OLGA'S STORY
Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts.
Although both my maternal and paternal grandparents lived in the same
town, Tarnow, I had a closer relationship to my mother's parents than
to my father's. This is what I know of them and their families:
Maternal grandparents.
My grandmother was born in Tarnow around 1860. Her maiden name was Dora
Brandt, and she had many siblings in Poland and as well as in other European
countries. I met many of her brothers and sisters and their families in
Lemberg (Lwow) in 1939 during the first days of the war. Except for my
two second cousins these families were completely annihilated during the
war.
I have a picture of my grandmother. In it she is standing looking at
an open book. This photograph is very telling. It shows that she is a
well-dressed lady, able to and interested in reading, thus a modern woman
for her times. Interestingly enough she was not religious, which was unusual
for a Jewish person in a small town.
When my grandmother was eighteen years old she married Jakob Mueller,
who was about six years her senior. My grandfather owned an inn in Tarnow.
Later in life he was struck with the so called 'Burgher's' disease - hardening
of the arteries - and lost first one leg and then the other to this terrible
disease.
My grandparents had five daughters and one son. Of their children only
two survived the Holocaust, my mother and her oldest sister. There is
a particularly tragic story about one of their daughters, Otilia. Otilia
married Mr. Lustgarten (I cannot remember his first name), whose origin
was Polish but who had settled in Berlin, Germany. Their two children,
Freddy and Ruthie were born in Berlin, and although the family was now
for all intents and purposes German, they were deported to the Polish-German
border in 1938 together with thousands of other Polish-born Germans. Germany
had expelled a segment of her population that now found itself without
a country. Eventually it was Poland that had to accept them, since they
were in fact still Polish citizens. Otilia and her family settled in Tarnow,
and it can be assumed that they were ultimately deported to Belzec concentration
camp together with other Tarnow Jews, most likely in 1942. Both my grandmother
and my grandfather died natural deaths.
A man, whose name would forever be linked to history, Sendel Grynszpan,
was among those who were caught up in the tragic circumstances on the
Polish-German border. His son Herschel lived in Paris at the time, and
hearing of his father's plight, he became desperate, bought a gun and
headed for the German embassy to see the ambassador. When he arrived at
the embassy he was, however, received by a secretary instead - his name
was Ernst vom Rath - and shot him. Vom Rath died two days later, which
caused a terrible uproar in Germany and resulted in the infamous Kristallnacht.
Incidentally, Herschel Grynszpan survived the war and ultimately testified
at the Eichmann trial.
Paternal grandparents.
As I mentioned, my father's parents too lived in Tarnow. My grandmother's
maiden name was Fanny Prokisz. When she married my grandfather, Gutman
Kurtz/Koretz, he was a widower with several children, who ultimately emigrated
to the United States. After the war I met one of the American siblings
in New York.
My grandmother had two children with Gutman, my father Joseph and a daughter
Ewa. Neither my grandmother nor my father ever spoke much about Gutman,
and I am not exactly sure what actually happened to him. Suffice it to
say that my grandmother became a single mother at an early age. To support
herself and her two children she ran a little store. I can still remember
its smell of tobacco. In 1941-1942, when our family had already fled to
the east, my grandmother wrote to my father that she might be deported
and asked him if there was anything he could do to prevent this from happening.
He could not, and she perished in the Holocaust.
My grandmother had a brother who lived in Berlin and was married to a
non-Jewish woman. She stood by him, despite pressure to do otherwise,
had two children with him, and ultimately the whole family emigrated to
America. Their son, Herbert, came to our assistance after the war, when
he was working in Germany as an officer in the UNRRA. He subsequently
lived in Washington and we kept in touch with him until he died. His sister,
on the other hand, showed no interest in our family. She was and still
is quite indifferent.
EARLY CHILDHOOD.
My parents.
My mother was born in Tarnow. She was the second oldest in her family.
Among all her siblings, it was Maria, her older sister, she had a special
relationship with, not only because they were close in age, but also for
a variety of other reasons. Maria eventually married Szymon, the executive
of a plumbing supply manufacturing company with several branches all over
Poland.
