a communiquÈ, claiming that a group
of armed Poles attacked the radio station in Gliwice. This and other
fabricated lies served Hitler Germany with an excuse to invade Poland.
Early Friday morning,
September 1, we heard an awful monotonous noise in the sky. I ran down
into the street and looked up in the clear blue heaven. I saw many high
flying birds (bombers) heading undisturbed in an easterly direction.
Then the Goebbels propaganda radio announced that "the Polish Army
tried to cross the border into Germany, and by repulsing them, the German
Armed Forces made a preventive thrust into Poland." The same morning
the Polish radio began to play the National Anthem "Poland has
not perished yet". We were waiting impatiently to hear something
from our side. At 1O a.m. President Moscicki spoke to the nation and
the world: "Citizens of the Polish Republic. The eternal enemy,
the German crusader has brutally attacked our homeland and is sowing
death by a dreadful bombardment of open cities and villages in our country.
God and history are our witnesses. Justice is on our side".
Panic swept through
the country and our city. It was more pronounced later in the afternoon,
when the first refugees from Kalisz arrived in our city. They recounted
terrible stories of cruel bombardments of the civil population. Confirmation
of civil carnage occurred on Saturday morning, the second day of the
undeclared war, when the bombs began to fall on our town. The first
victim was the young student Romek Zaks. He was killed by a splinter
of a bomb that exploded on Narutowicza Street. Lolek Epstein was also
killed while guarding the city's water reservoir.
There were no military
installations to speak of in Piotrkow, yet the German Luftwaffe
continued its unmolested incursions into our city, causing unnecessary
casualties and untold sufferings. Waves of German warplanes came in
from the west. They closed in on their targets, dove and unloaded their
deadly cargo. I heard many detonations and saw the planes turn around
and fly back west to their bases in Germany. They destroyed the outmoded
little Polish air force in the first few hours of the war.
On Sunday September
3, England declared war on Germany. With some glimmer of hope, we looked
up at the sky with the expectation of seeing some aerial dogfights.
Our hearts were filled with more hope when we learned that France had
also declared war on Germany. We were bitterly disappointed when on
that same Sunday at ten o'clock in the morning, German warplanes attacked
our city with a massive bombardment. They destroyed many public buildings,
including the Post-Office, Police station, Bank Polski and the water
reservoir. There were many casualties dead and wounded. After that raid,
people tried to take refuge in the nearby forests and neighbouring little
towns. The worst tragedy of our people in the first days of the war
occurred in the little town of Sulejow, near Piotrkow. On Monday afternoon,
the German bombers levelled Sulejow, burying most people underneath
the little huts. Most of those who tried to save themselves by escaping
unto the highways, were machine-gunned by the low flying fighter planes.
Thus, the promised
assistance of England and France turned out to be no more than a promise
on paper.
The Nazi air-raids
over cities and towns grew more deadly every day. In Warsaw, for example,
German warplanes often chose Jewish districts as their targets. There
were thousands of casualties. At the outbreak of the war, Poland had
a larger Jewish population than any other country in the world.
THE GERMANS IN PIOTRKOW
Tuesday afternoon, September
5, after five days of war, the German Army closed in and began shelling
our city with an artillery barrage. When the pounding was too dangerous
for our upstairs apartment, I decided to take refuge in the basement
of our landlord. I could not stand it for too long. I felt suffocated
among people praying and children crying from fear. With each whistle
and subsequent crash of the German artillery shells, families embraced
themselves and decided that if hit, to die together. I felt that to
hide from death would have been futile. It was better to inhale fresh
air and to look death in the face. I was never afraid to face the world
of reality. I wanted to see as much as possible how a war was being
waged. I left the dark basement and went into our back yard. It was
not better there, but at least I saw the shrapnel flying and crashing
with a tremendous blast into buildings nearby. At least I knew when
to run and jump out of the way when the splinters were falling into
our big yard.
One girl in our neighborhood
was killed from a piece of shrapnel that flew through her window while
she was lying in her bed.
Soon afterwards I
went out to the front of our house. What I saw in the street depressed
me more. The Polish Army was retreating in great panic. They were poorly
equipped and had confiscated all the horses to pull its heavy artillery.
As the highly mechanized German Army approached our city, the Polish
soldiers could not undertake a substantial counterattack anymore with
their inferior armor. They began to run and whip the poor horses to
get away as fast as possible from the speedy motorized Germans. Then,
on the corner of Wolborska and Plac Litewski, I saw retreating soldiers
whip and yell at four horses that were pulling a heavy gun. The soldiers
crashed the horses with the heavy gun into a telephone pole, I decided
that I had seen enough of this war and went up to my apartment and lay
down on my bed. The German artillery was pounding our poor city for
several hours and then it suddenly stopped. This silence was also terrifying,
because of the approaching unknown. The Germans captured our city at
4 p. m.
The next morning at
dawn everything was so peaceful. I looked out my window and at the corner
of the street, I saw the first three German soldiers with machine-guns
just standing there. I did not dare go out first, although I wanted
to. After watching them for a few minutes, I noticed two women and a
boy walking in great fear toward the corner. As they passed, the German
soldiers just joked and laughed at them.
The next morning I
ventured down to the corner of Jerozolimska and Pilsudskiego, across
the street of our great synagogue. There were not too many people in
the streets. The few that I saw, rushed about with fear, dismay and
disbelief.
Standing on that corner,
I observed the German Army driving through our city in an endless array
of motorized vehicles that dazzled my mind. As soon as one unit had
passed, another came into view. I asked myself: "What could I do
against such an onslaught? Anything?" Many thoughts crossed my
mind. Suddenly a burly German officer in glasses, leading a battalion
of different motorized vehicles, stopped everything and came up to me
with a map in his hands, asking: "Where is the way to Lodz?"
He was leading his troops down from Wolborska Highway and should have
proceeded straight ahead on Filsudskiego Street. So I replied: "This
way to the right." He thanked me politely, mounted his motorcycle
and ordered his troops to follow him. They turned to the right on Jerozolimska
Street, where the road led to the Jewish cemetery. I was almost certain
that the only way out of the cemetery, was to turn back. Frightened
of the consequences, I waited impatiently until all those tanks, heavy
artillery and many different vehicles had passed. I waited about half
an hour and then ran to my friend Burech Leber's house, since his windows
looked out on Jerozolimska Street and I could see their embarrassing
"retreat".
Well, it happened.
After an hour of looking out that window, the burly, now red-faced German
officer could not hide his shame at being fooled. He returned from the
Jewish cemetery angrily looking around to find me. Instinctively I leaned
back from the window when he was looking up. Then, as he approached
the same corner of Jerozolimska and Pilsudskiego, he stopped his whole
battalion and studied his map again, together with a few of his officers.
After a few minutes of debating, they all agreed to proceed the right
way down Pilsudskiego Street. Thus, at least I did accomplish some tiny
deed to hamper them as much as I could and got some satisfaction out
of it.
SLAVE LABOUR
Soon the whole picture changed.
The SS (black uniformed storm troopers) and the SA (yellow uniformed
storm troopers) set up headquarters in our town. With Jewish rights
outlawed, each day or night would find the German soldiers, SS and SA
troopers out on a rampage for Jews to be put to work. They did not care
that our stomachs were empty, and even when we came home, there was
nothing on the table. They were indoctrinated that Jews never worked.
In their mind every Jew was an usurper, banker or a Communist. So, they
proceeded to grab us from our beds at night, from our hiding places
or attics. We had to work hard, long days or nights without food. Most
of the SS men seldom talked, they liked to yell or hit us.
In the beginning they
could not recognize Jews, so some of our Polish neighbors and their
offspring showed them where the Jews lived or hid. The hunt for Jews
intensified in the days before and during the High Holy Days, about
the middle of September. They cordoned off the main streets and grabbed
all Jewish males they considered able to do slave labour. They formed
groups and distributed them to work in different places. Some posts
had work to be done. Others had none, and the SS men just ordered especially
the older religious Jews to perform "gymnastics".
On Rosh Hashana they
raided our great synagogue and other smaller religious establishments.
They arrested about thirty religious Jews, cut off their beards and
sent them to a concentration camp in Germany. A few days later they
completely demolished the inside of our synagogue. They took out the
thirty highly religious scrolls and tore them up. On the day of Atonement,
they grabbed Jews to work twenty four hours a day to unload big gas
barrels. When at last they let them go home, the Jews had to go through
a double cordon of SS men who clobbered them with sticks.
On September 17, our
panic stricken city learned that the Polish government had fled to Romania.
This confused us completely. We felt like abandoned sheep.
By this time Warsaw
was surrounded by the German Army and mercilessly bombed from the air
in round the clock raids. The capital of Poland was left fighting alone,
face to face with the most ruthless enemy--the Nazi war machine.
Suddenly we received
the news that the Red Army had crossed the Polish border from the east.
At first we thought that the Soviet troops were bringing the long awaited
help that we so badly needed. We learned later that it was only wishful
thinking. Soviet Russia just grabbed half of Poland for themselves.
On September 18, Warsaw--although
surrounded--still fought bravely. The sky over the city was covered
with smoke and flames. In the meantime, England and France were "helping"
Poland with their long distance assurances.
GHETTO
In October 1939, the Wehrmacht
(military) transferred the administration of our city to the civil authorities
under the direction of Oberb¸rgermeister Heinz Drechsel. He did
not wait very long with his ordinances. He set up the Jewish Council
(Judenrat) to carry out his instructions. Some members of the
Council thought that they would run the affairs of the ghetto in the
pre-war tradition of Jewish self-government.
They were misled,
deceived. Drechsel ordered the former vice president of the Jewish Council
Zalman Tenenberg to form a Judenrat. Teneberg was a member of
the Jewish socialist Bund organization. He was short, slim, athletic
and had a strong character. He surrounded himself with twenty-three
co-workers, mostly his party members, some of whom had served on the
Council before the war.
On October 8, 1939,
Drechsel ordered that the 16,000 Jews, including refugees from other
towns, who lived throughout the city, move into a crowded section. He
wanted to accomplish this task within a few days. It was humanly impossible.
It took a lot more time to shift people around, and Piotrkow became
the first ghetto in occupied Poland.
THE FIRST UNDERGROUND MOVEMENT
The Bund did not lose too
much time in establishing the first underground movement in Piotrkow.
They were contacted by their Central Committee in Warsaw, which went
underground after the Germans entered the capital. The only underground
organization of significance in the beginning of the German occupation
was the Bund in Warsaw. They soon spread their activities to all major
cities of Poland. They organized a network of couriers, utilizing their
young brave men and women. Thus illegal literature flowed into our Judenrat
right under the noses of the Gestapo. The Jewish Council under Tenenberg
tried their utmost to alleviate the hunger and pain of the downtrodden
Jewish population. They organized an orphanage, a folk kitchen and a
folk bath, which was essential for the overcrowded ghetto. The Piotrkover
Judenrat, unlike other ghetto administrations under Hitler Germany,
worked illegally. Tenenberg was a very ambitious and persuasive person,
and was able to deal with Nazi officials. He used money as bait to corrupt
them in some "delicate" matters, like freeing Jews from jail
and the like. He also conducted the illegal activities in the Judenrat
building.
The Jewish Council
also tried very hard to put a stop to the wild and chaotic hunting for
Jews in the streets to be put to work and shame as slave labourers.
They were given a thousand workers a day to fill their every need, but
to no avail. The SS men said that it gave them enormous pleasure to
hunt for Jews.
Once the following
happened to me: After shoveling snow on a highway all day without food,
the SS men did not let us go home. Instead, they brought us before the
Jewish Council Building on Pilsudskiego Street. They called out all
the present Judenrat members on the balcony. Suddenly they began
to whip us and then inform us what we were supposed to do. They would
put questions to us and we should answer them: "The Jews,"
very loudly, so that the whole world would hear. Then came the questions:
"Who are the greatest warmongers?" From the hungry and half-frozen
crowd of captured people came out a slight murmur: "The Jews."
The SS men became very angry at the low voiced reply. They hit everyone
again, yelling: "Louder, louder!" Then more questions: "Who
wanted the war?" Only a few weak voices were heard, accompanied
by snaps of their whips. "The Jews." "Who are the Communist
bloodsuckers?" "The Jews." Again it was heard mixed together
with the yells of the SS men and the cracks of their whips, "Who
are the capitalistic world leaders?" "The Jews." And
so on. The spectacle went on for some time, and the SS men could not
understand why we did not yell loud enough.
The result of such
humiliating treatments was that our young blood began to boil. We could
not stand the hard work and hunger, nor could we tolerate their sickening
warped imaginations.
In view of their systematic
daily terror and their military strength, we could not undertake any
active resistance whatsoever at that time. Then they introduced the
"law" of collective responsibility. They knew very well how
to utilize these psychological factors in the most ruthless way: in
case one German would be harmed, a hundred or more Jews would be shot.
We were ready for hard times, but did not anticipate such vicious cruelty.
In the beginning of
their occupation we experienced various German schemes like: getting
slapped by some soldiers for not taking off our hats for them. Other
soldiers did not like our innocent gestures and called us over, saying:
"Come here Jews, since when are you my friends?" Once again
we were insultingly hit.
We also encountered
some soldiers who cared for our good work. For example, when we worked
in a certain place and we were not mistreated by the German soldiers
we showed up voluntarily for work every day without being hunted. Sometimes
they gave us a piece of bread or a cigarette in appreciation for showing
up for work every day. Another officer of a different group looking
on did not like our performance and he mistreated us. When our good
German saw that, he became quite angry and scolded him and went over
to his group and whipped his Jews. He then said to him: "You have
no right to hit my Jews. If your hand itches, whip your own Jews."
Once a soldier gave
me a German newspaper to read. This one did not care about Jews or Gentiles.
He did not know the difference. I asked him when they intended to attack
England through the channel. He answered: "Dass kommt n”chst."
(It's coming next). He was from a village and did not know very much.
We encountered very few soldiers like this one.
Despite humiliation
and degradation, the Jews in the Piotrkover ghetto were very well-dressed.
Not only the women dressed in their best attire, but the men too liked
to uphold the dignity of men whenever they were not bothered. Men have
always had their hair cut and were shaved, so as not to show their inner
concern for the destiny that awaited them.
ACTIVITIES OF HASHOMER HATZAIR
Only a few selected persons
knew that in Piotrkow there were several underground movements. This
was because of several demented individuals who served the Germans in
order to save their own skin. They tried but ultimately they too vanished
without a trace.
Our young people who
grew up in the youth movements of the diverse parties, like: Zionist,
Bund and Leftist, learned quite early in life to oppose tyranny. They
had to curb their anxious desire for revenge, because of the collective
responsibility put upon us by the Nazis. This temporarily restrained
our hunger for resistance.
The youth of Hashomer
Hatzair in Piotrkow tried to organize themselves in some kind of
group to see if anything could be done to oppose the Nazi oppression.
The house at Pilsudskiego Street No. 21, where Meir and Rinka Ziarnowiecki
lived was visited by Mordechai Anielewicz in the beginning of 1940.
He came to Piotrkow from Lodz in order to establish a connection with
the Warsaw organization. He accomplished his mission. Later the contact
between Hashomer Hatzair in Piotrkow and the Merkaz in
Warsaw was kept up on a regular basis. Couriers with "Aryan"
looks from Merkaz in Warsaw visited Piotrkow, bringing in the
underground issues of Hashome Hatzair. Jankiel Aronowicz was
sent to Warsaw on a mission to the gathering of that organization's
representatives.
AMERICAN "JOINT" DISTRIBUTION COMMITTEE
The Piotrkover Judenrat
was in dire need of money to feed the impoverished and displaced Jewish
population in the overcrowded ghetto. To facilitate the desperate upkeep
of social help, medical help, folk kitchen, work brigades, housing problems,
refugee problems and others, they received some subsidies from the American
"Joint", Centos and Toz organizations. The American
Joint Distribution Committee operated in occupied Poland until the United
States of America entered the war against Germany. They used to send
out delegates from Warsaw into the provinces with allotments of money
and food supplies. However, all this help was like a drop in the ocean.
The "Joint" delegate for Piotrkow, which was in the Radom
district, was Israel Falk with the help of Esther Lazar-Melman and others.
A TRY TO GET OUT OF THE GERMAN CLUTCHES
I made up my mind to run away
and get rid of the Nazi scourge. At that time many of our youth crossed
the Bug river to get away from the Germans. They preferred the lesser
of the two evils - Soviet Russia. I gathered some money that I had hidden
in the attic, and took my younger brother Faywel with me. We said goodbye
to our parents. I also persuaded my friend Isak Kalinski to come with
us. We bought train tickets to Warsaw. We were not allowed to travel,
but we did anyway. There was no way I would obey all their orders. Very
few of our people did. These strange ordinances were forced upon us.
I considered these orders illegal in our country.
On the train we encountered
some queer looks, as if we were subhuman. We got off the train in Warsaw
and walked through the bombed out streets. When we crossed the bridge
to the suburb of Praga, we hired a horse and wagon and headed east to
the Bug river. When we arrived there, we went into a hut to negotiate
a fee for a barge. We had to wait around until enough people gathered
for the quota. We met some friends there and did not have to talk over
our plans with them, because everyone had the same aim in mind: to get
across the river.
Just before we were
ready to get unto the barge, a German border guard came out of a hut
yelling: "Spielt nicht keine verfluchte Komedie hier."
He meant we should not make too much noise here, but get it over with.
We were surprised that he did not mind us crossing the border.
It was dark when we
got on the barge, and while the paddlers were working diligently, we
were thinking that we would soon be free. We reached the other shore
and headed into the woods. While walking in the dark, my brother stumbled
over a loaf of bread. He picked it up and found a wristwatch in it.
He hid it by putting it on his ankle. We heard noises and soon we saw
the Russian border guards running toward us. They yelled out, "Davay
nazad" (Get back). They pushed us back onto the barge with
outstretched bayonets. We pleaded with them that we escaped the Nazis
but it did not help. They said that they had their orders. When we were
in the middle of the river, the Ukrainian crew demanded everything we
possessed, or they would drown us. They were armed. We had to empty
our pockets.
BACK TO HELL
We undertook our journey back
home to the ghetto, hungry, tired and very disappointed. We had to walk
some of the way and we hitch-hiked a ride. The three of us entered a
peasant house and Faywel offered his new-found wristwatch for some food.
The housewife cooked a potato soup for us three hungry boys. Such a
meager soup never tasted so good.
As we came back home,
we found that the situation had not improved. On the contrary, it became
apparent that the Nazis embarked on a policy of terrorizing the Jewish
communities in the occupied territories.
Segregated Jewish
quarters (ghettos) were being established in both large and small towns.
Compulsory labour was introduced for Jews between the ages of 14 and
60. We had to wear arm-bands with the Star of David, to facilitate their
hunt for slave labour. The Germans had succeeded in confusing the Jewish
communities with their propaganda and terror tactics into a complete
lethargic sleep. We were entrapped in the surrounded ghetto. We were
not allowed to own property any more. My parents were forbidden to own
and operate their butcher shop. We were not allowed to earn money, but
were forced to work for them without pay. Many, many more decrees followed,
one worse than the other.
BREAD
During the German occupation
of Poland, we suffered many food shortages. The most important of all
foods at that time was flour for baking bread. We had bakeries all over
Piotrkow, but they could not obtain sufficient flour because work at
all the mills had come to a standstill.
On the corner of Pilsudskiego
and Jerozolimska Street there was the famous Rozpendowski bakery. Somehow
Mr. Rozpendowski was receiving flour more often than anybody else. Whenever
I found out that he was baking bread, I used to run down early in the
morning, sometime at dawn, to get in the line. After a couple of hours
of waiting in the line, they opened the window for distribution.
Most of the time there
was bread for everyone. But we had some anti-Semitic Poles who thought,
like the Nazis, that Jews--although they received coupons--did not deserve
to eat. Gangs would look everyone over and pull out of the line anyone
they thought looked Jewish. I was lucky. For some unexplained reason
they never touched me. Maybe because I had blond hair. Or maybe they
were afraid to start a fight with me because I looked like a boxer with
a battered nose.
Once two such hooligans
pulled a Christian woman out of the line. They thought she was Jewish--she
had black hair. Unfortunately for those bullies, she was a policeman's
wife who lived next to our apartment. She attacked them by screaming
and kicking at them. All of a sudden one of the enforcers yelled out
with a tremendous screech, as she had hit him in the groin.