A nice looking woman, my mother was a caring and nurturing parent, wife
and sister. She was always concerned about the well being of her unmarried
sister and that of her only brother. She was generous, helpful and friendly
to strangers in need and she was tolerant and liberal. Her relationship
with her in-laws was excellent.
My aunt Otilia lived in Berlin at the time, and I can still recall going
to the post office with my mother to mail parcels to Germany. So vivid
is my memory of these outings that even today I think of them each time
I visit a post office.
My father was a handsome man and his appearance as well as the appearance
of others was always important to him. Early on he joined the Austrian
army and this is where he was taught the discipline and obedience he later
imposed on us. He was wounded during the First World War, and he kept
the bullet that was removed from his wrist, in the drawer of his night
table. He was an avid reader, kept up to date by reading different newspapers,
and it was he who instilled in me my love for books and libraries. My
father also enjoyed all kinds of sports. He played soccer and other games,
but his greatest love was skiing. When my sister and I were still quite
young he made sure that we too participated in sports. Thanks to him I
am still a good swimmer and only gave up skiing a few years ago.
My father seemed to be somewhat uneasy with women and therefore treated
them with a certain amount of condescension. For him women existed mainly
if they were attractive. Later on in life I realized that he had never
really known me at all, or what I was all about.
My parents met through my father's sister, who was friendly with my mother's
siblings. They got married in 1921 in Lemberg (Lwow). Their relationship
was a loving one, and although my mother did not necessarily believe in
some of my father's ideas or like some of the things he asked her to do,
she tried to please him at all times. My mother was a very strong woman,
and my father relied on her completely, something he would not admit.
He had mixed feelings about being Jewish. After the war he wanted to convert,
which my mother vehemently objected to.
At the time of my parents' marriage my father was working in a branch
of Szymon's company, located in a place called Boryslaw. It was important
for him to make a good living, and he always did. Boryslaw was a very
small place which, however, grew rapidly with the influx of engineers,
lab technicians, office staff, etc. when oil was discovered there.
Although my family was still living in Boryslaw when my mother was pregnant
with me, she went to her parents' house in Tarnow to give birth. This
is where my father saw me for the first time, and shortly afterwards he
took my mother and me back home to Boryslaw. There was only one problem
- they did not know how to name me. Finally my aunt solved the dilemma
by sending a telegram from Berlin: 'Name her Olga. That is such a beautiful
name.'
Memories.
Boryslaw was as I mentioned a small town, and life there had all the
characteristics of small town living. My memories of those days are fragmented,
because I was still very young. I can, however, remember a maid who loved
me so much that she often took me to church with her. We lived next to
a Jewish cemetery, which has now been demolished and replaced by a gas
station. None of my grandparents were religious, but I do remember my
mother lighting candles on Friday nights, at least early on.
My parents had many friends and I played with their children. Many of
these friendships have been life long, and thus lasted throughout the
war years. Even today I correspond with one of my friends who lives in
Australia.
I can recall one particular friend, who had a special collection of toys
like no one else. Her father was obviously well to do.
The daughter of one of my parents' friends became an architect, and survived
the war years by assuming a different identity. Ultimately she wrote and
published a book about her experiences.
Holidays were spent at different Kuhrorte (spas). Sopot near Danzig was
a beautiful vacation spot, and we enjoyed its beaches summer after summer.
I can recall a restaurant on a mountaintop with a beautiful view on the
Baltic bay. The adults enjoyed horse racing and a casino, which attracted
among others the American tourists who visited Sopot briefly while on
cruises. For us children competitions were held to determine who built
the nicest sand castles or sand sculptures. My parents would rent rooms
from a strict looking German 'Hausfrau' (landlady), dressed in black,
who never smiled. We visited a coffeehouse, where we were served cakes
with 'Schlagsahne' (whipping cream). Then one summer this came to an end.
At the entrance of this particular coffeehouse hung a life-size picture
of Hitler that had not been there before, and it was here that I also
saw Hitler's brown-shirts for the first time. After this incident we never
returned to Sopot. We still went on vacations though, albeit to a different
Kuhrort in Poland, called Orlowo. Here the beaches were segregated, one
for Jews and one for Gentiles. The Jewish side was crowded with Jews from
Warsaw and Lodz. Many hotels had signs 'For Christians' only.