Many similar instances
of pulling Jews out of bread lines happened very frequently. Jews in
the ghettos resisted this kind of inhuman treatment by acquiring hand-mills,
and making their own flour for baking bread. Nothing could stop our
people from getting outside the ghetto and buying grains necessary to
produce flour. Many were shot dead for "trespassing" into
the forbidden zone. Stubbornly, we used to defy the German "laws"
and risk our lives by making excursions outside the ghetto for the necessary
provisions to survive. Survival was the greatest warrant for our defying
deeds.
I still remember going
into the house of my dear friend Isak Kalinski on Staro-Warszawska Street,
in the beginning of the German occupation. His whole family defied the
Germans and worked at a hand-mill. I used to try and help with the hard
task of constantly turning that handle.
As I remember, Isak
with his three sisters--Zosia, Hela and Gila--worked hard at that illegal
trade, contributing to the well being of their family, in those crucial
times. Their father Jankiel Kalinski risked his life by removing his
arm band and getting out of the ghetto to bring in the needed grain
from friendly villages.
Some Jewish bakeries
tried to bake bread over the prescribed norm. At 2 Litewska Street,
there were two Jewish bakeries. One in the front belonged to Shaya (Psite)
Gomulinski, and the other one in the back, to the Gele Tobe Jutkiewicz.
(One of her seven children survived. Chaja lives in New York). They
used to bake more bread than was permitted and with my help for one
loaf of bread as payment, they achieved their goal with the illegal
distribution. I used to rise in the middle of the night, take a sack
and carry the contraband loaves of bread into my house and literally
hide them under my bed. After they distributed the allowed allotment,
they gave the unlucky ones a piece of paper with my address and that
way those outcast people could also buy bread.
Once a Jewish policeman
burst into our house to catch us for work. While searching for more
members of our family, he looked under my bed and saw the loaves of
bread. His eyes lit up at the found "treasure". It took me
a lot of talking, begging and explaining and three loaves of bread as
payment, to make the policeman forget what he saw. It also took Miriam,
Shaya's sister time to believe my story. I did not know if she ever
believed my account, but she continued to give me her merchandise on
consignment.
A BAD TASTE OF SLAVE LABOUR
In the spring of 1940, the
Jewish Council was ordered to provide all able bodied youth for slave
labour camps in the Lublin district. With some maneuvering, my older
brother and I got out of it. My younger brother was taken to Belzec,
along with several hundred Piotrkover boys, to dig ditches at the new
Russian border. We received disturbing news from those forced labor
camps, that our boys had been badly mistreated by the SS men. A delegation
of mothers and relatives raised their voices in the Jewish Council,
when we talked about it with Mr.Tenenberg. He said that he had been
sending food and clothing parcels for the boys regularly (so did we).
He also promised to do everything in his power to bring the boys back
home. He kept his promise. With the advice and help of our Rabbi Lau
and others, he sent Salomon Gomberg with money to the Lublin district
in order to take the "sick" boys out of those slave labour
camps. After their return home, they related horror stories about the
treatment of the SS men under the direction of Oberleutnant Dolf.
OUR RESISTANCE TO SLAVE LABOUR
Usually the Germans had a
hard time catching us. My brother and I had a good hiding place in the
attic. Sometimes with the help of a tipster they succeeded. Once they
caught us in October of 1940. First we had to walk under guard all the
way to Wolborz, a little town near Piotrkow. Some of us sneaked out
of the marching line on the highway to "organize" some carrots
or other vegetables from the fields. We had to be alert not to fall
into a state of apathy. They did not feed us, so we had to take care
of ourselves somehow. We had to risk being whipped for this kind of
"sin."
When we at long last arrived
in Wolborz, the guards handed us over to the SS men of the local camp
who were not even prepared to lodge us. We had to sleep in shacks in
the open fields near the Wolborka river.
In the morning they
took us to work. Yelling, they rushed us into the river fully clothed,
so that we should clean it from the debris. Whoever hesitated to enter
the cold water, was whipped mercilessly and forced into the river. After
a long day of working, we were exhausted, wet, hungry and without any
dry clothes to change into.
My brother and I decided
to run away. We conceived a plan to sneak out at night. Shivering, we
were again taken into the shacks for another night in our wet clothes.
At about midnight we began to crawl on our hands and knees from the
shack to the highway which led to Piotrkow. We had to do it very carefully,
in order not to attract the attention of the guards.
As we were nearing
the highway, we had to hide in a ditch for a while, because of an oncoming
patrol. After the Germans had passed, we climbed out of the ditch onto
the dark highway and all we could hear were the barking dogs. We just
wanted to get home as quickly as possible. We were approaching Plac
Litewski. There we had to be very careful not to be caught by the Jewish
Police patrolling the ghetto. We sneaked home through back yards.
We entered our home
quietly, so as not to awake anyone. Finally we could remove the wet
clothing and sleep in our own beds.
That morning we learned
that it was too dangerous to stay home. The Jewish Council, on orders
from the German authorities, had sent Gendarmes and Jewish Policemen
to hunt for the escapees. We hid in the attic. My father pretended to
be sick in bed and my mother looked out the window to watch for the
Police. The situation in our home became unbearable, as there was no
more food. We decided to run the risk and get out of the ghetto to the
countryside.
Early next morning,
my mother, my brother and I started on our way. At the edge of the ghetto
we removed our arm bands with the Star of David. After a few kilometers
walking, we reached the friendly village (before the war our family
used to rent an orchard there for summer vacation). By promising the
villagers to do some sewing in exchange for food, we were welcomed.
Soon our tranquility
came to an end. Too many neighbors became interested in us and it was
dangerous to stay any longer. We headed back home to the ghetto carrying
a supply of precious food. Our vacation had lasted only two weeks.
Before entering the
ghetto, I stopped at a Polish tailor shop and asked the owner for work.
He needed help badly and told me to report the next morning. The tailor
shop was situated near Slowackiego Street, outside the ghetto.
Approaching the ghetto,
we put our arm bands back on and carefully reached our home. For the
next few weeks I risked the danger of leaving the ghetto in the morning
and reentering it at night. I was not paid much, but I was unwilling
to be expendable for the German forced labor. When the Polish boss told
me that he was afraid of the grave consequences for employing a Jew,
I had to remain home and again became prey to the SS men and the Jewish
Police.
REFUGEES
The constant arrivals of new
refugees from other towns, resulted in the overcrowding of our ghetto.
The worst plight was suffered by the Jews of Tuszyn. They were driven
out of their homes in a hurry in the middle of the night. It happened
to be a very cold, frosty night and many of their children arrived in
our ghetto frozen to death. These unfortunate people were placed in
the butcher shops (yatkes), where there were no living facilities.
We took a Tuszyn family of six into our home. Other refugees were lodged
in our synagogue and in other smaller religious institutions.
The result of such
overcrowding and hunger was that people became ill. In 1941, there was
among other sicknesses, the typhus epidemic. For that purpose the Judenrat
arranged a special isolation unit in the Jewish High School Building.
When my younger brother
Faywel was stricken with typhus, I was concerned about him because he
was a very weak boy. He was put in hospital and the Jewish Council had
to pay all the hospital bills to the Germans. When I visited my brother,
I saw in the next bed a friend of ours named Rivele Briger. He was a
very strong, stocky person. Before the war we used to play cards together.
When he took off his shirt on a hot day, he was covered with hair all
over his body. He looked like a gorilla. Now he was sick with typhus.
He had to stay in bed for the first time in his life.
I joked with him about
not giving up his "bonus", the ration card, He retorted with
self-assurance: "Oh no, I would never give up my "bonus".
Forget it." But that vigorous boy succumbed to the typhus sickness
and died. Maybe he was luckier than others.
THE ISOLATION UNIT
After my brother was taken
to hospital, the Sanitary Police isolated our whole family in the Jewish
High School Building. In the beginning I did not like that place. There
was always a Jewish Policeman at the gate standing guard. The food was
awful. There was a Jewish lady doctor named Neumark, working like the
proverbial horse. I offered to help her out with the distribution of
food and checking the people's temperature. She agreed enthusiastically.
She was always fighting with the Judenrat inspector for more
help. Dr Neumark was a dedicated human being and tried very hard to
alleviate the hunger and pain for the people in isolation. She boasted
and showed the inspector that I agreed to work there without any benefits
or privileges from the Judenrat. The inspector seeing that, recommended
some more help, and the Judenrat sent in a young nurse, Lilka
Nutkiewicz. She was a shy little girl, but a dedicated nurse. The three
of us demanded better food from the Judenrat and were able to
improve the situation a little bit for the children.
When the time came
for our family to leave the "isolation" unit (my brother left
the hospital), Dr. Neumark insisted that I stay on. I did, and by doing
so, could avoid getting caught by the Germans to perform slave labour.
THE GLASS WORKS KARA AND HORTENSJA
The typhus epidemic was eliminated
and fewer victims were admitted to the "isolation" unit. At
that time I learned that the glass foundries in our town Kara
and Hortensja required new workers. My brother and I went to
the Hortensja. We entered the office and were asked our names.
When I said Kotkowski, one tall clerk jumped up from his chair and called
us over to his desk. He told us in a whisper that we might choose light
work if we wished, because he knew the Kotkowski family well. I answered
that we wanted to work under the gasakes (place for feeding coal
and cleaning the ovens). He looked at us very surprised and said, "You
don't have to work hard, I'll see to it. Your father was my friend,
we used to play cards together." I still insisted to work under
the gasakes. Then I told him that he had played cards with my
uncle Josef Kotkowski. Next morning we began to work and were happy
not to be hunted for slave labour any more.
INFORMERS
The ugliest part of our predicament
was that we had some informers in our midst. There was Josek Szwartz
from Litewska Street, who would denounce rich Jews to the Gestapo. They,
in turn, usually liquidated the informers after their information was
exhausted. The worst stool pigeon of them all was Joine Lewi. Before
the war, he was a furrier and used to partake in amateur theatres. What
was happening to some of our people? It boggled my mind. He associated
himself with William of the Schutzpolizei. William was the "phantom"
of the ghetto. He would come in with his big German shepherd dog and
terrorize the ghetto population. Aside from robbing people at will,
he would say to his dog: "Man, get that dog." (meaning the
Jew). His dog, trained to attack, would hunt Jewish man or child, bite
the victims and tear their clothing. We had informers--beside our own--refugees
from other towns. We had to be careful and watch out for them.
DISASTER OF THE BUND UNDERGROUND
Between June and July 1941,
the underground activities of the Bund in Piotrkow were uncovered somehow
unexpectedly. During a routine check of the train station, a Gestapo
man spotted a suitcase filled with Polish and Jewish leaflets destined
for the Piotrkover Bund and other provincial centers. They arrested
a Polish courier from Warsaw, part-time actress Jadwiga Wisniewska,
who belonged to the Polish Socialist Party (P.P.S.). They found in her
lipstick case an address of the Bund member and Judenrat employee
in Piotrkow, Tanchum Freund. They also found addresses of Bund members
in Tomaszow Mazowiecki, Radom, Czestochowa and Krakow. The Gestapo employed
their "skill" of torture, but could not get any names in Warsaw
from Mrs. Wisniewska. After five days of questioning, they sent her
to the Auschwitz concentration camp (Mrs.Wisniewska survived).
All the Bund members
were alerted and they went into hiding. The Gestapo went after the found
address in Piotrkow searching for the occupant. They arrested Mrs. Freund.
She was tortured, but the Gestapo could not learn from her anything.
After a few misses, they eventually caught up with Mr. Freund. They
tortured him mercilessly and he finally gave in. They also caught Shaye
Weingarten, whom they battered beyond recognition.
The Gestapo arrested
many Bund members and also the President of the Jewish Council, Zalman
Tenenberg.
One of the beloved
Bundists in Piotrkow, Yaakob Berliner, surrendered to the Gestapo voluntarily,
thinking that he might spare other members from arrests. His altruistic
deed did not bear fruit. They questioned and tortured them all in the
cellars of the Gestapo. After two months of "special treatment"
with no positive results, they took them out of the Piotrkover prison
and sent them to Auschwitz to be murdered. Tenenberg, with his gallant
troops of Bund members, gave their lives not only for the cause of their
party, but because they were Jews and enemies of the Third Reich.
Two Bund members escaped
to Warsaw: my Yiddish night class teacher Itzhak Samsonowicz and Leon
Kimmelmann. A third Bundist, Jakob Leber, escaped to Czestochowa.
The Gestapo also arrested
members of the Bund organization in Tomaszow, Radom and Krakow. The
German Secret Service thought that they had gotten rid of all revolutionaries.
THOUGHTS OF ARMED RESISTANCE
In the beginning of 1942,
the Hashomer Hatzair organization received an invitation to send
a representative to their farm in Ziarki. They sent RÛzka Guterman with
a false passport, as she had better looks. On the farm in Ziarki, she
met Mordechai Anielewicz and Arie Wilner. They told her that the groups
in Piotrkow should try to get into German establishments, get connections
with other illegal organizations and somehow obtain arms.
A contact with a Communist
group was later established, but they could not take anybody out into
the forests because of their Jewish appearance. There were also meetings
taking place by members of the right wing militant Beitar organization.
Taking part in these "what to do" discussions were Chaim Samelson,
the Goldberg brothers, David Perlowicz, Abram Weinrich and others. Mr.
Jakubowicz the watchmaker, even manufactured a hand-made "weapon"
as a start for preparation for an armed struggle. Everything fell apart
when the two Goldberg brothers and the two Liberman brothers were caught
in the Paradyz woods with revolvers and fake bullets in their hands
that could not shoot. The story was that the four boys were swindled
out of a great sum of money for four useless guns. They had befriended
a Pole at work and confided in him. He in turn told them that he belonged
to Armia Krajowa (A.K.) - Land Army, and that he would take them
out into the woods. He left them there and told them to wait for him,
as he was going to join them with his troops shortly. All of a sudden
they heard shots being fired in their direction. In vain they tried
to defend themselves. Wounded, they tried to escape, but were caught
by the SS men.
Next morning, they
were brought back to the Polish hospital in our town. They were questioned
and tortured for several days. They tried to withstand the pain of torture
and finally succumbed to the Nazi murderers. The four of them, along
with the hat maker and the Jewish Policeman, were shot at the Jewish
cemetery and buried in one grave. Thus had a dream ended for several
young desperate boys, who wanted to do battle against the Nazi oppressors.
THE UNDERGROUND "WORKER"
We marched each day from the
ghetto to the glass works Hortensja. It seemed that the cobble
stones would sink lower from the rhythmic clatter of the wooden soled
shoes of the marching workers. We were not allowed to march on the sidewalk.
We were led by the Jewish Police, Volksdeutsche guards and the
glass works firemen. There were different kinds of guards. Some of them
did not like our uneven steps. They corrected that with a crack of their
whip. This was their easy and only proof of "heroism."
There was one fireman
who did not enjoy his job very much. I could see it in his face. His
name was Waclaw Bordo. He never yelled or hit anyone. I enjoyed marching
when he was near me. Before the war he had belonged to the Polish Socialist
Party (P.P.S.). I had an urge to talk to him. One day I approached him
and his answer to me was--not looking in my direction--not to talk to
him while marching. Rather, he said, he would visit me at work. He came
to me and we exchanged one of my shirts for bread. We also traded some
pillow-cases for money. After a while, we became friends. We talked
about our situation and filled me with some hope. He used to say that
soon our difficulties should improve, that there would still be a better
world to live in. He told me that his whole family was liberal-minded
socialist. He also had a brother living in Warsaw who constantly supplied
him with outside news. For example, he learned that in the Warsaw ghetto
there was a general apprehension of a more grave threat than gradual
starvation. On November I7, 1941, eight Jews had been shot for smuggling
food into the ghetto. One hundred and sixty four German Jews (including
a large number of Chalutzim) were recently brought to Warsaw.
They had prepared to emigrate to Palestine, but were sent to a new camp
named Treblinka, near Sokolow. In a few weeks only thirty-eight were
left alive.
In the spring of 1942,
Bordo told me with a sad tone in his voice, that I had better run away
from the ghetto. "There are bad times approaching for you Jewish
people, much worse than up to now," he said. I replied that it
was useless to run away from the ghetto alone. If I had a gun, I would
form a group. He seemed to be very perturbed. I asked him what was the
matter, as he walked around in circles. Obviously, something very serious
was bothering him. Suddenly, he stopped in front of me and began to
relate a story, mumbling terribly: "There were blood curdling rumors
of..." He stopped, because he could not speak straight. He put
something in my pocket and said, "Go to the washroom, read it,
and destroy it afterwards". I did as he told me. I pulled out of
my pocket a reduced-size copy of the prewar socialist newspaper Robotnik
(Worker). I read about a terrible massacre that took place in Lublin:
"About half the ghetto population was murdered and a considerable
number were deported in cattle wagons to an unknown destination. Eight
thousand Jews remained out of the original forty thousand."
"In Wilno, forty
thousand Jews were exterminated without a trial or charges. Just over
ten thousand were left alive...."
"In Slonim someone
killed a Nazi. They knew very well that the murderer was not a Jew,
but it was a good opportunity for a bloodbath. Eight thousand Jews were
shot to death outside the town..." There was also news from the
fronts.
From this time on,
he brought the underground paper to me regularly. I risked taking it
home now without his knowledge and read it thoroughly. I also gave it
to my closest friends, Burech Leber, Yudel Kurtz and Isak Kalinski.
Reading an underground
paper in those dark days of the ghetto, lifted our spirits and we forgot
about hunger for a while. We breathed in fresh air about a far away
world that we had almost forgotten. We opened our eyes while reading
the news about the latest difficulties the Germans encountered on all
fronts.
RESETTLEMENT IN THE WARSAW GHETTO
In the meantime the Aktions
in the Warsaw ghetto continued. The chairman of the Warsaw Judenrat,
Adam Czerniakow, tried his utmost to deal with the SS in order to save
the remaining children of the ghetto and his staff. When they arrested
his wife and most of his Council members, he reached his breaking point.
He committed suicide.
When the Germans blockaded
the orphanage of that great educator Janusz Korczak, in August of 1942,
he was ready to die together with his two hundred orphaned children.
While walking to their untimely death, the children were nicely dressed
and each of them was holding a little bag with bread and water. Dr.
Korozak marched in front of them to the train. At the last moment he
was given the opportunity to be saved, but refused because he would
not abandon his children.
The underground Bund
in Warsaw wanted to find out where the Jews were being deported to.
They dispatched a courier, a tall blond-haired man, Zalman Friedrich.
He befriended a Polish socialist railway worker, who was employed on
the Warsaw-Malkinia line. Once he traveled with his friend to Sokolow
and learned that the Germans constructed a new sidetrack to the Treblinka
station. In Sokolow Friedrich met a wounded escapee from Treblinka,
who told him that the transports of the Jews that arrive here were being
gassed. He returned to Warsaw and related the news to his party. The
result was that the Bund issued a new underground paper Oif der Wach
(ON GUARD), in which they warned the Jewish population of the Warsaw
ghetto not to volunteer to the Umschlagplatz. About fifty thousand
workers were still left in different shops. The report was late, but
it was a warning of things to come.
There were some attempts
made by the different Jewish underground leaders to organize a unified
structure to defy the Aktions in the Warsaw ghetto. It was observed
that the Nazis embarked on a methodical extermination of all Jews. It
appeared that, step by step, the Germans had put into effect their devilish
plan to annihilate all the ghettos. I told everyone whom I trusted that
the Germans had been emptying the ghettos and that the trains had been
going to Treblinka where the Jews were being gassed. People did not
and could not believe it.
HELPLESSNESS
It was a hot day in August
of 1942, when I read about the gassing of the Jews in Chelmno. I did
not know if the perspiration on my face was the result of the heat or
from reading those terrible stories. It did not matter either way.
Now, what could be
done? To call for resistance in the ghetto meant causing collective
reprisals by the Nazis, which would lead one to expect the slaughter
of the majority of the people. How could anyone resist such German power
without arms? Within the context of the ghetto, revolt with out any
means to fight with was foolish. I talked with my friends about it.
Everyone was just staring at me helplessly without uttering a word.
It was incomprehensible. An undertaking of any kind should have been
studied thoroughly. But who could I talk to? Tenenberg was no longer
in the Judenrat. He was done away with in Auschwitz for his part
in the illegal activities. Now, there was Warszawski chairman of the
Judenrat. To talk to him about these pressing questions was an
invitation to be shot. How could even an armed resistance be undertaken
without any help from the outside? As far as I knew, nobody volunteered
any help to the other ghettos before the Jews were exterminated. How
about other countries? Where were all the correspondents of the world
newspapers when the Nazis did away with hundreds of thousands of innocent
men, women and children?
Soon we read about
the massacres in the Warsaw ghetto. The Germans were trying to liquidate
the largest ghetto in Poland. Scores of train-loads, six thousand Jews
daily, were being taken forcibly to Treblinka. There were some escapees
from there, telling horror stories of people being gassed to death.
It was unbelievable.
Although my brother
and I had secure jobs, I did not feel certain that it would spare us.
We could feel that the storm was closing in on us. There were many beautiful
girls in the ghetto who were proposing and getting married to boys who
had good jobs. They even married policemen in order to survive.
Everyone wanted to be productive
in some capacity. People scurried back and forth to find something to
safeguard themselves and their families. Some people were paying money
or jewelry to get a good and secure job. There were opportunists who
took advantage of the situation, no matter if it was successful or not.
It was a whirlwind situation. A matter of life or death.
EXTERMINATION OF THE PIOTRKOVER GHETTO
Storm clouds were gathering
and a cool wind was blowing. In the second week of October 1942, the
workers who were employed outside the ghetto, were told to bring some
of their belongings with them and to stay on their jobs. By saying goodbye,
mothers cried and hoped that at least the young should be spared and
somehow survive that catastrophe. Now it became clear for us too, that
our ghetto would share the same fate as all the others.
During the night of
October 13, 1942, our ghetto was surrounded by SS men and Ukrainians.
Dark clouds covered the sky over Piotrkow and obscured the empty ghetto
streets. Here and there, loud drunken voices of the Ukrainians could
be heard readying themselves for their ugly festivities. The "action"
of "resettlement" started in the early morning of October
14, and lasted a whole week. The chairman of the Jewish Council, Szymon
Warszawski, sent the Jewish police to aid the SS men and the Ukrainians
to deport over 22,000 inhabitants of the Piotrkover ghetto. Street by
street, they emptied the houses, taking by force men, women and children.
In their desperation, most victims knew that they were being taken from
their homes to be exterminated in Treblinka. What could they have done
to avoid it? They were completely isolated from the outside world. The
young people were separated, working and kept inside the factories,
outside and far from the ghetto. Mothers had to take care of their young
children. The old and the sick were shot on the spot if they would not
or could not move fast enough. What could they do with their bare hands
against those young SS men, and vicious Ukrainians, who were so well-trained
and armed?
There was some passive
resistance in the form of not obeying the Nazi orders. Some were shot
while hiding, or simply preferred to die in their own home. Two Jewish
policemen surrendered their caps when they learned that they could not
save their families and went to Treblinka with them. Our last Rabbi
Lau showed his determination to have his say at the assembly place.
He urged his people to try and hide themselves and not to go like sheep
to the slaughter. Then in Treblinka, he delivered a fiery speech to
the unfortunate people about Kiddush Hashem: "Better a live
death, instead of a dead life, and everyone who perishes as a Jew, is
a Saint. I call upon all of you to realize the will of God to die for
him with dignity." Then he said his Vidoi --his affirmation
of faith--and the crowd repeated after him crying out "Shema
Israel". Rabbi Lau helped some with his inspirational speech
to lift the spirits of these innocent victims of Nazism. The religious
Jews could breathe easier, knowing in their hearts that they were fulfilling
their duty to God. The rest of the crowd looked around in disbelief
that nobody was able or willing to help them, and thus resigned themselves
to their untimely end. Others yet, were relieved that this would mark
the end of their long suffering from hunger, degradation, man's inhumanity
to man and the disinterest of the whole world.
The same late afternoon,
while we were standing near the ramp of the "Hortensja",
I saw the first train with the deported Piotrkover people. For some
reason the train was moving very slowly and I noticed many resigned
familiar faces at the little windows. My eyes were glancing nervously
around, to see if any of my family members were on it. I hoped to see
them for the last time. Suddenly I heard a shrill cry from a window:
"Chil, Chil' Watch over Moshe' Take care of him. Avenge all of
us. Chil...." By the time I sadly nodded that I would, Sarah Leber
disappeared from view with her anguished cry. She was a friend of mine
and wanted me to keep an eye on her younger brother, the only member
of her whole family that remained working at the Hortensja. I
turned to the fence to wipe off the tears from my face... I could not
endure any longer and had to let them run freely... At the fence I was
consoled and encouraged by a friend and distant cousin named Szlingbaum.
He also had tears in his eyes. He said to me, putting his arms around
my shoulders: "We have to be brave now more than ever. We are all
on a sinking ship. We should not let ourselves down".
Many pieces of rolled
paper with notes were thrown out of the little windows. They fell too
far away from our fence. Christian boys picked them up after the train
disappeared. Some were delivered to the remaining family members.
It began to snow lightly,
covering the dark ground. Nothing could alleviate the state of depression
of the slave workers who remained alive with a feeling of disgust and
hatred against the murderers. We were standing around thinking what
was going on. There was an indifferent world outside watching silently
as a mass murder was being carried out in Chelmno, Sobibor, Belzec,
Auschwitz and Treblinka. This was happening in the Twentieth Century.
We hated the cultural German Herrenvolk and their aides, the
Ukrainians and some Poles.
Thus had a vibrant
Jewish cultural and physical life come to an end in our town of Piotrkow.
The only solace and hope that remained was the few hundreds of thousands
of slave workers here and there.
APATHY
Our working days during the
Aktions of "resettlement" were symptomatic of our feelings.
There was a state of apathy in our whole process of thinking. The whole
world looked like a mirage to me. We adopted a dangerous "I don't
care" attitude. For the first time in my life I felt like walking
off the globe of the world. I felt guilty for being alive while our
people were being slaughtered in Treblinka. My parents, my friends were
being routed up from their homes. I felt a deep emptiness and disgust.
On October 15, while
trainloads with our people were passing by the Hortensja, I had
to work near the ramp. I was working at the gasakes and taking
coal from the big heap near the fence with a wheelbarrow. I was not
very choosy as to the quality of the coal. I fed the furnace and the
coal did not burn as required. There was more smoke than fire. Consequently
there was not enough energy for the machines. The Polish foreman was
yelling at me, I could not hear him too well. I saw in his eyeglasses
the reflections of the trainloads with our people passing by. As a result
of my poor effort, I was demoted to do menial jobs. I did not care.
Then I was sent to wheel away spoiled masses of red-hot glass with a
wheel-barrow. It was quite a hard job. It looked like a punishment,
but I could not care less. I moved like a robot. My mind was slowing
down. To me it seemed that everybody was moving too fast. I was losing
my perspective. Now I worked with the "ghost dancers" (explanation
of the term will follow) near the oven.
While they were pouring
the material into the oven, I was wheeling away the heavy loads of hot
glass. Something snapped and I overturned a wheelbarrow with the load.
I do not remember what happened next. At first I felt my right palm
hurting. Somebody put my hand in a pail of hot dirty oil to stop the
bleeding. Another one yelled that this was not the right procedure.
"Let's get him to the doctors," I heard a young concerned
voice. The young boy had tears in his eyes. They led me to the infirmary
while blood was dripping from my right hand. I was in a state of shock.
I could hardly hear what they were saying. Someone told Dr. Chwat that
he thought that I wanted to commit suicide. Although I was still in
a daze, I denied it vehemently. I would not give the Nazis the satisfaction.
They could not succeed with me; I had to survive them, I felt it in
me. I really did not know how I fell onto the hot glass and cut a vein
between my wrist and palm. After a few days I forgot what had happened.
We, the so-called
"lucky ones", should put our heads together and analyze our
situation. Who had chosen us to still be alive? Was it God? Was it destiny?
Whatever the reason, we were going to do something about it. We had
to wake up from our lethargic sleep, open our eyes and seek out every
little opportunity to the outside world. Our duty now came down to at
least keeping ourselves alive, and whoever would survive, would be the
hope for the future and witness to these crimes.
This world looked
indifferent to us, but I knew from reading the underground press, that
there might be a glimmer of hope. Among this silent world outside, there
were still some decent people who would like to help.
THE JEWISH FIGHTING ORGANIZATION (Z.O.B.--ZYDOWSKA
ORGANIZACJA BOJOWA)
In October Or 1942, different
groups of Zionists and Bundists got together in Warsaw to form the "Jewish
Fighting Organization". It was the military wing of the Coordinating
Committee, in which all Jewish parties participated. The Bund party
members had some difficulties, but everything was ironed out. The aim
was to acquire weapons and to fight against further German Aktions.
In the Autumn of 1942,
the Zegota was organized in Warsaw. It was the underground "Council
of Help to Jews." The Council consisted of the representatives
of various groups both Polish and Jewish. I longed to get in touch with
them.
THE SMALL GHETTO
A week after the Aktion
in our town was completed, we, the "legals" were taken from
the working places to a prepared small ghetto on Staro-Warszwska Street.
We were marching through empty, quiet streets that were once lively
Jewish quarters, pulsating with cultural life. Glancing now at the houses,
a deep emptiness filled my heart.
I did not see the
black-eyed children looking out the windows. They were all gone. The
innocent, fearful expressions on their little faces were gone as well.
If those windows could speak, they could have told us what had happened
here a week ago. Now, all the streets, houses, broken windows and doors
were bound in a conspiracy of silence.
The small ghetto,
consisting of virtually one street, was fenced around with barbed wire
and guarded by Ukrainian militiamen. We were introduced to our new living
quarters in this small ghetto. It was about the 22nd of October 1942.
We were uprooted and hungry. We were orphans and had nobody to turn
to. I noticed that some boys were searching all over the new premises.
My brother and I went up to look at the attic. We found there a "treasure"
of some cheap materials. It belonged to a victim who was sent to Treblinka
only a week or so ago. We took it down to our room of about 15 boys.
One of them suggested to pool the found merchandise and to exchange
it for food, The idea was a good one, but not too much was found afterwards.
On the ground in the yard I also found the only memento from my home.
It was a torn picture of my American cousin Sarah Weissblatt of Fort
Worth, Texas. I could not understand how this one, of so many pictures,
landed here.
Soon the small ghetto
began to get crowded. On November 5, Szymon Warszawski, our Judenrat
chairman ordered all "illegals" to come out of their hiding
places to be registered. He promised to obtain for them legal status
in the small ghetto. Most of them came out of their bunkers, because
they were hunted by the informers. After a few days, all the new "legalized"
people were picked up by the Jewish police and taken to the synagogue
and jailed. Later they were taken out and added to out-of-town transports
for extermination.
Everyday we marched
back and forth to work accompanied by guards. After work I usually took
a stroll through the yards of the small ghetto. Prior to the war, the
yards were divided by brick walls. Now these barriers were broken. We
were not allowed to walk in the streets.
During one such walk
I noticed a commotion further down the yards. Someone was running and
being chased. When they were closer, I saw a friend of mine being chased
by Israel Gruszkowski, a Jewish fireman. He had a whip in hand. My first
reaction was to stop Gruszkowski. He was very angry that I had gotten
in his way to catch an "illegal". He needed him badly. I saw
it in his red angry face. He yelled at me, "Do you know what you
have done? It took me a long time to track him down. And now he is gone.
Next time stay out of my way and don't be my friend anymore." He
lifted his whip and struck at the corner of the house, where his intended
victim disappeared. I tried to talk to him, to gain more time for my
friend. I pretended that I did not understand why he was so important
to him. I asked him "What did he do to you? You can hit him back
tomorrow. And why do you need a whip? You are stronger than him!"
He looked at me so bewildered, that he lifted his whip again as if to
strike me with it. But at the last moment he yelled at me to get away
from him. He hit the ground and a cloud of dust sprung up. He yelled
while proceeding forward in the same direction, "Times have changed
and I don't need you any more. Don't ever get in my way again, or..."
I could not hear his last words, because he was running further with
his whip striking the air with frustration.
I had not known that
Gruszkowski worked for the Gestapo now. I remembered him as a young
movie fan who used to climb trees in the Wolborz woods and imitate Tarzan.
He also used to stop me in the middle of the street to ask questions
about the movies. He was tall, well-built with thick blond hair and
blue eyes. I must admit that he looked like a German.
My next experience
was even worse than the previous one. While walking by the Jewish Police
station, I noticed one of my pre-war friends, Pola Wolkowicz with her
baby in her arms, looking out the basement window. She was married to
my friend Jankiel Jolowicz. They were "illegals". I was in
no position to help them. As I came closer to the window, I had to turn
my head cowardly the other way. I could not face her. It made me cringe
to the very depth of my soul. Pola's beautiful eyes piercing up from
the cellar of death with a little baby in her arms! I was walking freely
and was not bothered by anyone. I could not take it. But this was not
the time to be a hero. I would only share her fate. The only thing I
could do was to bite my lower lip until it bled. I walked away with
a bitter feeling of helplessness and frustration.
The cellar was the
first stage for the condemned. When it got overcrowded, the victims
were taken to the synagogue. Our place of worship was now a modern hell.
The Ukrainian guards had a free hand in handling the victims. They terrorized
the unfortunate "illegals" by aiming and firing shots through
the windows.
The captives had to
sleep on the cold floor without any heat or light. They had to defecate
right there, because the door was locked and guarded. Some brave women
escaped through the second story windows, but most of them were either
shot or caught and brought back in. The Ukrainian guards, with the participation
of Oberleutnant Lukner, showed their "bravery" by burning
Jewish babies in iron bowls in front of the synagogue.
Five women escaped
from the synagogue and succeeded to climb the fence into the nearby
hospital Swietej Trojcy. The nuns of that hospital, seeing the distraught
five women, had pity on them and let them in.
According to the German
"laws", they were not allowed to harbor or aid Jews, but the
nuns risked their lives and hid them. They provided them with food,
clothing and shelter for a few days. When the escapees recovered sufficiently
from their harrowing experience, one nun from eastern Poland, Franciszka
Narloch, helped them in their further escape. At night she led them
past the Ukrainian guards to a safer place.
When the Germans kept
their Jewish prisoners a whole day waiting for their execution, the
nuns clandestinely provided them with food and water. Franciszka Narloch,
with other nuns, also helped a Mr. Kimmelmann get out of the ghetto
when his stay became too dangerous. They placed his two children, who
were outside the ghetto, in a more secure hiding place.
GERMAN TRICKERY
In the morning of Saturday
December 19, the Germans took out 42 men from the synagogue. The Jews
were told by the Germans that if they would work hard, they would not
go back to the synagogue, but to the small ghetto. They were led to
the Wolborz woods, where the Gestapo men had been waiting for them in
an auto. They were given picks and shovels and led to the Rakow woods.
They were ordered to dig five long ditches.
In the afternoon when
the ditches were finished, they were forcibly lined up along one of
the ditches and rushed about with whips to undress quickly. Seeing that
they were deceived, some of the 42 prisoners put up a struggle and the
rest tried to run in all directions. Most of them were shot, but about
a dozen disappeared in the Rakow woods. (Hersz Gomulinski, one of the
escapees, survived to tell the story).
In the early hours
of the next day, the Gestapo men took out groups of fifty people from
the synagogue. The prisoners were taken to the same Rakow woods. They
were ordered to undress alongside the prepared ditches and were shot.
If the murdered person did not fall into the ditch, the Nazi murderers
kicked them in with their boots. They buried the wounded together with
the dead. Some wounded victims managed to dig themselves out through
the corpses at night. One of them was Saneh the "skinner",
who had worked in the Jewish slaughter house. Almost naked and bloodied,
he ran into his former friend's house, the Piotrkover dogcatcher, who
lived near the woods. Saneh did not expect his former friend to be a
rat. The dogcatcher accommodated poor Saneh, prepared fresh clothes
for him and told him to wash up. While Saneh was cleaning himself from
the dirt and blood, his former friend called the Gestapo. (The dogcatcher
was to be sentenced in Piotrkow after the war, but upon learning about
his imminent arrest, he hung himself).
A LITTLE HOPE
In those gloomy days of our
small ghetto, I learned that the "leftist" group made contact
with the Communist People's Army (A.L.). My friend Melech Zilberstein,
a leftist, confided in me that Nachum Wengliszewski, a Bundist, had
the contact. Naturally they had to keep a low profile, not to fall into
the hands of the Gestapo. There were too many informers in this one
street ghetto. I did not know Wengliszewski personally, so I asked Zilberstein
to press upon his friends to take me into their group. It was-presumptuous
of me, but I was desperate. When he tried, they did not agree because
I was not a leftist. Then I showed him an underground issue of the Worker,
in which we read stories about the beginning of the Warsaw ghetto uprising:
"The Germans were met by a barrage of bullets upon entering the
ghetto streets to round up Jews for the extermination Aktions."
This report was about the January 1943 fighting. We read further, "For
the first time the Germans had to retreat." They were startled.
Jews were fighting back! German blood was spilled by the Jews.
My friend was stupefied.
We heard that there was some fighting going on in the Warsaw ghetto.
It was sketchy and hearsay. But in the underground newspaper we saw
it in black and white. Our spirits were lifted. We felt human again.
It meant that we could fight back, but we needed weapons. How could
we acquire weapons? I asked my friend if they had any. No, they did
not. He said that it was very complicated to obtain arms, even for money.
We did not have any money anyway.
As we were fenced
in this small ghetto, the German propaganda machine did not rest. They
let rumors fly that there would be an exchange of ghetto Jews for German
citizens living abroad or in Palestine. A similar incident happened
in October of 1942, when two ghetto Jews, Jakob Kurtz and Rozenthal
were permitted to leave for Palestine.
Many Jews in our ghetto
were anxious to be chosen to leave the ghetto. The only problem was
that Oberleutnant Muschala wanted Jews with university degrees. So he
chose lawyer Zilberstein (then Jewish Police Commander) with his wife.
He drove them around the city several times until nightfall and then
brought them to the Jewish cemetery. They also chose Dr. Maurice Brahms
with his wife and their 16 year-old daughter, his sister-in-law Mrs.
Kogan, Szymon Stein, the young lawyer, and Dr. Leon Glatter the Psychiatrist.
At the cemetery they added the watchman with his wife, so as to have
ten Jews to be shot and buried in one grave. Before executing the ten
victims, some of the SS officers and gendarmes held speeches denouncing
Jews as the greatest war mongers in the world. The speeches were addressed
to the invited guests of official Polish representatives of Piotrkow
and environs. Similar bloody spectacles were carried out in other ghettos
in Poland. This was Purim 5703.
There was another
bloody execution at the cemetery on April 21, 1943. Some Jews obtained
"Aryan" documents in order to escape from the small ghetto,
but they were denounced by our informers.
On April 30th, our
small ghetto was surrounded by Gendarmes and nobody was allowed out
to work. We were kept inside for four days. This was an order from the
German High Command. They were careful that such uprisings as in the
Warsaw ghetto should not occur anywhere else where Jews were concentrated.
During these four days I pleaded with my friend to take me into their
group. He asked me for the illegal newspaper as bait. Although it was
very dangerous, I gave it to him. It seemed to help. They too were hungry
for news from the outside world.
They thought that
perhaps I was also involved with a partisan group because I had access
to illegal literature. Their leader Jumo Kudisz agreed that I attend
their next meeting. It was set for May 4, 1943, the first day we were
let out of the ghetto to go to work.
Everyone was waiting
anxiously for Wengliszewski to arrive. When he finally appeared at the
meeting, he looked very disappointed. Kudisz met him at the door and
they engaged in a whispering dialog. Wengliszewski then wearily sat
down on a bed, just staring at the wall. He did not even notice me,
a stranger in the room. Kudisz announced that the meeting was off, because
the courier did not show up at the designated point. He castigated Wengliszewski
in front of everyone. I learned afterwards that Wengliszewski was supposed
to meet the courser of the "People's Army" on May I, when
nobody was allowed out of the camp. Therefore I could not understand
why he was blamed for it. He still tried several times to meet the courier
at the same place, but to no avail.
I read that the Jewish
Fighting Organization outside the Warsaw ghetto received some weapons
from the A.K. (Land Army). They also received some materials to manufacture
their own weapons. Everything had to be smuggled into the ghetto. Young
Aryan looking underground workers were used for this dangerous job.
We also read about
the clashes in the Warsaw ghetto. The A.K. reported that they attempted
to dynamite the ghetto wall in order to facilitate escape for those
willing. The dynamite had exploded before the sappers reached the wall,
killing a couple of their own people. This job was undertaken with poor
preparation. Some other side actions were attempted by the Communist
People's Army. They managed to attack some Germans with better results.
This was all they accomplished. That was the outside help for the Warsaw
ghetto fighters. The Z.O.B. did not even know about it. There was also
an appeal by the Z.O.B. to the Polish population in Warsaw, written
and signed by the Piotrkover member Itzhak Samsonowicz.