My sister Irena was born in Boryslaw in 1928, and shortly after her birth
our family moved to Warsaw. My father, who had been working in the same
building where we lived, found an engineer, a friend of the family, to
take over his position when we left.
The move to Warsaw would change our lives forever.
WARSAW.
For both my parents the move to Warsaw was a difficult one. My mother
was confronted with many changes. The apartment was larger, there were
more social obligations and a richer cultural life, all of which was time
consuming.
As for my father, the move to Warsaw meant a bigger office to run and
more responsibilities
When my sister was two years old, she became very ill with a blood infection.
Penicillin had not been invented yet, and in order to cure her illness
she had numerous operations. My mother was at the clinic day and night
and never left her alone. Stephalia, my youngest aunt, came to take care
of the household. This was a very sad and difficult time for our family,
but without a doubt the ordeal was hardest on mother.
We continued to keep in touch with our friends in Boryslaw. From time
to time they visited us in Warsaw or we met at the seashore of the Baltic
Sea.
One of my mother's major concerns was my sister's and my education. It
was important that we attend good schools, and one was found with both
French and Polish curricula. There were ballet and piano lessons. But
anti-Semitism was already rearing its ugly head. The ballet teacher ignored
me completely, and even some of the teachers in school made anti-Semitic
remarks. I did have three Gentile friends though, with whom I correspond
even today.
Despite the increase in anti-Semitism, I loved living in Warsaw. It was
already a big city - about 1 million inhabitants - with a rich cultural
life. My parents made sure their daughters were exposed to everything
the city had to offer. We went swimming at an Officers' Club, which was
not yet restricted, to soccer games on Sunday afternoons and attended
concerts and theatres. I was transferred from a Catholic school to another
school, which although also Catholic, had a larger Jewish student body.
Slowly my world began changing. Now Jewish boys began inviting me to
dances at their Jewish schools. Since I was always a good student, my
parents made endless plans for my future. When Jews were no longer admitted
to Polish universities, these plans became more complicated. A girlfriend
and I spent much time discussing our future, which included living in
France.
We heard of more and more Jews, Zionists, who were planning to go to
Palestine, and some did. For the most part they spoke Hebrew and/or belonged
to different Jewish Zionist organizations. For my father this was not
an option nor did anyone in my parents' circle of friends plan such a
move. We simply continued our lives as usual.
My parents often listened to the news from Germany, but in Poland like
everywhere else there was a great deal of denial, despite the fact that
many German Jews had sought refuge in Poland at the time. I remember a
German doctor particularly well. She would come and see us whenever one
of us was sick. During her visits she would give my parents detailed information
about the situation in Germany. And still they thought 'Not here'. Some
German students began to appear in our school. Being parachuted into a
Polish speaking school without knowing the language must have been extremely
difficult for them. The only language they knew was German.
The atmosphere at the Officers' Club was gradually changing. Our family
went to see the Maccabee swimming pool, situated on the Vistula river,
but compared to 'our' pool it was very primitive, and we still continued
swimming at the Officers' Club. During our gym class in school we would
go swimming at the YMCA. One day my teacher told me that she did not think
that I should be allowed to join the others for this activity. It was
not appropriate for a Jewish person to swim at a Christian 'Y'. In the
end she relented, however. She was a kind teacher, who probably got her
instructions from her superiors..
In our building we had many different neighbors. A friendly physician,
who was always ready to help, a hostile lawyer whose little daughter was
calling me names, and a very devoted neighbor who invited us for Christmas
dinner, and in return my mother would send her Matzo for Passover. This
particular neighbor had two sons. One was killed during the war in an
accident, the other became a physician. When the war was over and I was
in Warsaw in 1946 I went to see our house, part of which had been totally
destroyed, but part of which was miraculously untouched. My old neighbor
saw me and invited me in. We cried, we laughed and we talked. In the end
she asked me to look up her son, who was working in an emergency clinic
located in a broken down building. When he saw me and realized who I was,
he was so happy that he lifted me up and whirled around the room with
me.
In 1939 we still vacationed at a Polish Spa, but this vacation was cut
short. One day, when my sister and I were swimming in the pool, my mother
came outside to tell us that we had to return to Warsaw immediately. General
mobilization had been announced, and because my father was an officer
in the reserve, we had to leave without delay. The train was packed. Nobody,
but nobody could imagine in his wildest dreams what was in store for all
of us.
Warsaw prepares to defend itself. The mayor appeals to everybody to take
a shovel and build trenches, and the country is in the grip of a wave
of patriotism. Now the question is whether to stay or to leave Warsaw.
My parents decide to stay for the time being. The media glorifies the
Polish army, which is, however, defeated within a very short time.
One day the phone rings. It is my uncle from Krakow, who advises us to
leave Warsaw immediately. My father hesitates, although even the mayor
encourages everybody to leave, especially the young men. Eventually my
parents together with two of their closest friends and their families
decide to heed my uncle's advice. My father tells us to pack only the
most necessary articles, as he believes we will be back in three weeks'
time. Everybody thought that England and France would come to our rescue,
and that the war would be a Blitzkrieg (a lightening war) only. The three
weeks' absence my father anticipated turned out to be forever. We would
never live in Warsaw again.
THE ESCAPE.
Evacuation of Warsaw had begun. Soon my family and our friends joined
the crowds of people on their way to the railway station. People arrived
in cars, trucks and horse-drawn carriages. Others came on foot, carrying
heavy bundles. My father and his friend wore their officers' uniforms.
Despite the enormous crowds on the train and the general panic, room was
made for us in deference to the uniforms, and this would happen in many
other places along the way as well. The Polish population respected its
army, and the officers in particular, and without a doubt the uniforms
literally saved our lives.
When the overcrowded train was suddenly bombed, panic broke out. There
was a dangerous crush to get off the train. We threw ourselves down in
a potato field below the tracks, hoping the field would hide us from the
Germans' view. Looking up above us we could clearly see the pilots in
their planes, so low were they flying. But they too had a clear view of
the potato field that shielded us, and began shooting. Many people were
killed. Eventually we got back on the train, but the Germans' bombs continued
to fall and we had to abandon the train. Our goal was to get to the east,
and during the next three weeks we are constantly on the move, traveling
by whatever means of transportation was available, horse and buggy, flatbed
trucks, etc.
One day we meet Felix, a colleague of my father's, who works for the
same company as he. His army division has been dissolved, as the army
and members of the Polish government have fled the country. Felix, has
become completely destitute. He has no shoes, no food and no money. Feeling
sorry for him even amidst her own troubles, my mother gives him something
to eat and some money.
Fortunately my father knew people in the different villages we passed
- he had met them through his work - and at times we would be offered
a place to stay the night and even take a shower. We were privileged even
under the present dire circumstances.
Eventually we arrive at a small town, Rowne, which has a large Jewish
community. The school principal gives us a room in his house. Many other
members of the Jewish community in Rowne follow his example and open their
homes to the refugees arriving in the little town.
And then one morning we woke up to Russian troops milling about in the
streets. To our surprise many of the soldiers were women. They drove the
tanks, repaired them when necessary, and thus played in important part
in occupying their new territory. The stores were still open and the Russians
were confiscating whatever they could. Consumer goods had been scarce
in the Soviet Union for a long time. When the local civilian population
saw their supplies disappear before their eyes, they were in a panic to
stock up on whatever was still available. There were long lines everywhere
and the money lost its value. Before long the Russians began to arrest
Polish officers, but my father escaped the round up. About two years later
these officers were shot in a place called Katyn. The Soviets accused
the Nazis of having committed this atrocity, until it was proven after
the war that in reality it had been the Russians.
In order to find an escape route out of Poland for themselves and their
families, my father and his officer friend make their way to Wilno in
northern Poland. But the borders are closed by now and no one can escape.
To everyone's great relief the two men return after about two weeks, and
the families are reunited.