THE BLOCK AT THE KARA AND HORTENSJA
On August 1, 1943, our small
ghetto was dissolved and we were quartered in an apartment building
near the glass works Kara and Hortensja. The workers of
the Bugaj camp (woodworking camp of one thousand and one hundred
inmates) were housed in their barracks. The workers of the "Shop"(needle
trade) were shipped out to Blyzin. The illegals were executed.
There were some apartment
buildings situated on the left side of Aleja I-go Maja, about three
hundred yards from the entrance to the Kara. The Hortensja
was situated a little further from our quarters. One building was cleared
of the former tenants and some barracks cleaned. We, the glassworks
laborers, some seven hundred and twenty persons, were squeezed in. My
brother and I were put in a ground floor front room of the building
with ten other boys.
We named our new quarters
"The Block." The big front yard was enclosed with a high wooden
fence and topped off with barbed wire. There was a guardhouse (Wachstube)
at the entrance. On the right side, looking from the entrance gate,
there was a small building that we used as a hospital. We had two physicians:
Dr. Jakubowicz and Dr. Chwat. Our chief nurse was the experienced Mania
Blumstein who practiced in the pre-war Jewish hospital in Piotrkow.
In the back yard,
there was a smaller building that contained the kitchen, laundry, bath
and washrooms. There was an empty room over the kitchen.
Our Block leader was
Salomon Gomberg. He was from Lodz of Jewish-Russian parents. He was
tall, thin dark-haired and had vibrant black eyes. He smiled most of
the time, although he was a sick man, suffering from a mild form of
tuberculosis. He spoke mostly Polish. Listening to him, you felt that
he was the head of the Jews that were employed in a very important and
secure place. He was married to Dr. Jakubowicz's sister-in-law, and
had with him his mother and Nelka, a relative.
Director of the glassworks
was Mr. Christman. As a Pole of German origin, he was not as bad as
the others. He was only interested in our sweat. One Jewish worker had
to fill the shoes of two Poles. He had a son who never smiled. This
son was "employed in the Kara" as an overseer so that
he did not have to enlist in the German Army.
Director of operations
was Vogel, also a Volksdeutsche. He was short, chubby and moved
around very fast. He did not treat us very badly. The real menace was
the Volksdeutsche Herford. He was a spoiled rotten son of a well-to-do
farmer of Meszcze, a village near Piotrkow.
Every morning he arrived
at our Block with his noisy motorcycle and placed himself at the entrance.
He searched every one to see who brought food in. Whatever he found
on the inmates: bread, butter or other products that were obtained in
exchange for shirts, pants and sweaters, he confiscated. Immediately,
he threw everything on the ground and trampled it with his boots. Many
interventions of Gomberg by Director Christman did not help, because
we were not allowed to bring in food. Understandably, Herford could
not be told to look the other way in those perilous times. Some time
ago, when I had worked at the Hortensja, he was not as ruthless.
He was our foreman and told us to take it easy, not to work too hard.
He used to boast that the two Kotkowski brothers were his best workers.
Once he confided in me that he was not pleased with his job of being
only a foreman, rather that he was suited to being a Director. He criticized
the whole glass-foundry leadership, saying that they were all unfit
to manage. He had a notion of becoming the "boss." Now, when
Director Christman appointed him as Commandant of our Block, he sensed
that he had hit the big time. With each day he grew worse. Although
he never searched me, I did not trust him, because he stopped smiling
at me when I greeted him. His eyes looked cold and icy now. He had changed
completely.
CONTACT WITH THE OUTSIDE
It was the summertime of 1943.
My friend the fireman delivered underground newspapers to me regularly.
I read about the last tragic fighting in the Warsaw ghetto; about the
acts of sabotage by the A.K. (Land Army); and about murders of Jewish
escapees from labour camps by the anti-semitic groups of the A.K.
I felt that we should
try to survive now for revenge only. It might become a reality by belonging
to a partisan group. But so far, I only read about them. It seemed like
an unattainable dream.
This dream began to
take shape in early July of 1943. It was a cloudy, muggy day, when I
came back from work to the Block. My brother Faywel waited for me at
the entrance. As soon as I crossed the gate, he called me aside whispering
that Wacek Bordo, the fireman, had given him something for me. He slipped
it into my pocket. Bordo could not wait for me because he had to go
home. He told my brother that it was strictly confidential and that
he would be back later that evening to talk to me again.
I went to my room
and climbed up to my brother's bunk, so that the other boys in the room
would not see what I was doing. I pulled the letter out of my pocket
and read it: "Dear friends, whoever has still in his heart the
ideals of Chaim Weitzman, Itzhak Grinbaum, Vladimir Medem and others,
should know that they are not left out in the wilderness. There is a
collective body of people who long for their liberation. Greetings from
Henryk Wiktorski."
I read that little
letter over and over again and was not able to interpret the meaning
of it or of its Polish sounding signature. What a mystery! I had to
wait for the fireman for an explanation.
When he finally showed
up in the evening, he took me aside and said that this was a contact
with the Z.O.B. (ZYDOWSKA ORGANIZACJA BOJOWA) Jewish Fighting Organization
in Warsaw. He also gave me another small letter. He explained that this
was illegal underground business, and that he was sure I would accept
the responsibility and make good use of it. Besides, he did not know
anyone else as well as my brother and myself. Henryk Wiktorski meant
Henryk Ehrlich and Wiktor Alter, the two prewar Bund leaders in Warsaw.
He also said that it was sent here with a Jewish courier by Itzhak Samsonowicz.
He urged me to have the second letter signed later this evening, because
the courier was waiting to take it back to Warsaw.
Again I went to my
room and read the second letter that had to be signed. It was written
by Samsonowicz, my ex-teacher from the Yiddish night classes. He demanded
a signature of receipt from the President of the Judenrat Warszawski,
or from Motel Apelowicz.
Well, Warszawski was
not here, he was at the Bugaj. I would not talk to that creature
anyway. Samsonowicz, being away since 1941, when he escaped to Warsaw,
could not imagine what Warszawski was like, that he was a tool of the
Schutzpolizei. Apelowicz was the right person for the signature.
He was a quiet and trustworthy Bundist who had a good reputation in
Piotrkow. I wanted to have a third responsible person with me to lead
the underground work. This was a dilemma for me because I did not have
enough time to think. I scribbled some names down on paper Mania Blumstein,
Binem Jachimowicz and Nachum Wengliszewski. In the absence of mature
and experienced Bund members I was in a quandary. Mania was the best-suited
person for our group. She was a faithful young party member who grew
up in the youth movements of the Bund.
Still I was hesitant,
because it would have been suspicious to meet with her. Jachimowicz
was out right away, because he was a "Sanitary" policeman.
Wengliszewski seemed to fit in because of his experience as a contact
man for the leftist group.
As I left my room
to look for these people, I saw Wengliszewski in the yard. I called
him and he reluctantly walked over to my window where I was standing.
We did not know each other. I began to feel him out slowly. First I
asked him, if there was an opportunity to get out into the woods to
the partisans, would he be interested. His eyes sparkled automatically,
not even knowing what I had in mind. He soon brushed his thoughts aside
by saying it was a good idea but not so easy to realize. Everyone wanted
to get out of the slave camps, but how? Then I asked him if he remembered
Samsonowicz. His eyes became inquisitive as he bent over to get a quick
answer. He actually wanted to press something out of me when I mentioned
that name. He grabbed my arm asking: "What about Sansonowicz? Tell
me!" he insisted and did not let my arm go. I said to him, "Stand
still and I will tell you. This way it looks suspicious." He straightened
himself out, but his penetrating eyes remained staring into mine. I
told him straightforwardly, that I had a contact with the Coordinating
Committee and the Jewish Fighting Organization (Z.O.B.) in Warsaw. He
was overwhelmed and could not utter a word, so I continued saying that
I was inviting him to work with me. He agreed without question or reservation,
just nodding his head to everything I said. Afterwards I mentioned that
I needed a third person and it should be Motel Apelowicz. Puzzled, he
looked at me and asked why we needed a third person. I replied that
I required Apelowicz's signature. He said that he would give his signature,
because Samsonowicz knew him. He had been a member of the Youth-Bund
"Tzukunft" for many years. I grew impatient and told him that
I had made up my mind that Apelowicz would be the third member. I told
him to bring Apelowicz here. He left hesitantly. I went to my room and
sat on the sill with one leg outside the open window.
He came back with
Apelowicz, the latter shaking all over his body and nervously rubbing
his hands. I noticed that he had already been told what I expected of
him. I could see that his tense smiling face reflected joy and fear.
No wonder. He was lucky in 1941, when many Bund members were arrested
and subsequently murdered in Auschwitz because of illegal activities.
After that calamity, he and Lilka Nutkiewicz maintained the contact
with Warsaw on a limited basis.
Apelowicz agreed to
give his signature, but before that I had told him that it would be
dangerous to do so. It would be taken to Warsaw by a Jewish girl courier
and she might get caught. Then I told him that we would wait for further
instructions and we would design a plan of activities.
It was late in the
evening when the fireman showed up for the signature. He gave me a smile
and proceeded in the direction of the washrooms. I followed him and
gave him the signed paper and he left quickly. My eyes were still glued
to the exit gate a long time after he had left. I had undertaken an
interesting, responsible and dangerous mission to fulfill. I had dreamed
and waited for the moment to be able to do at least something against
those hateful Nazis, since they had started to treat us like subhumans.
Now I had the opportunity and was very anxious to do whatever I could.
I never belonged to any particular political party and did not have
the practical know-how about these activities. But I was certain I would
receive instructions from Warsaw.
Meanwhile, Wengliszewski
visited me quite often. Seeing his interest, I was sure that he would
be suited for illegal activities. Apelowicz did not show up too often.
He relied on Wengliszewski
for news. The fireman did not visit me too often now because we did
not want anyone to see us together. He just brought the underground
paper and left.
After a few weeks
of impatient waiting he brought a letter from Warsaw. This was a long,
warm letter, in which we were heartily welcomed as a new ring in the
chain of groups of the Jewish Fighting Organization. They also mentioned
among others, that we, the remnants of the exterminated ghettos in Poland,
should not lose hope. We should be brave and proud and keep our spirits
high. They would send us material and spiritual help. They would also
send us further instructions about our functions.
We had to answer that
letter promptly, because again the courier from Warsaw was a Jewish
girl and could not stay here overnight. Wengliszewski and I were presently
in the "Block," because we worked on shifts. We had to answer
the letter fast and we could not locate Apelowicz.
We wrote that through this
we entered the most interesting period of our bitter existence. We were
ready to prepare our labour camp for any eventuality. But in order to
accomplish our aim we would need weapons besides material and spiritual
help. Wengliszewski was supposed to relay to Apelowicz the contents
of the received letter and our answer that we sent back to Warsaw. In
the meantime, I hinted to Wengliszewski that we had better take in two
more members, a "Zionist" and a "leftist", because
I felt that a contact with the Z.O.B. was bigger than the three of us.
I had in mind one particular "Zionist" (I forgot his name)
who tried several times to feel me out. He was the only one to approach
me very diplomatically. I was very sorry that I could not tell him anything
at that particular time.
The "Leftist"
was supposed to be Jumo Kudish. I did not like his attitude because
he did not care for Wengliszewski. He was still blaming him for the
lost "Leftist" contact.
Each morning we marched
from the "Block" to the glass works and back. The hard working
days were dragging on. A big transport of coal arrived and we were summoned
to work thirty-six hours without stopping. I was among many who had
to do it. It was heartbreaking to see how we worked without proper food
or rest.
They cooked watery
soups in the kitchen and when someone complained. Gomberg replied that
we should be satisfied with what we got. Herford continued to confiscate
the food that was smuggled in. Those who worked hard were hungry. Only
a small group who still had some money left could buy food from the
Poles. What could those who did not have anything left to sell do? We
had our kitchen in the "Block". After we ate our soup, we
grew an appetite for more solid food. The Christian kitchen was situated
in the glass-foundry. Every Wednesday they cooked a marmalade soup with
noodles. It was very thick and nourishing. We could see the Polish workers
having their lunch and at the nearby empty tables were sitting their
Jewish helpers, waiting maybe the Christians might not finish their
food... The most frequent "guest" waiting, was a young boy
Israel Gruszkowski (no connection with the informer), a neighbor of
mine, who had lived on Jerozolimska Street. He was from a poor household.
He was tall and emaciated. He wore a pair of heavy wooden-soled shoes
and could hardy walk. His face was small. His oversized cap came almost
to his eyes, which were enlarged by hunger. When he talked, although
with a meager smile, he did not make any movements because of weakness.
He watched impatiently with two big dull eyes how things were proceeding
on that other table... When the Poles left their tables, their Jewish
under-nourished helpers gathered all the plates with the leftovers and
put the food into empty jars.
Some hungry boys swallowed
the freshly acquired food right then and there. Others buried the jars
in the ground, hiding them from intruders. Later they "organized"
potatoes, baked them and had a feast. It has to be understood that stealing
from the Germans during their occupation of Poland was called "organizing."
Starvation of Jews was one of their aims in order to liquidate us. Our
answer was passive resistance in every way possible. "Organizing"
food for survival was one of our ways of passive resistance against
the Nazi beasts. Survival was too dignified and "organizing"
was a Mitzvah Kodesh (a holy deed) for the soul. Many "organizers"
had a better chance to survive. Not everyone had to wait at the tables.
Those who still had some money could buy such satiating soup from the
Christian workers.
MONEY FROM THE OUTSIDE WORLD
Once, while sitting in that
kitchen, I noticed the fireman outside the window. As I walked out,
he turned to the washrooms. I followed him. When I entered, he handed
me something wrapped in brown paper. He whispered in my ear that there
was a letter with 20,000 zlotys from Warsaw. As I started to leave he
called me back saying that he should get 5,000 zlotys for his troubles
and that he needed our answer to send back this very evening. I was
perplexed and left speechless by his unexpected demand. Soon I came
back to my senses and replied that this money was not mine. It was not
sent to me for private use and before doing anything, I must read the
accompanying letter. I would give him an answer after consultation with
the other two. Now he became confused by my answer, when he heard my
mention of the two other persons. He thought that I was in on the contact
alone. Marching back from work, I was apprehensive about getting the
letter and the money through the gate in case Herford would search us.
It was a letter with 40 five hundreds, quite a package. My heart raced
faster as I approached the gate. It seemed that good luck accompanied
me: Herford was absent this time. I let out a sigh of relief and proceeded
quickly to my room. I summoned Wenglissewski and Apelowicz at once to
discuss the letter and the money. There were no instructions as to how
to distribute it. The letter said among others, "We are sending
you through Chil Kotkowski the sum of 20,000 zlotys, so that in the
meantime you should not suffer from hunger. We, the Coordinating Committee
and the Jewish Fighting Organization, are very glad and proud to be
able to help you materially and spiritually. Please friends, do not
lose your courage and self respect."
For the Coordinating Committee,
Henrik Wiktorski
I could not understand why
my name was mentioned. It was very dangerous. I must say that this letter
did not satisfy us. There was not one word about the arms that we demanded.
But we had a problem on our hands. There were no instructions about
how to distribute the money. I proposed that we choose a cashier and
it should be Apelowicz. He disagreed, saying that since the money came
in my name, I should be the cashier and be responsible for it. Wengliszewski
agreed and said it was 2 to 1, and so it was settled. I was afraid to
keep the money on me so I proposed to distribute it at once.
Well, how do you offer
money in such terrible times, when it was such a precious and dangerous
commodity? Who should be the lucky ones? Wengliszewski and Apelowicz
were Bundists, so they would take care of their friends. I was not a
Bund member and I wanted to stay in the background. I had the contact
and preferred that nobody knew me. It was safer to be unknown, invisible.
We agreed that they
would take 15,000 zlotys for distribution in our camp. We also consented
that we, like everyone else, would get 250 zlotys each. I would retain
5,090 in case we had an opportunity to send it over to the other camp,
"Buga", or other places. We were also in accord that we should
not pay the fireman, and if he was deserving, he should demand the money
from Warsaw. It was dangerous enough to transport the money to us.
Meanwhile I hid the
5,000 zlotys in the floor in my room. Most of the other boys worked
in the daytime. I utilized the opportunity when they were out to move
my bed and force a board out of the floor. It was risky to hide it there,
but there was no other choice.
We answered the letter
and sent thanks for the money, but regretted that there was no word
about the weapons that we asked for. We told Samsonowicz that although
he did not inform us about how to dispense with the money, it would
be distributed mostly to "Tzukunft" (Youth Organization of
the Bund) members. We also mentioned that Mr. Szytenberg, the teacher,
was at the Bugaj. Jakob Leber, Motel Kusznir and Laibl Brenner
were at the "Hassag" in Czestochowa. Lilka Nutkiewicz and
others were in Blyzin, and still other Bundists were in Skarzysko. If
we got a chance, we would send them some money. We left 5,000 zlotys
for other camps.
We thought that the
Coordinating Committee in Warsaw should know where some of the remaining
Bund members were placed. We also mentioned that we felt that receiving
a letter from them with 20,000 zlotys, was one of the best moments of
our bitter life.
A few weeks later
I saw at our saw-mill Herszoldberg's older brother, Israel, a "Leftist."
He was sent here from the Bugaj on camp business. It was the
first and only time that we saw someone from that other camp. I summoned
Wengliszewski and we went over to talk to him. I asked him if he met
with Mr. Szytenberg there. He told me that he was very depressed and
could not cope with the dog-life in that camp. We told Goldberg that
we were in contact with the Z.C.B. in Warsaw, which consisted of all
Jewish political parties. We were ready to send through him 5,000 zlotys
for Szytenberg. He should organize a group of three, in order to distribute
the money to the needy. I handed Goldberg the 5,000 zlotys and hoped
it would reach the right person. He left and we never saw him again.
Occasionally I had
the opportunity to watch our youth become accustomed to our situation.
Fifteen or sixteen year old boys, like Mosze Leber, Josek Lipnicki,
Michal Balsam, the younger Frajman and many others, became skilled craftsmen
in a few short weeks. They learned the hard job how to blow and produce
different shapes of glasses, bottles and crystal. But even worse was
the work of the "white slaves." This was a group of hardworking
boys headed by David Blum. They named their toil the "dance"
(Shaidim tantz). They worked in their underwear with hankies
serving as face masks. They were running back and forth with heavy loads
of sand and soda in tragas (frame with handles at each end--barrow,
used for carrying a load), to be poured and mixed with broken glass
into the oven. Whoever did something wrong, was sent to work there as
punishment.
KARA
The name Kara translates
in the Polish language to punishment. To be transferred from the Hortensja
to the Kara, was punishment in itself. The Kara commenced
building a new glass furnace. Many workers were shifted over from the
Hortensja. Rain or shine we had to carry out rocks, soil and
mud from the large gorge. We called it the "circus", and the
women also worked there, carrying loaded tragas out of the excavation
and walking on wooden planks. Whenever we found ourselves in a precarious
situation, we had to improvise, saying that it could be worse. Survival
was more important than suffering. Sometimes after work, if we were
not bothered, we sat down in a circle in the yard and some boys sang
their hearts out. Szaya Pudlowski (the songwriter), Natan Naparstek,
Mosze Leber and David Blum and others were the entertainers. Tears were
running down our cheeks, as we reminded ourselves how we had fared only
a few years ago, how our situation looked at present, and what was still
in store for us in the future. Some other times we even had a laugh
or two. We had a foreman named Wojdela, an illiterate Pole. Whether
we felt like it or not, we had to laugh at his "sayings."
When we loaded less sand than he thought we should, he would yell quite
seriously, "How much dirt are you two carrying here? A fly possesses
more fat on itself, than you have sand in this traga." When
we complained that it was too heavy, he would say, "You call this
hard work? To write or read is much harder." Once when the clock
sounded out 7 o'clock A.M. to commence working, I was walking to the
assigned labour point slowly, chewing on a piece of bread. Wojdela observing
me, suddenly yelled out, "Kotkowski, Kotkowski. Don't run so fast,
you might kill yourself!" I could not help laughing.
LEARNING A CRAFT ON AN EMPTY STOMACH
When the new construction
in the Kara was erected, the production of glass increased. I
worked everywhere and was eventually promoted to a breaker. On the ground
floor there was a furnace as at the Hortensja. It was fed the
sand and soda with pieces of cleaned, washed, broken glass. The heat
of the big oven melted all that mixture into a thick red liquid. Then
this fluid was rotated upwards by rollers, thinning it out and transforming
it into sheets of hot glass. While it was slowly rolling upwards, Polish
and Jewish observers were jumping around with thick gloves on their
hands and with wooden sticks that caught fire, while touching the hot
rolling glass. They had to warm and soften the "stones", i.e.
not completely melted substances, to make them pass through the rollers.
Each observer was responsible for his "stone" so as not to
cause an accident. If a Jew was guilty of causing a mishap (the liquid
mass fell down from the rollers and incapacitated the machine for 24
hours), he was beaten and demoted. One flight higher, there was Mosze
Nowak, the under-cutter. He had a steady hand in cutting the rolling
glass plates. He was tall, thin and always had a smile on his pale face.
He was a refugee from Belchatow, near Piotrkow. A little higher still,
I was breaking off the big plates of glass, and putting them down with
great difficulty on a lower table. Breaking off the glass plates was
not as responsible as warming the "stones" or undercutting.
I had difficulty in placing the heavy sheets onto the table, because
my hands were too weak. Therefore, I broke many plates on my body and
caused many scars. Subsequently, I was demoted to do other jobs.
On Wednesday, sitting
in the Christian kitchen feasting on a marmalade soup, I was gratified
to see Gruszkowski's smiling face. Although he did not belong to the
"Bundist" group, I saw to it that he and a few other poor
boys benefited from the money that was sent to us by the Coordinating
Committee.
While sitting in that
kitchen, the fireman came in and told me the good news: that after two
months of waiting, he was expecting someone from Warsaw. I was to be
in the "Block" the next day at 5 o'clock in the afternoon.
Until now he never knew when to expect anyone. At that time I worked
from ten in the evening until six in the morning. As he said, he came
into the "Block" at 5 P.M. the next day and handed me a large
parcel. He did not tell me how much money there was, but again said
that he would like to get 5,000 zlotys for his troubles. He also wanted
our answer that night. I just gave him a look that he understood it
was impossible. I was in no position to give him an answer now.
I called Apelowicz
as soon as he arrived from work after 6 P.M. and we opened the parcel.
There was a letter with 45,000 zlotys, and a special edition of the
underground paper about Auschwitz. While we were reading the letter,
we noticed that the number 45 was not clear. It looked like something
had been erased. Apelowicz and I could not decide what to do, because
Wengliszewski was at work. This week he worked from 2 o'clock in the
afternoon until ten in the evening. The three of us could not always
get together because of our working schedules.
There was a tense
situation in our Block that day. Michelson, the banker's son had hidden
a jar with valuables in the ground under a window. Someone outside the
Block noticed something and reported it to the guards. They dug it up
and showed it to our Commandant Herford. Gomberg, our camp leader was
also informed about it. He in turn let it be known to be careful because
they might search our rooms. When I heard that, I decided to take everything
out of the "Block" to the glass-foundry and hide it there
until the three of us could agree on how to distribute the money. We
usually gathered at the gate about 9.30, to be at work at 1O p.m. This
time we were waiting and waiting and the guards did not come out of
the guardhouse to take us to work. One of our group knocked at the door
to let them know that it was getting late. They opened the door and
did not let him in. He noticed however that Herford was inside talking
with Greger, another Volksdeutch. Nobody could have guessed that
they were debating something about us. As we were pondering what their
discussions in there could be about, Herford, Greger and the rest of
the guards came out. Herford ordered us to form a line of two's, but
did not let us out of the gate, instead they told the first two to get
inside the guardhouse. Six guards remained outside to watch us. Something
like this happened for the first time. To satisfy my curiosity, I looked
through the window to see why they took the first two from the head
of the line. What I saw inside sent a shiver through my body and a cold
sweat formed on my forehead.
The first two stood-naked
while Greger and the rest of the guards were searching through their
clothes. Herford was looking on triumphantly. They let the first two
out and directed the next two in. We could hear Herford's yelling, "Where
have you hidden the American dollars? If you don't give them to me,
you will be shot like a dog!"
I had been in many
bad situations before, but this one was the worst. Each time it involved
only myself, but this time I carried 45,000 zlotys and a special edition
of the illegal newspaper about Auschwitz. What could I do now? There
was no way out. The guards were watching every move we made. The only
thing I could do was to move gradually down the line to win time. Maybe
with luck some kind of miracle would happen.
The line-up was getting
smaller. My watch indicated 10:30 p.m. We should have been at work half
an hour ago. The former shift had to stay on until we arrived. The last
time I looked through the window, Herford held in his hand quite a Bundle
of foreign money. Although it was a cool evening, I perspired profusely,
thinking of how I could avoid such a disaster. It would be too difficult
for me to use my old trick to hold everything in my hands, because I
would have to undress.
It was already 10:45
p.m. I was almost at the end of the line. The last two workers behind
me were poor boys and they wore old torn coats. My coat was not in good
condition either. I had noticed that when a poor boy was taken in to
be searched, they did not spend too much time with him. Therefore, I
took one more step and in front of my eyes all I saw was a torn and
patched coat.
Now it was eleven
o'clock and Greger came out to see how many of us still remained to
be searched. He counted: "One, two, three, four." The one
with the torn coat was frisked by Greger and pushed aside. Then he turned
to me, "Kotkowski, you are also here?" and he leaned into
the door and reported to Herford that there were still three unimportant
persons outside. Herford retorted, "You check them yourself and
let's get rid of them"' As soon as I heard that, I reached into
my pockets for the money with my right hand, and for the Auschwitz edition
with my left. Greger leaned back in our direction and took one step
with his lame foot towards me, asking, "Well Kotkowski, how much
money do you have?" He said that with a smirk on his face, sure
that there was no way I could have money on me. But his question surprised
me. I had the impression that he knew that I had money. Still I did
not lose my composure. I smiled and said that he should take my wallet
out of my pant pocket. He replied that he knew me too well, that I would
never cheat and should show him my wallet. I quickly put my right hand
into my pant pocket, left the money there, and took my wallet out and
handed it to him. He did not want to take it, he only wanted to know
how much money was in it. He trusted me, because I used to work for
him. However, this was worse for me, because in order to open my wallet
I needed both hands. It was a good thing that it was dark. Immediately
I put my left hand in my pocket with the illegal paper, left it there,
and opened my wallet to show him that I had two zlotys. He looked into
it and said, "No, you don't have diamonds." and laughed. So
did I. He did not even touch the last two boys and rushed them into
the new-formed line. We were outside the gate in a hurry, because the
guards wanted us to get to work quickly.
Never before had I
marched to work with such excitement and glee as this time. I whistled
with joy without making a sound.
When I came to work
to take over the shift form Wengliszewski, he asked me why he had to
work overtime, because we were not paid. I explained to him what had
happened and he was elated that I managed to save everything. With a
tap on my shoulder, he exclaimed: "Chil, you are quite a guy. I'll
remain here all night in order to discuss things to be done."
First we had to figure
out a way in which to distribute that kind of money. Again there were
no instructions. The letter was very promising, but we expected a more
constructive one. We thought that the Coordinating Committee should
be more professional, with more discipline. Our questions were not answered
in a precise manner. We thought that possibly the circumstances did
not allow them to be perfect. It looked as we had acquired rich relatives
and they were preoccupied with our material well being. I did not like
it too much and I said so to Wengliszewskia, "It was very nice
of them to be willing to help us materially in such dreadful times.
But is it right to endanger the lives of young Jewish girls bringing
the money here from Warsaw? Is our aim only to be able to buy another
piece of bread?" He did not answer.
We had undertaken
a mission--if we were destined to be liquidated by the Nazis--to be
able to fight back with arms. We wanted to be better prepared in order
to avoid the misunderstandings that occurred in the ghettos. We were
the last remnants of our proud city.
Meanwhile we discussed
the money. I proposed to hide half of it, possibly to buy a few revolvers,
and to distribute the other 22,500 zlotys, so that each person--the
three of us included--received 500 zlotys. He immediately agreed. He
was supposed to tell Apelowicz about these decisions. First, we had
to answer the letter. It was not easy this time, because of the missing
5.000 zlotys. We felt that Bordo would not be able to deliver our letter
with the number 45,000. We decided to write this letter with a pencil,
in order for him to correct it. We had no choice because we needed him.
It was impossible
to find a direct way to correspond with the Coordinating Committee or
the Z.O.B. in Warsaw. I asked the fireman many times to let me talk
to a courier. He always said that it was out of the question. They came
to his house, or he met them at the railway station. We believed him
because most of the couriers were Jewish girls.
Meanwhile I gave him
our answer. Then I talked to him about buying some revolvers for us,
since we had the money now. As my brother was on good terms with him,
I asked him to try and get a Warsaw address. After trying for a while,
my brother got the address of his brother in Warsaw. Then Bordo showed
off with a letter to a friend of his in Warsaw, and I marked the address
down soon after he left. Now I had two Warsaw addresses.
The three of us decided
that I should write a coded letter and send it in two copies to the
two addresses. I wrote the letter in numbers, and with the help of a
key, it signified the Yiddish A B C. For example: 1 was Z, not A; 2
was Y, not B and so on. It was impossible to decipher the meaning of
the numbers without the solution.
I sent the numbers
and the keys separately to the same addresses. I mentioned that whoever
would receive these letters, to please deliver them to a member of the
Z.O.B., or the Coordinating Committee. As the sender, I signed Kowalski
and Swietochowski, two of the most vicious anti-Semites in pre-war Poland.
These two names assured me of wiping away any trace. The contents of
the code was, among others, about the missing 5,000 zlotys, and why
we never received an answer about weapons.
Weeks passed by and
I did not hear anything. I had developed a cyst on my leg and had to
stay in the infirmary. Bordo came running in very excited. I thought
that he had something very important for us. However, instead of slipping
something into my pocket, he talked very loudly with tears in his eyes:
"Kotkowski, ratuj mnie"' (Save me). When nobody was
looking in our direction, he showed me a short death sentence letter.
I read it, and it said something like this, "Comrade Waclaw Bordo,
we are giving you a week's time to come up with and pay back the money.
If not, you know very well what happens to people like you!"
(Signed) Tadeusz
Bordo pleaded with me to lend
him 4,000 zlotys, because he had only 1,OOO. Since I was not sure whether
the death sentence was true or not, I promised him that we would try
to do something about it. And we decided not to. We wanted the Coordinating
Committee in Warsaw to know that he had taken some money, but we still
needed him.
Meanwhile, we gave
him a letter saying that we lost 5,000 zlotys to the guards during a
search. I was not even sure if he received his death sentence as a result
of our code letter.
Again weeks passed
by and we did not know what to expect. Bordo could not buy any weapons
for us. Everyone was short of money, and Wengliszewski hinted to me
that he needed money for cigarettes. I told him half-jokingly that I
couldn't care less for cigarettes and he should come tomorrow with Apelowicz
to discuss the money situation. They came and after some haggling, we
decided to distribute 250 zlotys to each member, out of the 12,500.
I retained 10,000 in case we got an opportunity to buy some guns.
The days of waiting
to hear from the outside world became unbearable. We were now dependent
on the Coordinating Committee in Warsaw. Our daily life seemed to evolve
around them.
ALA MARGULES
One morning, when we were
out of the gate going to work at the Kara, I noticed a woman
walking and looking in our direction. Instinctively I felt that this
was the courier at last. She had a basket in one hand just like the
other merchants, who tried to sell bread, eggs and other products to
us. While the Polish women were conducting their business, the guards
were sometimes lenient and looked the other way. Only if they saw someone
important pass by would they chase the merchants away from the marching
Jews. This time two guards saw a new face among the Poles. They observed
that her eyes were riveted on a little girl. They were also curious
why they had not seen this woman here before.
As soon as she approached
little Renia Zaks and gave her something, they went over to the woman
and asked her what she was selling. The woman replied that she was selling
food to the Jews like all the others. However, they did not see any
food in her basket, so one of them put his hand into it. He reached
beneath the cover and found a large sum of money. He pulled it out and
said to her half jokingly, "Ah, you deal in money! We have to check
that. Come with us to our boss, let him believe you." They took
her back to the "Block."
Meanwhile, when Renia
saw the commotion, she in turn slipped the letter that she had received
from the woman to her friend Hanka Pfeffer. Hanka hid it in her shoe.
We went into the foundry yard and the gates were closed behind us. I
was still anticipating that there was something going on and that it
must have had to do with our contact. Soon I heard that Renia was also
arrested.
At eleven a.m., the
kitchen helpers usually brought our lunch from the "Block"
to the Kara glass foundry. Our boys pushed the old cart with
the food instead of a horse pulling it. This time Wengliszewski was
among the pushers. He was supposed to come to work at 2 p.m. Now I was
sure that something was wrong. As soon as the cart with the food was
put in place, Nachum came over and told me that our courier was arrested
with a lot of money. The first arrested Piotrkover woman had to tell
Herford that a girl came from Warsaw and she was staying in her house.
Two guards were dispatched to the woman's house and they arrested the
courier from Warsaw and brought her to the Block. Herford found 75,000
zlotys on her. Now they confronted Renia Zaks with the woman and she
denied vehemently that she knew or ever saw the girl from Warsaw.
Wengliszewski also
found out that the woman from Piotrkow transmitted a letter for us to
Renia Zaks. He wanted to get the letter from Hanka Pfeffer and asked
me where she was working and we went over to talk to her. He told her
that Renia asked him to retrieve the letter and she immediately complied
and looked relieved to get rid of it.
We entered the washroom
and read the short letter. It was written in Polish and stated among
others, "Renia, please deliver this letter with the money--75,000
zlotys--to the brothers Kotkowski, or to Mania Blumsztein or to Nachum
Wengliszewski. Thank you very much."
Henryk Wiktorski
After reading the letter with
our names in it, we were dumbfounded and could not utter a word. We
just stared at each other and after a few seconds Wengliszewski got
into a rage and pulled at his hair. He wanted to destroy it right away,
but I calmed him down by saying that we had it in our hands and meanwhile
we were safe. They just got the money and the women, but they did not
know us. We would just have to follow further developments.
I did not want to
destroy the letter because I felt it was a good document. A strange
intuition told me that I would somehow survive since I had already hidden
several letters and some important notes.
Nachum told me that
he would find a substitute to take his place this day so he could find
out more details about the woman. He rushed to push the cart back to
the "Block."
It puzzled me why
the Coordinating Committee did not use our code names. My code name
was Karol Kotlarski, Nachum's was Wladek Wavgrowski and Apelowicz's
was Mietek Wolborski. Mania Blumsztein was supposed to be Maria Boleslawska,
but this was to be decided at our next meeting with her. It did not
materialize because of the events that had taken place.
Why did the Coordinating
Committee choose a new route? We could not understand this and it was
a big mess.
I put the letter in
a shoe-polish box and buried it under a heap of coal near the fence.
When I came home from
work after 6 p.m., Nachum waited for me at my window and related what
he had learned so far about the arrested woman. She was Ala Margules,
about 24 years old, daughter of Dr. Margules from Lodz, whom the Nazis
had killed as a Bundist. She now lived with her mother Dr. Anna Margules
outside the ghetto in Warsaw and traveled with a German passport.
Meanwhile they jailed
her in the empty room over the kitchen in the back yard. Since Director
Christman was out of town and without whose knowledge and permission,
nobody was allowed to report her to the Gestapo.
Now I wanted to see
her, and we both went up one flight of stairs in the back of our building.
We stood at the open window and Nachum whistled lightly and she slowly
appeared in her window across from where we were standing. Her face
showed a worried look and a slight smile. She figured that we were her
friends, but was apprehensive. Nachum took the cigarette out of his
mouth and indicated with his lips to her that this was Kot-kow-ski.
She nodded hesitatingly with her head and then I showed her an envelope
to make her aware that I was the one who wrote the letters to the Coordinating
Committee, but she could not understand. She looked out the window pointing
downwards, where the guard watched her door. Until I understood the
meaning of it, Nachum had run down the stairs and entered the women's
washroom. She disappeared from her window and I saw the guard lead her
to the washroom and wait outside. After a few minutes she came out and
the guard led her back to her room. Afterwards Wengliszewski came out
and returned to the point at the window and related to me this short
and excited conversation he had with her.
Nachum: "We will
try to do everything to get you out of here!"
Ala: "Friends,
don't be confused. Don't worry about me. Keep up your spirits, because
their time is up soon..."
Nachum: "But
Ala, you don't understand, your life is in danger. They are waiting
for the Director of the foundry to report you to the Gestapo."
Ala: "I have
been in similar circumstances in Warsaw many times and my lucky star
will guide me through this time too."
Meanwhile Herford
arrived on one of his frequent noisy visits. We could not hear the exact
words, but it went some thing like this:
Herford (in Polish): "I
know what kind of work you Jewish Communists do. Your place is in a
concentration camp or to be buried and not to travel these days."
Ala (in German): "I
am a German woman and would not ask a Polish swine like you what to
do!"
Herford was stunned
for a moment, then we saw him reach for his gun and yell, "You
Jewish... You think I don't know who you are?! I can fire a bullet into
your Jewish head and nobody would blame me for it! It is only a pity
that you waste our bread! Ah, you will only live till tomorrow. Why
should I waste my heart with you, you Jewish whore."
We could not hear
clearly the rest of his yelling before he left. After we heard his shouting,
I said to Nachum that we had better silence him somehow and so we decided
to bribe him with our last 10,000 zlotys. I could try to talk to him,
as he used to like me and since I was involved with the underground
work, and therefore it would be too dangerous. Wengliszewski agreed
that I should not try to get involved with him. We thought of possibly
sending our Police Chief Josek Zamel, or our camp leader Salomon Gomberg
to talk to him. We chose Gomberg to talk to him. We chose Gomberg, but
we utilized both of them to save Ala Margules. It was impossible to
uphold our anonymity now. We had to tell Gomberg the truth. We went
to see him and declared clearly that if he wanted to keep this camp
intact, he had to render three things for us: I) Keep Herford quiet
with our ten thousand zlotys; 2) See that Renia Zaks was freed because
she was not involved. 3) Go to Director Christman, when he arrived from
out of town, to free Ala Margules.
Since the beginning of our
meeting, Gomberg had a smirk on his face and only when he learned that
the girl was a courier sent to us by the Jewish Fighting Organization
in Warsaw did he become very respectful. He could not forgive himself
for being unaware of such goings on behind his back in his camp. Anyway,
I handed him the money to go and bribe Herford.
We told him that tomorrow
we would give him new instructions on how to deal with Director Christman
and he left immediately to see Herford. We went to see Apelowicz and
could not find him, so we waited for Gomberg's return in my room at
the window. When he came back, he was all smiles and assured us that
Herford "accepted" the money and was freeing Renia with the
other liaison immediately. He also promised not to interfere in the
case of the "strange" woman.
The next day I did
not want to go to work in order to supervise the freeing of Ala Margules
and the best thing was to fake some kind of sickness. I sent my brother
for the head nurse Mania Blumsztein while I stayed in bed. Mania came
immediately and jumped in like a cat through the window and asked me
what was the matter. I looked straight into her eyes and slowly said
that I had a FEVER. Although we had never talked to each other she knew
about me. Seemingly, she understood that I had to stay in the Block
today and without saying a word she took my temperature. She did not
wait long enough for the thermometer to warm up and gave me a pass that
I was sick and could not go to work this day. She knew in her heart
that she was also contributing to the saving of her comrade Ala Margules.
She was risking her reputation and job by falsely stating that I was
sick. I did not want to tell her - especially now when we faced danger
- that she was very much involved and that her name was mentioned in
the letter. She could have been arrested together with us if the guards
would have intercepted our letter instead of the money. But she probably
knew all of this from Wengliszewski and he could not always keep a secret
from his party members. With the absence of veteran Bund party members,
Mania was the main force in their movement and although I had never
been a party member, I was now very much involved with them. I wanted
to have her proven knowledge involved in our illegal work.
First we had to free
the courier and later Wengliszewski and I went to see Gomberg again.
We told him to explain to the Director openly and clearly that the woman
was sent to us by an underground organization in Warsaw to make contact
with the Jewish slave workers here. He should listen very carefully
and if he did not free her the acts of sabotage in the glass foundry
might increase and his life would be in danger. Did he really need that?
To make the proper impact on the Director we told him to take our Police
Chief Josek Zamel with him.
Meanwhile, we consulted
with Zamel on what to do in case the Director would not be able to free
her and proposed a sure way to let her out of our camp. We should assign
a few strong people to dig a hole in the wall of the women's washroom
and from there she could get out immediately. We promised him Berek
Kurtz, Mosze Blumsztein, Hersz Lewkiwicz, Binem Jachimowicz and Szlomo
Meizner.
The Director arrived
in the glass foundry about 5 p.m. Gomberg and Zamel went to see him
and after an hour of suspenseful waiting, we saw them come back to the
"Block" with happy smiling faces. They persuaded the Director
to make a crucial and dangerous decision, and after contemplating for
a while, weighing the consequences, he decided to let her go free.