A few weeks later my father realized the futility of staying in Rowne,
and we went to Lwow by train, where we had a large extended family. Here
one of my mother's aunts made room for us. The Russians had occupied Lwow
too, and were requisitioning rooms in every home. Our arrival was therefore
a welcome, albeit only temporary postponement of the inevitable for my
aunt. Eventually, after we left, she had no choice in the matter and a
Russian family moved in.
My aunt had had a maid for many years and she had been well treated.
When the Russians arrived, the maid began to think of them as her 'allies,'
and consequently, her behavior towards my aunt changed drastically. It
was now she who gave the orders and turned into a veritable tyrant. The
tables had turned.
The winter of 1939-1940 was one of the coldest winters we ever experienced.
My sister and I were finally back in school, a school full of refugees
from the west, most of them Jewish. Letters that were received from Warsaw
implied that life there was fairly normal, which gave fuel to the refugees'
pre-occupation with the question of whether to stay where they were or
return home.
In the meantime the Russians promote their own ideas for resettling people.
They are mostly interested in young, single people who are able to work,
and do not want to return to German occupied territories. On the other
hand they also introduce registration of people who are willing to return
to their homes under German rule. Many people who are unable to support
themselves in Lwow register, my father among them. But the registration
is a trick. The Russians consider this category of people suspicious elements,
who prefer to live under Nazi rule rather than under the Russian occupation.
As a result many of these refugees are arrested and deported to Siberia
and other areas in the Soviet Union. We escaped this fate by leaving Lwow
for Boryslaw, where we had lived so long ago. We found a room with friends,
and my father went to work in a branch of his Warsaw firm. It seems that
finally a measure of normalcy has been restored to our family's life.
Once again I attend a new school, and it is only two months until matriculation.
I do have a new group of friends, but I miss my old friends in Warsaw.
Despite the fact that our lives are quite stable, everything seems only
temporary, and we look forward to the day when we will be able to return
to our home in Warsaw.
Boryslaw is also occupied by the Russians. The population in Boryslaw
is Polish, Jewish and Ukrainian. Some of the Ukrainians, who believe the
promises the Soviet Union has made in the past, hope that the independent
country they never had will now materialize. Polish, Zionist, Jewish religious
movements and other nationalistic movements go underground. The Poles
hate the Russians, mainly because they do not believe in God, whereas
Poland is a devoutly Catholic country. But little by little even the Ukrainians
are losing faith in the Soviet Union as a partner in their struggle for
independence. The Russian ideology makes itself felt everywhere, in education,
culture and in the workplace. We are being slowly brainwashed. There is
a general fear of the future, because the society is lawless. People disappear,
they are arrested and deported. Innocent gatherings are treated with suspicion
and a birthday party ends by being dispersed.
Yet our lives continued to be quite normal in a way. I finished high
school and began to work as a secretary in a hospital. I met a kind young
doctor, and developed a crush on him. My sister and I went swimming at
a spa not far from us, and while visiting relatives nearby, I skied with
a group of friends.
What I really miss is continuing my education, but everything is on hold.
We hear from Warsaw that a Ghetto has been established. I receive a letter
from a friend who tells me that he goes to a 'pension' to work every day,
meaning that he is working in a labor camp. This friend did not survive.
Another letter comes from my uncle who now lives in the Ghetto with his
family. At that time, the occupants of the Ghetto are still able to move
about relatively freely, leaving and entering the Ghetto. My uncle manages
to remove some articles from our apartment, which he exchanges for things
he needs. The family did not survive.
On June 22, 1941 the war came to Boryslaw. As usual we woke up early
in the morning, but that day it was even earlier than usual due to the
noisy skies. German planes were on the attack, but since the radio neither
confirmed nor denied the outbreak of war, we were not sure what was happening.
What we saw were fires set by fleeing Russian soldiers. The oil fields
of Boryslaw were burning. It was a week marked by tragedy and culminating
in the occupation by the German army. Some people left with the fleeing
Russian soldiers. Those who did not, would live to regret their decision,
especially the Jews. On July 1, 1941 the German army arrived, victorious,
well dressed, smiling. I can recall my father standing on the sidewalk
with me, predicting that difficult times were ahead, but not in his wildest
dreams did he suspect, how difficult they would be.
GERMAN OCCUPATION.