We found out later
that Gomberg knelt for the Director and kissed his hands and thanked
him in the name of all his Jewish workers. Soon afterwards, when we
were standing and waiting with great anticipation in the front yard,
we heard the great news that she was going to be freed. All camp inmates
were coming out of their rooms and waiting impatiently, as we wanted
to see her outside. Finally we saw the guards going for her to the back
yard and all eyes were turned and riveted in that direction, and after
a few minutes, the guards led her through the front yard. She walked
with dignity as a brave Jewish daughter and was hopeful while in Nazi
captivity that she did not falter in the face of danger. Here we had
the rare opportunity to see before our eyes, one of many Jewish couriers
who risked their young lives to bring some hope and material help for
the downtrodden slave workers.
When she was in danger
of losing her own life, she told us to be courageous and not to lose
faith. And since she was leaving us and our thoughts were mixed, we
found ourselves in a quandary. Without her, we remained here in our
solitude, but we would like to see her outside as fast as possible.
Now, she was already near the gate and turned her head to have a last
glance at us - subjugated Jews. She left the yard and crossed the gate
and a sigh of relief was heard all around. Or was it my sigh only?
I looked out through
the openings of the fence and saw her walking away quickly and this
took place about 6 p.m.
It took a long time
before everybody left the yard, while the mystery and the release of
the underground courier in our camp continued to be discussed at length.
I was glad that nobody came to me for explanations.
After the crowd had
left for their quarters, Nachum came into my room and we talked about
our achievement until late in the evening.
About 10 p.m., we
heard a wild commotion at the gate. We looked out the window and heard
banging with mixed shouting, "Open up, you swines!" The guards
opened the gate and a group of Gendarmes with motorcycles pushed their
way in, yelling obscenities, "Where is the Jewess? Where is that
cursed woman?" They left their motorcycles at the fence and entered
the guard house.
The calmness of such
a serene and joyful evening was interrupted with their wild shootings.
We thought that after freeing Ala Margules everything would quiet down.
Wengliszewski got very excited and scared, and exclaimed: "Chil,
let's jump over the fence, let's run away! We were betrayed!" I
tried to calm him down, to wait and see what would happen. We did not
have any money and could not survive outside without it. He calmed down
and we listened to what was going on in front of the guard house. Vogel
arrived in his party uniform and somehow was able to restore order.
After some haggling, he led them out of our "Block" and again
we breathed easier.
Next morning we found
out that one of the guards reported to the Schutzpolizei that
there was a transient woman, Jewish yet, in our camp. It seemed that
he was not satisfied that they had not shared the 75,000 zlotys with
him, which they intercepted. We could not find out what they did with
the money, other than that Vogel was the boss over it. There was a suggestion
that it be donated to the German Red Cross. Vogel admonished the guard
and sent him away. We did not see him anymore.
During all these events
the fireman did not show up because he did not want to get involved
in such dangerous proceedings. A few days later he brought me more leaflets
and said that he had nothing to do with that courier and he praised
me for being able to save her from the German claws. I told him that
I did not accomplish that all by myself. He could not understand why
she had not come to us through him as all the others had.
A LITTLE ACT OF SABOTAGE
It was a warm summer and we
anticipated a Russian offensive at the Vistula river to break the stalemate
on the Eastern front. We felt that if a breakthrough happened, the Nazis
would kill us in the camps. We had to be on the watch constantly since
everyone knew what had happened to all our people in the ghettos. It
would now be much easier to prepare our youth for resistance, since
our home life had been extinguished. We were deprived of our families
and we felt free to work in the underground. The consequences of resistance
were less dangerous now, since we had no families to be concerned with.
Our main aim now was to at least get some guns and some additional weapons
by force from the Germans.
Recently the fireman
was more hopeful when we talked about arms. When I told him that not
too many of us knew how to handle weapons, he said that this would not
present a great problem. In due time, somebody would take care of it
and anyway, he was very hopeful that we would soon get some arms from
Warsaw.
Meanwhile, I prepared
a place for it, and when no one was in my room, I moved my bed and forced
a board out of the floor. I also removed enough soil in order to have
sufficient space and then I put the board back in its place and moved
my bed back over it.
I told Bordo that
we were organizing our groups and he became very excited. Now he would
visit me every day and we could feel that there was something in the
air: The hopefulness of the Poles, the nervousness of the Volksdeutche
and our hopeless plight.
It was July 1944.
There were already several acts of sabotage committed by the A.K., with
inside help, at our glass foundry Kara. The German leadership
(Volksdeutche) of the foundry was fearful for their lives. All
of them but Herford tried to gain our confidence by trying to be good
to us. They were all Germans born and living here, and now they distrusted
the Poles. They only put Jewish watchmen around the fence for the night
to ring an alarm in case anyone wanted to approach it. We had our people
among them and sometimes we told them to cause a false alarm just to
scare the Volksdeutche.
The acts of sabotage
committed by the A.K. were very good for us and although some working
places were damaged, like the sawmill several times, it did not bother
us. The opposite happened. They believed us even more.
Wengliszewski and
I discussed a plan to sabotage the plate cutting hall. At that time
I worked as a breaker at the new machines and Mosze Nowak was my undercutter.
I broke a plate of glass and Nowak yelled out, "Throw it away"'
I did, but a piece of it fell on my right hand and cut my middle finger
to the bone. I ran down to the infirmary to see Dr. Chwat. He stopped
the bleeding, put a clamp on, bandaged it and gave me a one-day pass
to stay away from work. I told the doctor that I would not be able to
break the glass plates with one hand as it was difficult enough for
me to do it with both. He said that he knew quite well that it was impossible
to work with one hand, but he was not allowed to give out passes for
more than one day. If one needed more, he had to ask our administrator
Vogel. I went to him and asked if he would please prolong my pass for
at least two more days. Without looking at my finger he slapped my face,
yelled and degraded me of my acquired profession. He demoted me to take
down the rail cart with the glass plates to the cutting hall (krajarnia).
This happened on a Wednesday, and Friday evening I had to start working
in the assigned new place. Wengliszewski worked on the same shift at
the gassakes.
I took down the first
cart with the glass plates to the cutting hall and looked around. It
was very quiet in the large hall where there was one Polish watchman
fast asleep on a bench. At one time he was my foreman and we used to
call him Panie Shefie (Chief). At night it was very eerie here.
Only the night shifts were working. We could hear a quiet, monotonous
noise from the machines.
I ran over to Wengliszewski
and asked him to come with me to the cutting hall where I showed him
what I wanted to do and that he should stand on guard outside. He agreed,
but urged me to do it quickly. I took my empty cart up the elevator,
readied another one to take down, and ran down the stairs where Wengliszewski
stood impatiently outside while I entered the hall. Once more I checked
the sleeping watchman and reached into my pocket for my knife, lowered
the power handle and cut several conveyor belts. One for my ailing finger,
a second for Vogel's slap, a third for my murdered parents and so on.
As I left the quiet
hall, I was very excited, not so much out of fear, as of satisfaction
and vengeance. I gave Wengliszewski my knife to be hidden and told him
to run to the fence to order an alarm. I ran upstairs and looked out
the window. Confusion reigned and my wish was fulfilled. Vogel yelled
at the Polish watchman. He came running upstairs and found me sitting,
because I could not take the carts down anymore. He very angrily asked
me, "You miserable wretch, didn't you see anything?" (Ty
szczerwo, ty zes nic nie widzial?), and he left in a hurry not even
waiting for my negative answer. I went back to the window and saw Herford
running with his revolver drawn, yelling and cursing. Watching that,
made me forget my ailing finger.
All Poles and Jews
became very optimistic. With each act of sabotage it looked like a signal
to something very remote, almost unattainable, called FREEDOM. This
little job looked a lot bigger the next day and we called it the "black
Sabbat." The Volksdeutche ran around in a frenzy. Mostly
Herford showed his cowardly behavior by barricading his room and putting
up a machine-gun on his first floor windowsill. They trembled for their
lives. They were sure that the Polish "bandits" again inflicted
an act of piracy on the Kara. The result of that latest piracy
was that they strengthened the fence with more Jewish watchmen and more
alarm bells.
THE GENERAL WARSAW UPRISING
On July 27th, the fireman
came running to me with sensational news. He was very excited and spoke
very fast, "You should be prepared for very important events! Warsaw
is getting ready for an uprising against the German Army and it might
encompass all of Poland. The Germans might want to kill you, so you
should be on guard." He also told me that he would inform me of
any new developments as soon as he learned about them, and he left.
Although the overall
situation was not clear, we had to bear in mind our precarious predicament.
The worst part of it was that we did not have any money to buy arms.
Waclaw Bordo came
back the same evening more excited than ever. It was very difficult
for me to understand the way he talked this time. With short unfinished
sentences, he told me that his brother arrived from Warsaw with an order
from the A.K In case of an overall Polish uprising, they would incorporate
us into their fighting groups. If the uprising would be limited to the
Capital only, they would take our fighting groups to Warsaw and this
way save us from annihilation. I replied that I would like to speak
to his brother and that we would not make any move without a written
order from the Jewish Fighting Organization. We would have to know if
they would take part in the alleged uprising, because we were a part
of them and also, we would not take part in any undertaking without
weapons. He also told me that his brother would take care of our getting
out of the camp and asked how many of us were able to fight. I told
him that I alone could not decide these things and that I personally
was against leaving the women and children. Such a crucial decision
had to be determined by everyone. Meanwhile, we would prepare our fighting
groups, but first he would have to come through with my requests. He
told me that he would hand over my demands to his brother, who was an
official of the A.K.
We went to see Gomberg and
we told him about the A.K offer. He agreed to take over the military
command if we could get instructions from the Z.O.B. in Warsaw. He would
have to see the instructions first and was even angry with us because
we had not confided in him about the Z.O.B. and the A.K. contacts.
As his aides, we agreed
to assign Josek Zamel and Moniek Grinberg, who were also officers in
the prewar Polish Army.
For the time being,
we did not inform anyone about our plans since it seemed of no use to
alarm people until we got the instructions. We just prepared 60 group
leaders on paper. Each group consisted of 10 people including one woman
as a nurse in some cases. We designated Mania Blumsztein as head nurse,
and she would have the authority to take charge of the medical supplies
in our camp hospital.
We added six more
people to our Council which consisted of the following members: Chil
Kotkowski, Nachum Wengliszewski, Motel Apelowicz, Mania Blumsztein,
Salomon Gomberg, Josek Zamel, Berek Kurtz, Hersz Lewkowicz and Hersz
Goldberg. It was still kept confidential, not out of fear of a disaster,
but because I wanted to have the awaited instructions in my hands first.
Everything was ready and we were supposed to call a meeting of all the
nine Council members at Gomberg's room, where each group leader would
receive a list of his group. Now we felt quite at ease to be trained
in handling guns because of the general confusion among the Volksdeutsche.
There was an order
issued by the A.K. Commander-in-Chief stating that, "cooperation
between the Military Authority and Jewish Organizations was not to be
limited to Warsaw and was to have embraced all of Poland." In February
of 1943, the A.K. Commander-in-Chief ordered weapons delivered to the
settled ghettos that wished to defend themselves. According to that
order, Polish Military Commands (A.K.) were to give all possible assistance
to Jewish communities subordinate to the Z.O.B., and the Coordinating
Committee. Implementation of that order, which the Jewish Organizations
and those who wanted to defend themselves in the slave labour camps
had been urging so strongly aroused opposition from the local military
elements. This order was sabotaged by some of the A.K. leadership in
the province and therefore I had to be very careful with the wishes
of the A.K.
Some group leaders
who were close to Wengliszewski knew that something strange was going
on in our "Block." He could not control himself from boasting.
In the beginning he had advised me to stay mum and now I told him several
times to refrain from talking until the time was right. I promised to
give him a free hand as soon as I received the instructions.
The next day, the
28th of July, the fireman told me that he had related my three requests
to his brother who left for Warsaw to have them resolved and that he
would be back in three days.
On July 31st, Bordo reported
the following to me, "Tomorrow, the first day of August, Warsaw
would rise up against the German Army, which was engaged in a battle
with the Soviets at the Vistula River. In case the Poles were able to
take over the Capital before the Russian troops entered, these uprisings
would spring up all over Poland. Meanwhile, all possible forces were
concentrated in and around Warsaw. If we wanted, we could leave tonight.
The A.K. had five trucks at their disposal with ten fighters armed with
machine-guns. Each of us would be equipped in Warsaw." Everything
was settled. The only thing his brother could not arrange was to talk
with the Z.O.B. members, because they were all at their military posts.
He relegated someone else to talk to the Z.O.B. and his brother assured
him that the Jewish Fighting Organization would take part in the General
Polish Uprising. Tonight at 8.00 p.m. his brother's friend would bring
the order from the Z.O.B.
I was not impressed
with all of that, and after he left, I talked to Gomberg about it, and
we both agreed that without an order from the Jewish Fighting Organization,
we would not comply with the wishes of the A.K. They would have to take
out all seven hundred people, for we would not leave anybody here.
Wengliszewski was
ready and anxious to leave with the first group of his close friends.
We argued and he finally agreed to wait for the order. Why should we
split up now, if we could prevail until August 1944? If one group would
leave, the Germans would kill the rest.
I had told the fireman
to come back with the order at 9.00 p.m. Wengliszewski could not rest
until then. He ran nervously up and down the stairs, so that everyone
noticed that something very important was going on. I did not see Apelowicz
during all that commotion as he relied on Wengliszewski for most of
the news and he preferred to shy away from big decisions.
I was sitting in my
room at the window and my eyes were glued on one point: the gate at
the guard house. The fireman was supposed to bring me an order from
the Jewish Fighting Organization that would inform me of an arrangement
for us to be transferred to Warsaw. We would be housed and taken care
of by the Coordinating Committee because many Jews living outside the
ghetto in Warsaw were cared for by them.
At last the fireman
showed up, but with his head down, and he said that the other messenger
did not arrive with the 8.00 p.m. train. Maybe something happened to
him and we should wait until midnight. He left downheartedly. I sent
Wengliszewski to tell Gomberg that they should all go to sleep and that
I would wait at my window. He did, but came back to pace nervously again
while everyone was uneasy and no one could sleep.
There were about twelve
boys living in my room: my brother and I, Chaim and Jakub Rosenstein,
Pinie Zyskind and his brother, Jakub Aisenberg, Israel Gruszkowski and
others.
As I was sitting at
my window, they too were waiting, this time sitting on their beds, as
they felt that something nerve racking was going on, but still did not
ask anything. Usually when Wengliszewski and Apelowicz came in, they
would leave the room. They knew that our room was being used for secret
meetings, but this night they stayed no matter who came in, since they
felt that sooner or later I would have to tell them.
I secretly admired
their patience and trust while I also hoped to tell them tonight that
they too belonged to the Jewish Fighting Organization. I was proud of
it and wanted them to be proud too, but I could not do it without proof.
Anyway, our destiny
was a different one. At midnight Waclaw Bordo came into the yard and
dejectedly told me that the messenger failed to arrive at 11:00 p.m.
He still insisted that I provide one hundred young fighters, which the
A.K. would take to Warsaw with five trucks. They were waiting for an
answer from me and I told him flatly, without consulting all the others,
that I was sorry, we would never agree to leave without the requested
order. We would not move without weapons in our possession anyway, as
we did not want anybody to do the fighting for us. He was gloomy and
could not say anything anymore, but resigned to it, he left.
I entered my room
through the window and tried to fall asleep. But who could sleep?
In the evening hours
of August 1st, we heard about this outbreak of fighting in Warsaw. Now
we could understand why their messenger was not able to bring the order.
Jews who lived illegally in Warsaw took part in the Polish rebellion
under the leadership of the Jewish Fighting Organization. Our contact
was cut off.
Now it was painful
for me to face people. It seemed to me that everyone was looking at
me, but no one asked any questions. Wengliszewski was unhappy with me
because I had not agreed to leave for Warsaw. Apelowicz had not showed
up for quite a while and I was still hopeful that our contact might
be renewed.
The Warsaw uprising
lasted two months, when it was suppressed by the overpowering German
Army. The Red Army stood silently by at the Vistula River, as this was
a political move. The Soviets did not consider the Polish rebellion
as one of their own. The Polish nationalists were too hopeful in the
beginning of the uprising and boasted too much. Alone, with quite a
bit of arms and manpower, they too found themselves no match to the
superior equipped Germans.
The leadership of
the Polish fighters capitulated because now everyone understood better
the heroic fight of the Warsaw ghetto uprising. The A.K. too saw themselves
isolated with no help from the outside against the most ruthless enemy--the
Nazis.
Seemingly, the secret
organization of Help to Jews were also involved in trying to get us
out of our labour camps. They wanted to get in touch with us, but somehow
did not succeed, as it was very difficult and dangerous for outsiders
to come close to the slave camps. The hard working and dedicated couple
of Tadeusz and Ewa Sarnecki came to Piotrkow many times to establish
a contact with the slave workers of our camps. In view of the mass concentration
of the German Military in Piotrkow, they could not get close enough
to our working places in order to contact us.
And so this eventful
summer came to an end. Director Christman showed his good will by offering
us a little bottle of vodka for our High Holy Days, and he even came
to listen to Kol Nidrei on the eve of Yom Kippur. He was happy
that the "Block" with his Jewish slaves was calm now.
With the fall weather
rushing in, and the Red Army still stationed at the Vistula River, we
felt very apprehensive and insecure.
PIOTRKOW JUDENREIN (FREE OF JEWS)
It was the 27th of November
1944 and a cold wind was blowing. The last leaves fell from the trees
and scattered all over the fields. Some were trapped near the gutters
fluttering temporarily, until they too disappeared from the ground.
There was something
else in the air. Gomberg, our camp leader was notified to prepare us
for evacuation and this did not please him at all. He was a sick man,
but here as our leader, he felt well and secure. Word spread rapidly
that we and the workers of the Bugaj, the last Jews of Piotrkow,
would have to leave as well. The Germans felt threatened by a Soviet
offensive at the Vistula River and did not need enemies in their midst.
The next morning the
SS men arrived. They yelled and rushed us in their usual manner and
loaded us with our meager belongings onto the train at the Kara
ramp. They unloaded us in Czestochowa, south of Piotrkow. Some male
prisoners were taken to Buchenwald and the women prisoners with a few
little girls to Ravensbruck. Some inmates from the Bugaj were
directly evacuated to Buchenwald, and some to Czestochowa.
My brother and I were
brought to the Hassag factory Czestochowianka, one of several
labour camps that housed ammunition factories. Here there were machines
installed from the slave camp Skarzysko Kamienna.
At this labour camp
we were taught a new trade - to produce bullets. The teachers were mostly
Jewish girls who had been interned here for a longer time. Their faces
were yellowish in complexion, as we looked fresh compared to them. In
a short time we were expected to know how to operate the machines or
we were punished by the foremen.
Our new environment
required a quick adjustment or it would be impossible to survive. The
worst part was going to work and coming back. In the yard, there were
always Kapos (Katzet-Polizei or Head foremen) or just
"hitters", who walked around beating up everybody in sight.
The worst offender of them all was a tall giant whom we called "Bulldog".
His real name was Szie Biodra from Chmielnik. He would walk around with
a whip, without feeling or conscience, like a robot, and hit everyone
in sight. Fortunately, we only spent about seven weeks here and I felt
very uneasy and helpless. Our underground group became separated. I
did not see Wengliszewski and Apelowicz anymore, as they were sent somewhere
else. My contact with the Z.O.B. had been cut off completely. Some minor
members of the Piotrkover underground movement gathered around me in
the hope that I still could piece something together and I felt lost.
I tried to find out where the Czestochover Bund leaders Kusznier and
Brenner were located. In 1943, I had seen to it that they were contacted
by the Coordinating Committee in Warsaw and they too received moral
and material help. I learned that they were also separated in two different
labour camps, Pelery and Rakow.
The overall conditions
in the Czestochowianka were so strict that I could not get in touch
with anyone in another camp.
On the 16th of January
1945, the Germans were forced to evacuate the Czestochowa slave camps
in a hurry. The Soviet Army closed in and bombarded the city. The Germans
did not have time to dismantle the machinery and rushed us out of the
barracks. We were led through a portion of the city to the train. The
SS men and their Ukrainian aides, with their familiar hoarse sounding
voices, yelled: "Los, Los, you cursed dirty Communists!"
while the bombs were detonating nearby. They were hitting us over the
heads with their shotgun butts and the whips landed everywhere. My brother
and I did not receive any blows this time, as we huddled together and
running on all fours, we became very small. They herded us into the
cattle cars and we were glad to get in. Later we heard that some prisoners
had been hiding in the camps and were then liberated by the Red Army.
They were very lucky because we were destined for a lot more suffering.
The guards closed
the cattle car doors, but did not bolt them. After travelling for a
couple of hours the train stopped and it was very quiet. We did not
hear the artillery and bombs anymore.
I was very curious
and opened the door very slowly. Peering out, I saw that the ground
was white from freshly fallen snow. I leaned out furtively and saw nobody
out side. Then I asked if anyone in our wagon wanted to get out with
me to see where we were. Nobody answered me. Most were still feeling
their wounds and glad not to be bothered. They were humiliated by being
taken to Germany against their will at a time when the war was finished
in Poland.
I jumped off the wagon
and proceeded slowly in the direction of the locomotive. I noticed another
open wagon. Closing in cautiously to the open door, I saw about ten
or twelve shotguns with little boxes of ammunition standing in the corner.
It was so quiet and eerie here and I leaned through the doorway and
looked to the left to see if anybody was in there. There was not a soul.
I ran further and in the first passenger wagon I heard some commotion.
I moved back a few steps and listened. The Ukrainian guards were drinking
and laughing with their guttural voices. I did not see the locomotive
at that time, so I ran back to my wagon and reported to my fellow inmates
what I had seen. They were not very interested. When I asked who knew
how to handle shotguns, Sumo Dudish, the leftist, answered that he did.
But he said it was of no use, they would kill us all anyway. I looked
at him with great pity. Then Hers Lewkowicz stood up and said that he
would join me to get the shotguns if a few others would do likewise.
Itzik Kleiman also nodded his head, but I needed more volunteers. Lewkowicz
suggested that the rest would pull knots. No one had a handkerchief,
so I picked up some straws from the floor, cut them to different lengths
and whoever would pull out a short straw would help bring the shotguns.
I needed at least ten volunteers. Kudish, seeing that his authority
as leader of this wagon was being challenged, fell into a rage. He scorned
us that we might ruin the serenity of this transport and that hotheads
like us, not knowing how to use arms, might get us all killed.
I was ashamed and
frustrated at not knowing how to handle weapons at this crucial time,
so I closed the door and sat down on the floor and started to feel hungry,
since we had not been fed. After a long while the locomotive was back
and the train began to move again slowly. We traveled all night.
In the morning I opened
the door again to find out our location. The sun was shining and the
weather was cool, but it was so peaceful here. Meanwhile, our train
crawled slowly onto sidetracks, and I saw a tall fence with barbed wire.
A little further, SS men with big German Shepherd-like dogs were standing
guard all around the fence. In a short time I saw the infamous, dreadful
sign:
KONZENTRAZIONSLAGER
BUCHENWALD
Arbeit Macht
Frei
When the train slowed to a
stop, the guards chased us out into a small yard and ordered us to undress.
While doing so, I noticed a ray of sunshine--so to speak--approaching
in the person of Nachum Wengliszewski with a big loaf of bread under
his arm. When he came closer to see who had arrived, he saw me and exclaimed:
"Chil, you are home!" I was speechless. What did he mean I
was home, I wondered. "Give me a piece of bread." I said to
him. "This bread is not for you. I will see you later." he
answered and left.
Meanwhile, I received
a smack in the back from an SS man because I did not undress fast enough.
People tore up U.S. dollars and English pounds and threw them on the
ground and stepped on them so that the Germans could not make use of
the money. This episode occurred around January 18, 1945.
We were naked and
trembling from the cold. They took us into a shack, cut our hair and
rushed us into the bath to be thoroughly cleaned. And then next we received
other clothing. I obtained a pair of big pants, the size of 48 or 50.
I asked for a belt that was hanging on the wall. "You don't need
a belt, you can hold your pants with your teeth from falling down,"
I was told.
After we were cleaned
and "dressed", they led us to a big barracks No. 62. The bunks
were overcrowded and we had to sleep on our sides. There I saw many
Piotrkover packed in on the multiple wooden bunks. The barracks was
huge, housing about 1,000 prisoners and it was not heated, but it was
quite warm inside and the ceiling dripped with steamy condensation.
Each morning and evening
we were driven out into the cold for roll calls (Appels), to
be counted over and over again. Sometimes we had to stay outside for
many hours, until everything was in order. I had to hold my large pants
with one hand and close my jacket with the other because there were
no buttons, and it was worse for others. Some did not have shoes and
they had to stand barefoot in the snow. Some did not have jackets or
coats, so they went outside for the roll calls wrapped in blankets.
Once, after the SS
Commandant had finished checking and had left, some pushing began. As
I approached the scene, I noticed a few men were beating and kicking
someone lying on the ground in the snow. It was dark and I could not
see very well.
The next morning,
the same group of men came into our barracks and beat up the big "Bulldog"
from Czestochowa. Later, when I saw him lying there on his bunk, which
was situated close to the door, his face looked even larger than in
Czestochowa. It was badly swollen and all bloody and his eyes were puffy
and closed, and he was breathing heavily. He could not get up anymore
for the evening roll call and was counted sick. This job was done by
a special "hit-squad" under the leadership of an inmate called
Gustaw, allegedly from Lemberg. He was tall, with light reddish hair
and he wore a Polish military uniform and shiny boots. He was the Block
leader of No. 66. The hit-squad watched every new transport of prisoners
that arrived in Buchenwald and inquired as to who had been the "bad
apples" in former camps. They then sentenced the culprits.
When Gustaw was informed
of a traitorous Jewish foreman named Heinrich of Berlin, he told the
foreman to hang himself. The cowardly foreman did not heed Gustaw's
advice, so two days later Gustaw returned with his aides and completed
the job for him.
Although I saw Wengliszewski
once with Gustaw and his "hit-squad", he did not keep his
promise to visit me. That was the last time I saw him. (Later Kudish
told me that he was killed by the same "hit-squad" he had
served). Allegedly he defrauded another inmate.
After a few days of
holding up my big pants, I decided to do something about it. I entered
the storeroom by climbing through a window and helped myself to a belt
(organized). After I carefully left the storeroom, I saw the Jewish
ex-Prime Minister of France Leon Blum, strolling along with an SS guard
at his side. He was dealt with better than we were.
In the early morning
we received black coffee and later a small slice of bread and a watery
soup and that was our daily food.
We were miserable
and hungry, but at least the young boys were treated much better here
than anybody else. Gustaw took care of that. This was due to the inner
camp administration headed by Dr. Herzog, former Communist Member of
Parliament in Germany. He surrounded himself with other Communist prisoners
and assigned them to help in his administration. His aides were also
sent out to other concentration camps.
It was very clean
here in Buchenwald. Once an SS man came into our barracks with his aide
carrying a loaf of bread under his arm. He announced "Whoever finds
a louse on himself, will get this loaf of bread." What we saw and
heard was incredible but true, the scheming "sensitivity"
of an SS man. Many prisoners began feverishly to look or just scratch
them selves. Maybe a miracle would happen to find a miserable little
louse on one's body and become an instant "millionaire" by
owning a loaf of bread. To be able to cut a piece from a loaf of
bread. This was our greatest dream in those dark years of starvation
and nightmares.
There was a heartfelt
commotion in our barracks one day when someone found a photograph of
a little boy and it belonged to a Piotrkover, Israel Uszerowicz. Seeing
a grown man cry from joy, kept many of us wiping tears off our faces.
This was a rare occasion to see compassion and sensitivity in a concentration
camp.
A new transport of
prisoners arrived from Auschwitz and Chaim Altman, a Piotrkover neighbour
of mine from Litewska Street came into our barracks. We were very perplexed
to see him because we had not known if he were still alive. He was taken
from the Piotrkover prison in 1941 and sent to Auschwitz together with
the Piotrkover "Bundists" from the Judenrat. Everyone
was curious and surrounded him, asking questions about himself and other
Piotrkover who had been sent to Auschwitz. He looked thin, but kept
himself well. I also wanted to ask some questions but could not get
close to him, so I decided to talk to him the next day. Hersz Lewkowicz
and other friends pleaded with him to stay in our barracks overnight,
but he said he had to get back to his own. Unfortunately, he was deported
to another camp the next morning.
After a couple of
weeks in Buchenwald, we were told to report to the Cinema. This was
the sign that we too were being dispatched to another camp.
FLOSSBERG
Again we were loaded onto
cattle wagons and taken to a camp called Flossberg, 30 kilometers from
Leipzig. From the railway station we had to walk through fields and
woods to the new camp. While walking, we looked for something to eat
and we found some cabbage roots in the frozen soil. There was a heap
of "clean" garbage near a house. Fruitlessly we searched for
a bone or some other kitchen wastes. Nothing! Why, oh why did the Germans
keep their kitchen wastes inside?!
At last we arrived
at the new camp, tired and hungry and we gathered near a big barracks.
The inside camp leader Vogt appeared in front of us. He was a political
inmate from Buchenwald with a red triangle below his number. He had
black hair and a dark complexion. He began with an inspirational speech
that I was not prepared to hear at this time and place. He said among
others, "that we should be brave and strong morally and physically,
because of the intolerable conditions here."
When he finished and
the confusion in my mind subsided, I approached him to offer congratulations
for his kind and encouraging words. Then I said with pride that I came
here with a group that belonged to the Jewish and Polish underground
movements and could he help us in any way. He was startled and said
that I should not talk about these things here. While we were talking,
the SS men arrived to give him instructions about the work to be done
in this concentration camp.
I went into my barracks
where we received soup with a small piece of bread which was the meal
for the whole day. The food was distributed by our Block leader Otto,
who was German with a green triangle below his number. He was short,
stout, pink faced and dragged his left foot behind him. He was sent
here from Buchenwald, where he had served his time for murder. When
someone asked him for another little bit of soup, he clobbered him over
the head with the big ladle.
Vogt, our camp leader,
came into our barracks the next morning and asked everyone out to form
groups. As we stood in front of our barracks, he chose three tall men
as foremen and gave each twenty prisoners, while he still continued
to inspect our group. When he came closer, he looked at me for a while
and singled me out as he remembered me from yesterday. He told me that
I would be a schieber. I asked him what it meant and he said
that I would soon find out. He told me to select ten people from amongst
the prisoners and before I could utter another word, my brother and
all my friends came running over to my side, along with others from
the established groups. Vogt be came impatient and removed all but ten.
He yelled: "No, no, only ten go with the Schieber.
As soon as all the
groups were formed, a lot of SS men arrived with scores from the "Hitler
youth." These young 18 year old boys were added to the working
groups in addition to the foremen and Schiebers. Each of them
had a revolver at his side and a stick or a whip in his hand. To my
special group, which consisted of my brother Faywel, Judel Kurtz, Noah
Rosenwald, Mosze Leber, Itzik Kleiman and a few others from the glassworks,
a young SS man was assigned.
We marched into the
forest to work. The first day was not too bad, because the SS man told
me that I had only ten people to do the needed odd jobs. He also said
we had to clear the stones here, because railway lines would be placed
through the woods and there was not much work to be done. When we returned
to our barracks in the evening, everyone was "happy." We drank
black ersatz coffee for breakfast, which some of us washed ourselves
with. Because of its awful taste, it was impossible to drink. We went
to work and the whole day we were not fed. At six o'clock in the evening
they led us back to our barracks and we received soup and a small piece
of bread.
Once someone stole
four loaves of bread. Forty people went without their portion. Our Block
leader Otto said that those who did not receive their portion would
have to suffer because there was no more. He suggested that if we wanted,
we could start searching and maybe somebody would find the missing loaves
of bread.
Those who did not
get their portion were bitter and laid down on their bunks, while some
of us started the search. Most were looking inside the barracks, so
I looked outside. Across from our barracks was the latrine where I went
to search, but found nothing. Frustrated I left the latrine and sat
down on a stump of a tree, thinking about where anybody could hide four
loaves of bread. I searched the outside of our barracks from top to
bottom, and in the open space between the bottom and the ground. No
one could get underneath the barracks because the opening was too narrow.
I looked at the wooden step and tried to move it. It was loose. I removed
it and there was a bigger open space where I pushed myself under and
began to crawl on all fours. It was dark and I could not see a thing,
so I wanted to turn around and get out of there, but I could not, because
of the limited space. Then I noticed something white on the left. Now
I was determined to get to the white thing at all cost. Although it
was cold (the month of February), I was perspiring and breathing very
heavily, while crawling on my stomach. When at last I got there, I found
the four loaves of bread wrapped in a newspaper. One loaf was already
started and instinctively I also wanted to bite into it out of vengeance
and hunger. It was quite hard to resist, having so much bread in my
hands. Another thought crossed my mind, even worse than the first one:
"Why not leave them here for myself and get rich? Oh, no! Shame
on me! What was the reason of my searching and getting here in the first
place?" But my conscience overpowered my steady hungry will.
I started my treck
back in the same position, i.e. crawling backwards. Now it was even
harder, because I had the bread to contend with. Still, I managed to
climb out of there with great difficulty and put the threshold back
in its place. It was completely dark now and no one was outside, so
I walked into the foyer of the barracks and on the right side there
was the Block leader's room. I wanted to knock at his little window,
but I was afraid of being punished for the missing piece of bread. Yet,
I gathered my courage and knocked. "Who is that?" he asked
angrily. "I found the four loaves of bread" I answered somehow
frightened. He quickly opened the door and looking at the bread, he
promptly asked me in. His pinkish face brightened up and it almost became
red with satisfaction. When I told him that I found one loaf with a
piece missing, he just looked at me angrily, but did not answer. I said
that this was how I found it under the barracks. He rushed out to check
how anyone could possibly get under there. He looked me over with his
penetrating sneaky eyes and I could see that he found himself at a loss
for words. I helped him out by showing him the wooden threshold. Then
he said that he would have also guessed that this was the hiding place.
He began to think, nodding his head, and said that he knew now who had
stolen the bread. "I'll soon get my hands on that S.O.B.!"
he said quietly to himself and gritted his teeth. Then he turned to
me and said: "Let us first distribute the bread." We entered
the barracks and he yelled out: "Achtung! Those who did
not get their portion of bread this evening, should come to the foyer
to get it." Then he pointed at me, adding: "This man had found
the stolen bread and you ought to thank him." Only those who really
missed their portion came to the front, as no one else would dare fool
him. He was still short of bread for two people, so he promised them
a double portion of soup next time.
The next day when
we left for work, he summoned the Jewish German Kapo who hated
the Polish Jews with a vengeance and always cursed us as unworthy citizens
of the world. "You Polish Jews are not even worthy to go to hell,"
he used to say.
Otto beat him so badly,
that we never saw him again. (We learned later that Otto hanged him).
That did underscore the food situation in our slave labour camp, because
even a Kapo had to steal. The hunger in Flossberg was incomprehensible.
People stole potato peelings from the kitchen, cooked them outside over
fire and ate them. It was noticed that after a long period of eating
this diet, some prisoners died.
The SS men caught
three Russians stealing potato peelings from their kitchen. They were
tall, emaciated ex-prisoners of war who could not take the hunger and
hard work anymore.
On Sunday, the SS
men called us all outside to show how they would punish the thieves
for their sin. They gave them picks and shovels and ordered them to
dig a grave, and they began to dig very slowly, almost in slow motion,
because they were undernourished like everybody else. The more tired
they got, the more the SS men yelled and rushed them and hit them with
their whips and sticks. When they fell down from complete exhaustion,
they poured water on them (we had water at that time in Flossberg),
revived them and yelled and hit them with the shovels. Two of them tried
desperately to get up while the guards were hitting them, but fell down
again. When they could not get up anymore, the SS men threw rocks on
those poor souls and then buried them, probably still alive. It was
heartbreaking to see such a transformation of human beings into apathetic
living creatures.
Hersz Lewkowicz, one
of my friends from the underground movement, worked in the SS kitchen.
From time to time he used to give some of us something extra to eat.
Once he stole a big piece of hot meat from the pot in the kitchen and
gave it to me, but I had to hide it quickly in my pants pocket and as
a result burned my skin. However, it was worth it. He also gave me frankfurters
and sent some with Szlome Yukel Pinkusewicz for me, but the latter never
gave them to me. Neither did Otto, our Block leader.
Before Lewkowicz acquired
this job in the SS kitchen, he worked at the most dangerous spot in
this slave camp. He had to climb up the trees and help topple them while
others pulled them down with ropes. He often fell to the ground together
with the big trees.
One morning another
young SS man was assigned to our small group. He was of Ukrainian background
and did not talk or yell very much because he had difficulty with the
German language. He was just looking at me while I was attending to
my group. As I did not have any experience working as a Schieber,
I really did not know exactly what I was supposed to do. In the afternoon,
the Ukrainian called me over to his side and said: "Go to the woods
and find yourself a stick." While I passed by my group, going to
the woods, my brother murmured to me: "I think he wants to start
something." I answered: "We will see."
I really did not see
any big sticks lying around and I picked up a thin little twig. When
I came back and the SS man saw that thing in my hand, he could not help
laughing and hit me lightly with his stick and said, "You must
see that these cursed animals work." He sent me back to the woods
for another stick, and ripped the twig out of my hand and threw it away.
I went to the woods and again I picked up a branch and returned with
it after a while. When he saw what I brought this time, he just looked
at me in disgust, shook his head and murmured: "What an idiot."
Later he told me, "Should an officer of the SS pass by, yell loudly,
Los, Los." I did and he felt better and he did not
have to yell or hit anyone.
Flossberg was a labour
camp without water or food and everything had to be brought in. Most
of the time it rained here and the ground was always muddy. We were
building an ammunition plant in the midst of a forest. We had to get
up to work at 4 a.m.
Mosze Leber, also
from the underground movement, asked me to talk to the camp leader Vogt
to give him some lighter work in the kitchen. As soon as I saw Vogt,
I waited some distance away because he was in a conversation and offering
the SS Commandant (Tzak Tzak) a cigarette. (They were very scarce).
After they finished their conversation, I approached Vogt and spoke
to him about Mosze Leber. I told him that the little guy was one of
my group from the underground; that he was weak now and would not be
able to continue working on the outside; that he should give him something
to do in the kitchen. He looked at me angrily, slapped my face and yelled
very loudly, "Here (meaning in a slave labour camp) we are at war,
we have to fight and be hardy to stay alive and I have no place for
weaklings! Los, Los, get away from me!" I left quickly,
astonished and humiliated and could not grasp why he would not understand
my plea for little Mosze. Maybe he received bad news from Tzak Tzak.
He was German and had no compassion. I never spoke to him again.
The working conditions
here worsened and we started to put down the railway tracks. The SS
officers ran wild and ordered everyone carrying the rails to run with
them. They were hitting everyone in sight. My brother Faywel was struck
with a stick across his right eye by the SS officer who had one rubber
hand. (We called him Lapka). Faywel had to be taken to the sick room
for repairs.
One Piotrkover named
Rosen, from Sulejowska Street, tried to protest the beatings he received
from the same SS officer (Lapka) because he spoke German perfectly and
told that SS officer that he was only half Jewish, therefore he should
be spared the punishment. Lapka became furious and beat him more severely.
The more he struck him, the more he protested, until he was all bloodied
and could not stand the blows any more. He reached the breaking point
and threw himself under a cattle wagon that was pushed by prisoners.
My friend Yudel Kurtz
was bigger than the rest in my group and he was the target for most
blows. Usually when my group had difficulties, I used to help out without
any interference from some SS men. But this time it was different. While
helping to push the wagon over a bad joint, I did not see Lapka looking
on our laborious task. He rushed towards me with his stick and hit me
over the head for my help. I was not allowed to help or maybe this was
his only excuse to utilize his itchy one-hand. The assigned SS man to
my group felt somewhat restless and he also wanted to get into the act.
While I was checking my head wound, I noticed him looking at me as if
contemplating something. Soon he called me over and began to ask me
some dirty questions. He was smoking heavily and observed my moving
away from him while exhaling his smoke. He did not like that and ordered
me to come back closer to him. He shouted: "Komm mal her Jude
Verrecke." (Come here dirty Jew). He continued shouting and
suddenly I saw his red beastly eyes closing in on me. "Open your
mouth you so and so," and I felt his strong claws force my mouth
open and let a mouth full of filthy smoke into mine. I could never stand
smoke, so I choked and coughed and moved away from him. Meanwhile, my
group was frightened and worked diligently. He was not satisfied yet
and ordered me back. "You look like a boxer," he said to me
with a satanic smile on his face. He raised his fists toward my face,
ordering me to do like wise, and in the meantime jabbing my nose and
face with straight lefts. I was bleeding but hesitated even to raise
a hand in defence of my battered nose. He just waited for such a move,
to be able to shoot me for a "reason". At that time, as the
Allied forces closed in, the SS men had a special silent order not to
shoot prisoners unless they tried to escape or for any kind of resistance.