With their usual efficiency, the Germans got organized the very first
day. Then they publicly proclaimed that 'free play' or a 'free for all'
would be allowed for 24 hours, which meant that no one would be punished
for any excessive behavior. It did not take the occupation forces long
to discover the bodies of a number of local Ukrainian nationalists in
the building of the Soviet Secret Police, now abandoned. This discovery
led the local population to accuse the Jews of being guilty of murder
and of being Soviet sympathizers. The mob needed no other excuse. Assisted
by people from the surrounding areas of the town and equipped with different
weapons, they began searching for Jews who were hiding trying to save
themselves.
I am at work in the hospital and a Ukrainian doctor advises me to go
home immediately. He has heard that something terrible is happening on
the main street, although he does not know exactly what. I heed his advice
and get home safely. After a brief discussion we decide to separate immediately.
We believe that the mob is mainly looking for Jewish males. Thus it is
my father who is in the greatest danger. Together with some other people
he hides in the barn close to the house, whereas my mother, my sister
and I take refuge in the bathroom. We hear ominous sounds coming from
our room, and we know that the mob is stealing whatever they can put their
hands on. Three hundred and fifty people were murdered that night in Boryslaw
- a veritable bloodbath. The bodies were given a Jewish burial in the
Jewish cemetery as soon as it became possible. Later the cemetery was
destroyed. Today a gas station replaces the gravestones.
My Aunt Stephanie and her husband were hiding in a Christian woman's
house in an area not far from Boryslaw. They were denounced and murdered.
Many other people shared their fate, among them an engineer we knew, whose
Soviet Russian superiors had begged him to flee with them, but he had
refused.
Soon new regulations are issued against the Jewish population. The name
of the main street, where many Jews, such as lawyers, doctors and businessmen
had been living and working, is renamed Adolf Hitler Strasse, and all
Jews are banned from this street. Armbands of a very specific design are
mandatory. Certain streets in poor dilapidated areas are designated as
a site for a future Ghetto, now only in the planning.
Since we are also living on Adolf Hitler Strasse, we too have to move.
Mr. Landes, an acquaintance of ours, who is an engineer and has been working
for an oil company for many years, owns a large villa. It is with him
and his family that we find refuge. The fact that the villa is surrounded
by a garden and a high wall, and that Mr. Landes owns a dog, convinces
my father that we will be safe here. But a few days after we move in,
the Schutzpolizei (Police) arrives on the scene, and soon they visit the
villa in search of household items, such as dishes and pots and pans which
they need to equip their new 'home'. My sister and I are told to carry
all the items to their post. Although we are afraid, we have no choice
but obey the Police. It turned out that all they wanted was the household
goods.
One night there was a knock on the door and a Ukrainian policeman showed
up with a list of names, among them Mr. Landes'. The policeman told him
to get dressed. His wife could not bear to see him leave without her and
insisted on going with him. They were never seen again. The following
morning their two daughters went to another town where they had relatives.
We heard our name being mentioned too and the policeman checked his list
but did not find it. Only later did we hear that the Ukrainian policeman
who arrested Mr. Landes had been working for him and had some kind of
vendetta against him. Once again the tables had turned.
We were able to remain in the villa that winter (1941-42) until the spring
of 1942, when German officials occupied it. Still in Boryslaw, we moved
again, this time to a street that was part of the Ghetto. Here we lived
in one room, sharing the quarters with another couple with two children.
The new move and the cramped conditions were extremely difficult to bear.
But we were together and still safe.
There are rumors abound of extensive actions against the Jews. We hear
about deportations from Warsaw. I receive a letter stamped 'Warsaw Ghetto'
from a friend. It is a gossipy letter telling me about all our friends,
but it was the last one I ever received from her.
Der Judenrat (Jewish Council), although totally manipulated by the German
occupation forces has been established. My father works in one of its
departments and so do I. I work in the so-called clinic, registering patients
- hungry and sick people - whom we cannot really help, because of the
shortage of medicines.
A Jewish police force was established mainly to keep order in queues
and to make sure that the Jewish population adheres to the new rules and
regulations. Once the deportations began they were in terrible straits.
They had to cooperate with the Germans and round up their fellow Jews.
If they refused, they were deported themselves. Eventually they would
all be shot.
The Germans confiscated all our jewelry and radios, and soon afterwards
we are told to hand over fur coats and any smaller fur pieces we own.
Ten members of the Judenrat, including a good friend of the family, stand
facing a wall. They are hostages to ensure that a sufficient number of
fur coats are handed in. My mother decides to keep one fur coat, so that
she will have something with which to barter for food. The fur coat had
belonged to my Aunt Stephanie, who as I mentioned before, was murdered
at the beginning of the occupation.
My mother put the fur coat into a knapsack and I was to take it to friends,
a Polish gentile family, who lived in the outskirts of the town. Ewa,
our main contact, was one of several daughters. One of Ewa's sisters was
married and had a child. They were devote Catholics and ardent patriots,
and whatever our request, no one ever asked any questions. Apart from
Ewa's brother-in-law none of the other men in the family were in Poland
any longer.
For this excursion I took off my arm band. I walked about two miles and
came to a bridge that I had to cross. Because of recent floods, the riverbanks
were in the process of being repaired by hundreds of soldiers. 'I just
cannot cross this bridge without my armband and with a fur coat in my
knapsack!' I thought to myself. But although I was terrified, I did cross
the bridge eventually. I could not let my family down. Relief flooded
through me when I realized that the soldiers did not pay any attention
to me. Nobody looked at me, nobody talked to me, and I reached Ewa's house
without any difficulties. Helpful as always Ewa took my fur coat, and
I returned home safely.
We sense that there was something sinister in the air and that a catastrophe
is imminent. Finally, in August 1942 one evening we see Gestapo jeeps
cruising. The air is heavy, the tension is palpable, it is silent and
there are no people on the sidewalks. We are all at home. A lone Jewish
man, who is a translator for the Germans passes by and my father asks
him: 'Mr. Haendler, what do you think I should do with my family?' He
answers: 'If I were you, I would hide them.'
At that time a German company was in the process of taking over the oil
fields. They were looking for workers, and my father and I stood a good
chance of being hired, which would in some measure guarantee our safety,
because the workers were essential to keep the oil production going. Since
my mother and my sister did not yet have Arbeitsausweise (working papers)
we decided that they should go to our Polish friends for a few days until
the present danger had past.It was a beautiful warm night, when I accompanied
them to the house where Ewa and her family lived. It was close to curfew,
but Ewa's house was still a couple of miles away. Walking in silence we
crossed a bridge and the fields and narrow streets of the suburbs. Here
and there we saw people, who were desperately searching for a safe place,
just to survive the next few days. It occurred to me that they resembled
mice looking for a hole to hide in.
When we arrived at Ewa's house I noticed a man standing outside, obviously
a neighbor. He appeared watchful and suspicious. Ewa and her family greeted
us and as usual asked no questions. They knew why we had come. Ewa worked
in town and was aware of the rumors of an impending action. Armed jeeps
were speeding by and there was an oppressive silence before the storm.
My mother, sister and I said good bye to each other with a heavy heart,
aware of the seriousness of the situation. When I left, the man had fortunately
disappeared, most likely because of the impending curfew. The warm evening
was sweet and calm, and for a few minutes I allowed myself to savor its
tranquility.
When I got back home my father was greatly relieved to see me. Going
to sleep that night was impossible. Loud voices shattered the silence
of the night, we heard knocking on doors, and crying intermingled with
gunshots. But somehow even this night passed amid mounting fear of what
the future would bring.
The next day my father suggests that we go to work as usual, assuming
that even now the oil company would serve as a shield. For the walk to
the German plant we decide to hide our arm bands. Mine was anyhow a homemade
arm band consisting of only paper and plastic, on which I had drawn the
Star with blue crayon. This was in direct violation of the regulation
arm band of specific measurements and consisting of white fabric with
a blue stitched Star of David. We bend our elbows and no one can see from
behind that we are wearing arm bands. It is risky, but by then taking
a chance had become a way of life.