As there were so few of us left to work, we were their protection against
being called into action at the disintegrating Russian front line.
As I was backing away
from him in a circular motion, hands down with swift head movements,
he recognized that I knew something about boxing. Seemingly, this infuriated
him more and he continued to hit me harder, saying: "Come on, come
on, let's see if a cursed (Verfluchter) Jew is able to hit back."
Different thoughts whirled in my mind, but I. had to persevere and stay
calm, so as not to get killed after all I had gone through.
I was bleeding profusely
and suddenly a daring thought entered my mind. "Yes, this way I
might get rid of him," I speculated. I stopped running and said
to him: "All right, I'll box with you on one condition." And
I continued, "Only if you take off your SS uniform." At first
he was dumbfounded for a moment at my request, but soon his face became
red with anger. He picked up his stick from the ground and struck me
several times all over my body. When he was through with me, he went
back to his observation post. Somebody from my group helped me to my
barracks. The next day I was assigned to another SS man, but this one
did not yell or hit, and he did not even carry a stick. He laughed at
the way we spoke Yiddish. He had black hair and wore a mustache. "You
speak with a throaty che-che, like the Dutch people in Holland,"
he laughed.
When the ammunition
factory had been built around February and powder had been brought in
to start the manufacturing of weapons, English bombers flew in one night
and demolished all installations. I fell off my bunk from the impact
of a nearby fallen bomb. I ran outside to see what was going on and
the sky was lit as if it were daytime. The bombers were cruising around
dropping their loads, but no German planes were in sight. The raid lasted
about fifteen minutes, after which it started to rain and the airplanes
disappeared; so I went back to sleep.
Next morning we were
awakened at dawn with loud whistles and shouts. The SS men ordered us
out of our barracks even without our usual "breakfast" - coffee
to get washed with. They chased us to the bombed out factory in the
woods where it looked as if a hurricane had passed. Since everything
here was built from wood, so the boards and planks were scattered all
over the forest. The bombs that failed to hit their targets made big
holes in the earth and they were filled with water from the overnight
rain.
How could the British
fliers distinguish wooden factory buildings from our barracks? Not even
one barracks received a direct hit, although one prisoner was killed
and several were wounded outside. I had a feeling that this was done
with the help of an insider and it seemed, in my mind any way, to be
Vogt.
This made the SS men
furious and they made us work out of vengeance and also they forced
us to carry the broken boards and planks through the holes filled with
water. We jumped into the water holes with our loads, but encountered
difficulties getting out. This was because the planks were soaked and
heavy and it was slippery. I saw the "Dutch" SS man yelling
at some prisoners and I told him that it would be a great deal faster
cleaning up this mess if we would carry the boards along the straight
road, instead of through the water holes. He did not hit me, but retorted
with gall and dismay in his voice, "This rotten job was done by
your three brothers: Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin. And you, you and
you," he angrily pointed to all of us, "have to clear out
that dirt." For a second I was pondering what he had told me. I
had not known before that I possessed three such powerful and influential
brothers!!! With that in mind I went quickly back to work, but my advice
did not materialize.
A few days afterwards,
they brought in a new transport with half frozen Hungarian prisoners
who died soon after because they could not adapt to the cold, hunger
and beatings.
Prisoners were always
disappearing, and they brought in others from different slave camps.
A transport arrived from Schlieben and among other Piotrkover was my
cousin Chil Bukowski. After exchanging some "niceties" about
our situation, he gave me a cigarette and a hint about what to do with
it. He knew that I never smoked, so he told me to look for dried leaves,
crush them and mix it with the cigarette tobacco. I did, and then divided
that concoction into five portions.
There was a sentry
of older Hungarian SS men in our labour camp and their barracks were
situated at the end of the camp, near the fence. Once I ventured into
their latrine that was situated across their windows. They were always
smoking heavily, so I decided that maybe they would like to exchange
bread for tobacco.
When no one was around,
I approached one open window where one of them was sitting and puffing
heavily on his pipe. When he saw me, he observed me very curiously,
not knowing what I was doing in this "neighbourhood." I showed
him one portion of tobacco, and with the other hand I put a finger on
my lower lip, indicating food. He looked at me somewhat startled and
when he observed my hand with the tobacco, he promptly grabbed half
a loaf of bread that was sitting on his table, looked out both ways
of his window, gave me the bread and took the tobacco. "Los,
Los, Schnell," he urged me to run along. Since that
beginning, I made several deals with him.
My brother became
ill and he was put into the sick room, and whoever went in there usually
never came out alive. The guards were inmates and they took away their
ration. I knocked out a back window and delivered bread and sometimes
butter to my brother. As far as I knew, my brother was the only one
to come out of there alive.
Berek Kurtz was sent
from Buchenwald to Flossberg, and after a couple of weeks being here,
he decided that this hell was not for him. He learned that they were
sending a transport of sick prisoners back to Buchenwald and he asked
me what to do, and I told him to be careful because "sick"
was a dirty word in concentration camps. I was afraid but he was willing
to risk it and decided to go ahead and he reluctantly went back to Buchenwald
and survived. He felt that he had a better chance of survival there
than here.
By the end of March
our rulers, the SS men, wanted to give us a spring cleaning. There were
no baths to take care of millions of lice, so we had to undress and
stand naked waiting at a wall. After freezing for half an hour, they
unleashed several fire hoses on us and not everyone was able to withstand
that. Each thrust of water in the cold weather knocked us against the
wall. There was no way out. How we survived that ordeal was beyond my
understanding. I urged myself, "Hold out now! Don't give up the
"bonus"! It really would be a shame to give up now."
I was not religious, and I could not be for what I saw happening during
this war. I had to reach out in my thoughts for some inspiration to
withstand this cruel "treatment." I reminded myself of Charlie
Chaplin's movie City Lights, when he said to his drunken millionaire
friend who was ready to drown himself, "Tomorrow, there will be
another day, the sun will shine again."
And so, with this
reminder I somehow overcame that sadistic treatment from the Nazis.
Besides cruel and vengeful SS men, we were also "blessed"
with German civil engineers just before the end. They were often competing
with the SS men to see who could hit harder.
There was one gray-haired
villain, who could and would not understand us at all. It was April
1945 and the German Army was retreating on all fronts. These German
civil engineers could not stomach what was awaiting them when they lost
such a successful war. So all their bitter disappointment they unloaded
on us.
My group was standing
around not working because we felt that their end was near. We did not
have an assigned SS man this day, and we felt very hopeful. I sent one
boy away to "organize" some sugar beets in order to fry them,
which we ate with great gusto. I, as a Schieber, posted myself
to stand "watch", to see if an SS officer would show up. As
I was concentrating my attention on the outside of the woods, I was
hit with a stick in the back of my head and I began to yell. I fell
down and lost consciousness. After I regained my senses, my group told
me that I was struck by the gray-haired engineer. During my ordeal,
I had shouted and warned everybody including my brother.
One engineer of middle
age was good to me. Although he used to beat many prisoners, he sometimes
gave me his lunch. Once he brought me an American leaflet that he had
picked up after an air raid. The American bombers raided the German
cities and towns usually in broad daylight. I read that the Allied Military
Command under General Eisenhower had asked the German population not
to support the German Armed Forces any longer. They had been beaten
on all fronts. This news gave my group new moral encouragement to hold
out a little longer.
Now, before the end,
Vogt decided to distribute new shoes to Kapos, foremen and Schiebers.
I did not go to get them because I was not talking to him any more,
but he sent an aide for me, so I went into his office. He sat with his
back to the door while his aide gave me two right shoes to try on which
I refused to put on. He took them back to Vogt and brought two left
ones. I saw that Vogt was amusing himself, so I got up and said to his
aide, "Maybe you could wear two left shoes," and I left. After
a while, his aide showed up in my barracks with a pair of good shoes.
One late evening,
Noah Rosenwald came running to me with sad news. He told me that Yudel
Kurtz had become very sick. It happened just before the evacuation of
our camp, so both of us went to see him and asked him what was wrong,
but he could not answer any more. He was just breathing very heavily.
We were frustrated because there was nothing anybody could do to help
him. The concentration camp was readied for evacuation. He died quietly
during the night. Many prisoners envied him, since for him it was peace
at last and I had lost a good childhood friend.
The next morning we
prepared to leave and as we were standing ready to march out, Tzak-Tzak,
the SS commandant, forced Vogt to take off his shiny boots and took
them away from him. He also grabbed the boots off the Kapo of
the electricians (this was the only privileged group in this slave camp).
THE AGONY OF THE AIMLESS TRAIN RIDE
We marched to the railway
Station where they packed us into cattle wagons so that nobody had space
to sit down. After a few dreary days of travelling aimlessly without
food or water, many prisoners died. Now we could sit or even lie down
and stretch out. Those who did not have shoes took them from the dead
prisoners.
The rumor amongst
the prisoners was that we were being taken to Mauthausen. Rosenwald
and I had decided to find a way to escape. Somebody had a knife and
we tried desperately to cut a hole in the wagon floor. We could not
accomplish anything because the floor was too thick and too hard for
a knife, so we thought of another way to achieve our goal.
My sick brother, lying
on the floor, was so weak that he could not get up any more. I kept
him alive by giving him salt to suck on in a piece of paper. When the
train stopped, we removed the dead bodies and we buried them in a foreign
land that was soaked with blood of our innocent people. While outside,
someone found a big bone from a dead cow and brought it into our wagon.
We tried to chew it, although it stank.
Once the train stopped
and the Red Cross people distributed a cooked egg to the prisoners.
By the time I took my sick brother out of the wagon, there were no more
eggs left for us. Afterwards they cooked some soup out of green leaves.
Lewkiwicz gave us a double portion, which we drank and vomited. Someone
repudiated Lewkowicz because he did not give him a double portion of
that soup.
Once we stopped and
they attached a women's convoy to our long train. We mounted the train
and continued our journey into the unknown. After a day and a night
the train stopped again. This time it was dark outside. When dawn came,
I lifted myself up to the little window and peered through the barbed
wire. I saw that we were in Pilsen, Czechoslovakia. The train stopped
because the rails had been bombed. Half burned cows were scattered over
the railway tracks. Farther away I could still see the smoldering smoke
from last night's bombardment. I lowered myself down and watched my
brother as he chewed the salty paper. I closed my eyes and half-dozed
off when the door opened and Arie and Shlome Yukel Pinkusewicz came
in loaded with lots of bread. They were Kapos in Flossberg, and
when the train stopped, they had gone in the dark to "organize"
bread. Everyone looked at them in silence with big hungry eyes as nobody
dared jump at them. I approached them and asked for a few crumbs for
my brother because I knew them well. The younger of the two brothers,
Szlome Yukel, got curious and crossed over to my brother to check as
to why he needed bread crumbs. As he saw him lying on the floor, talking
deliriously from fever, he got angry with me and shouted, "Why
don't you let him die?"' and he hit me over the head with his thick,
strong hand. I did not have the strength or stamina to hit him back.
I told him that if I survived, I would not forget this. He did not like
that and struck me again on the forehead even harder, so that I thought
I received the blow in the back of my head. I fell down from shock near
my brother and lay there helpless.
Lying next to my sick
brother, I was thinking, "Is this really a Piotrkover? Yes, this
is a Piotrkover who stems from the Chapuszes (catchers), the
underworld, the scum of the Staro Warszawska Street. What could I expect
of him?"
Why were they called
catchers? Because their fathers and grandfathers were underworld characters
and their job was to catch people wanted by the Tzarist police. His
older brother Arie stood on the side continually eating and did not
say anything.
Next morning at dawn,
while the train was still standing, I went up to the window again and
saw Czech workers coming to repair the rails. As soon as one of them
came near our wagon, I stretched out my hand as far as I could. He understood
that I was desperate for food, so he stopped and looked around and reached
into his lunch box. He climbed onto the step of our wagon and stretched
a little higher and handed me a piece of white bread. My first thought
was, "There is still white bread on this earth! Five long years
have passed by, without seeing white bread." I put the precious
piece of bread into my pocket and quietly lowered myself. I put small
pieces of bread into my brother's mouth, and he suddenly opened his
eyes, and I also ate some. They repaired the rails and the train moved
again.
ESCAPE IN A HAIL OF BULLETS
Later I discussed with Rosenwald
and others the possibility of escaping. I said that we were in Czechoslovakia
and they had bread here! I asked him to hold me while I untangled the
barbed wire from the window. A new fighting spirit surged into us! Five
persons agreed to jump from the moving train but I told them that I
would not jump without my brother. When he heard that, he protested
and decided to jump as well. Then I said to him, if he could only stand
up, we would all escape, and he retorted angrily, "What, I can't
stand up?" and in one motion sat himself up. When I saw that, I
knew we were going to make it tonight!
A light rain started
to fall and it became very dark outside. The little window was cleared
of the barbed wire and I planned the best way to jump from the moving
train, to avoid hitting the iron posts alongside the railway. It was
about 11 o'clock in the evening when we started our dramatic escape
to freedom. We had never realized what a spark of hope could do to skeletons
like us and even my sick brother's eyes became livelier.
Here we go! Noah Rosenwald
wanted to be the first to jump, so I lifted him up and with his legs
out first, he held on to the window on the outside. When the opportune
moment came, i. e. watching out for the iron posts, he jumped, while
at this moment shots rang out. We lifted my brother and we had some
difficulties holding him up at the window since we could hear more shots
being fired outside. I climbed up quickly, and let him go when I saw
an iron post pass. It seemed that some prisoners also escaped from other
wagons; the shots continued. Then they helped me up. The shootings intensified,
but I did not heed them because I wanted to get outside. When I held
on to the window outside, I also looked out for the iron posts and when
one came close, I jumped. As I fell into the ditch, a hail of bullets
whistled by. I waited, lying there impatiently until the train left
(it looked like it would never end) and the shooting subsided. It was
dark and still raining lightly.
I stood up and walked
alongside the ditch to find the others. First I found my brother still
lying in the ditch and he had a bruised eye from the fall. Then Rosenwald
joined us, and the three of us waited for a while to see if anyone else
would meet us.
We looked at ourselves
and said, "Are we really free? What do we do now? Where do we go
from here?" We felt like three musketeers in the middle of nowhere.
We had no money, no food and no real clothing to speak of. We looked
around to decide which way to walk and then we saw a dimly lit object
far away and decided to walk in that direction. We took my brother under
our arms to support him and we wandered in the dark of the night into
the free world.
After an hour of walking,
we arrived at a village where we found the window from which we had
previously seen the light. We did not know who lived there, so we decided
to go into the yard and hide in the barn. On the way to the barn, we
knocked over a vat with raw potatoes, so we grabbed some and devoured
them, As we entered the dark barn, we stumbled over a goat and tried
to milk her, but no milk. Then we found a barrel with oats, so we ate
them too. Our stomachs began to crave for more solid food (we just whetted
our appetite). I was determined to leave them both here in the barn,
and go out and knock at the window to see who lived there, but the curtains
were drawn. Then I mustered up all my courage and knocked at the door.
As I closed my eyes for a moment and thought, "I hope that it is
not a German." When the door opened, I let out a sigh of relief,
because a tall gray-haired man stood in front of me. He spoke in the
Czech language and asked who I was. I answered in Polish that I had
escaped from a moving train and I needed something to eat. He said that
he would give me food and asked me into his house. He did not say another
word and brought a jug of milk into the kitchen with a big round country
bread. Then I said, half mumbling, that I was not alone, and two more
of my companions were hidden in his barn. He was not surprised, opened
the door, looked around and told me to bring them in quickly. I did
and we sat down at his table and then he served us the bread with the
milk. I wanted to cut the bread, but I could not, because it was solid
and I was trembling from hunger and excitement. My dream to cut from
a loaf of bread had finally come true, but I did not have the strength
to do it, so our host obliged. He watched in amazement at how concentration
camp escapees feasted on their first meal in years.
After we finished
that big bread and milk I asked him for an onion which baffled him,
for he could not understand why I wanted only an onion. I explained
that although we were full, we did not feel satiated yet, since something
was still missing in our system. Later he said that he could not put
us up for the night in his house (little did he know how dirty we were),
because his son-in-law was German and he might show up any time. He
lit a lamp and led us to another one of the barns and put us up for
the night on straw among his cattle. He apologized and said that at
4 a.m. the next morning he would wake us up. He gave us an address in
another village where we could be hidden until the end of the war. He
told us that the American President Roosevelt had passed away a few
days ago (April 12).
We could not sleep
anyway because we were excited and dirty, and we could not wash or change
clothes. At 4 a.m. he came into the barn with another half bread under
his arm and explained how to get to the little town of Kdinie. We thanked
him for his kindness and hospitality and left.
We started out in
the dark toward our new destination and while we were walking on a side
road, the German Army with heavy artillery and tanks was retreating
on the highway. We rejoiced somewhat in seeing them proceed in the opposite
direction.
It was dawn when we
entered the little town, when suddenly a patrol of soldiers with machine-guns
appeared at the next corner. We got frightened and Rosenwald said to
get back. I said: "No, it was too late now, they might shoot after
us." We proceeded as if nothing happened and when we came near
them, they looked at us and one of them snapped in Ukrainian: "Do
you have any cigarettes?" I answered calmly, "No, we don't,"
and we walked passed them without turning our heads in their direction.
Our clothing consisted
of a pair of old pants, a jacket with a painted red cross on the back,
and a cap with the same painted cross on the top. These soldiers were
Ukrainian nationals who, under General Vlasow, served in the German
Army. They did not do anything to us because they too were in a precarious
situation with the oncoming Russian and Allied Forces, since they were
turncoats.
We arrived in Kdinie
and were directed to the given address, whereupon a family took us in
and served us breakfast. For the first time we could not finish the
food. We could not believe it! As our eyes were devouring the left over
food, we heard some voices coming from their basement. This family could
not accommodate us because they had hidden American, English and French
fliers in their basement. They sent us to another family and meanwhile
Rosenwald was able to obtain (organized) a German camera and took pictures
of us.
Later we were taken by a horse
and buggy to our hide-out, where we rode up a big steep hill to an abandoned
resort, which now served as a look-out. We entered a log cabin and began
to wash our only clothing and scrub our dirty bodies. That was some
job!
At two o'clock in
the afternoon, we were honoured with the presence of the past and future
Mayor of the little town of Kdinie. He was dressed in a black suit,
a Hamburg hat and brought us some lunch. He said that it would not take
long now before he was back in his former office as Mayor of this town.
In the evening his
wife brought us supper and, like a mother, she taught us how to start
eating again. "Slowly, children, slowly start eating now, because
your stomachs are not used to eating properly, they are like infant's
stomachs."
In the morning, their
two beautiful young daughters brought breakfast consisting of many cooked
eggs. They also cautioned us to eat one egg at a time.
In the early morning
of May 8 (my birthday), the American Army entered Kdinie and the Mayor
again sent the horse and buggy up the hill and took us down to City
Hall. The town was in an uproar and we were free at last! The City Hall
employees grabbed my brother and Rosenwald, and carried them up the
stairs. I did not allow them to carry me, proudly saying, "Now
I am a free man, and I prefer to walk up the stairs on my own."
They treated us with chocolate bars and later brought a camera crew
and made a documentary film. They showed us off as the first freed concentration
camp inmates. (It was later shown in the movie houses).
Later I went into
town to see how the Czechoslovakian people welcomed the American troops.
What a celebration! The women threw flowers upon the tanks and the soldiers
responded with chocolate bars and cigarettes.
We slept in the quarters
of City Hall with other freed Poles and Russians. The Czechs kept about
sixty captured SS men in the cellar.
The Czechoslovakian
Commandant in the City Hall took us down to see them. He called the
visits "seances." The way they appeared to me, I could not
believe they were SS men. Only after seeing their SS marks under their
arms, I exclaimed: "They look worse than us!" It meant they
got what they deserved! I had the honour of being the translator, but
in the beginning of the "treatments", they protested their
innocence, and some lied vehemently that they had never been near a
camp. Some claimed that they only worked in the kitchen, and that they
should be spared, and some pleaded passionately insisting that they
were "only guard." But they could not deny their tattooed
SS marks under their arms; so I questioned then thoroughly. My translation
of their answers gave the ex-inmates more meaning in carrying out the
punishment. They were severely dealt with by the Polish and Russian
ex-prisoners. This was revenge enough for me, because I did not have
the strength to do it.
My brother was taken
away by a freed Jewish doctor named Szwartz who renewed his practice
in his former house. After a thorough check-up, he sent him to a hospital
in a bigger town where they had a better cure for tuberculosis. Today
he is living in Israel, working for the Government.