Suddenly we hear the sound of heavy boots behind us, and we are both
convinced that this is the end for us. But a little Jewish boy is running
by us, and the soldier is so busy pursuing this child that he does not
notice us. We continue walking. In a house we pass two windows open and
two heads appear. Should they go to work or should they stay at home?
My father has no answer. I never saw those two women again. We see trucks
parked in front of the Jewish orphanage. Soldiers kick its doors open
and the children are herded into the truck. A woman is crossing the street.
Voices call out to her 'Komm hier zirre Puppe', and as she is a Viennese
refugee she understands what they were saying. She too is on her way to
work, caught barely a step away from safety and subsequently deported.
We finally get to our workplace, but we do not do any work for the next
few days. We are gathered in a big hall, normally occupied by the typists,
secretaries, bookkeepers and engineers and draftsmen of the company. Although
we feel safe, most of us have somebody on the outside to worry about.
The non-Jewish workers are in a separate area, but a friend of our family's
comes to see us. Compassionate as always, he offers to take me to his
office to give me a cup of tea.
We stay there for the next few days, sleeping on tables and desks. A
big kettle of soup appears. We hear rumors about who has been deported,
and who is about to be deported. Three or four days and a few thousand
missing Jews later, the action is over and we go home. The houses we pass
are empty on silent streets. Now we find out who survived and who did
not. The family we share our quarters with has been tragically ripped
apart. The husband survived, but his wife and children are gone.
To our great relief we found out that my mother and sister were safe.
However, Ewa and her family had in the meantime been denounced. Several
Germans had come to their house and told the son-in-law that they had
heard that he was hiding Jews. If they (the Germans) found them, he and
his little boy would be shot. The threat caused the son-in-law to faint.
While the house and the barn were being searched, my mother and sister
hid in the attic of the barn and were almost found by the Germans' probing
pitchforks. But luck was with them this time too. They would never forget
this terrifying experience.
When the action was over I went to fetch them from their temporary hiding
place. Under the circumstances it was unbelievable that our family had
remained intact, and in that moment we were just happy to be together
again. No one knew, however, how long the reprieve would last.
I decided to look up friends of mine, who used to live in what was part
of the Ghetto. It was deserted. Nobody was there, the street, the houses
and apartments were empty. Doors and windows stood open, and feathers
were flying in the wind. (The Germans had probably cut open the pillows
to search for hidden articles.) I could only hear the echo of my steps.
It was a ghost town.
The Jewish district was shrinking and once again we had to move from
our present home to other quarters. In the meantime a camp had been established
in some old army barracks. It was run by the owners of the oil company
my father and I worked for, and set up to house the Jewish community of
Boryslaw. The head of this company was a twenty-seven year old German,
who had never joined the Nazi party. For one reason or another he did
not object to having Jews work for him. This was somewhat of a puzzle,
but ultimately we realized that he was protecting us by protecting himself.
It was imperative for him to keep the oil company in operation, as he
would otherwise have had to fight on the eastern front, and we were available
and inexpensive manpower. After the war when Yad Vashem issued medals
to be awarded to gentiles for saving Jews, his name was suggested as a
recipient of such a medal. But there was too much disagreement among the
survivors whether the young German was deserving of such an honor and
Yad Vashem was never approached.
People slowly begin to move to this camp, mostly unattached people. Once
in the camp they were virtual prisoners, always accompanied by a guard
to work. Since we are a family of four, we are still able to remain on
the one street that still belongs to the Jewish district, and my father
and I continue to work for the oil company. Everyone is preoccupied with
the thought of finding a safe place to hide. The plans are always secretive,
no one must know. We hear rumors that someone is digging a bunker in the
forest, others are looking for places in cellars and attics. Still others
are creative and build false walls, false cupboards etc., but we hear
all the time that people are found in their hiding places and taken to
the police. The truth is that there is no safe place, there are no guarantees.
We are constantly in danger.
A new employee appears in the company. We are told that he is not Jewish,
and he flirts with a pretty Ukrainian girl at every opportunity. We too
are watching her, because she wears beautiful clothes, a different outfit
every day, and we suspect that she is hiding someone, who either pays
her or gives her the clothes. After the war one day, when my family and
I were walking in a park in Krakow, the same man approached us. We recognized
him and he confessed that he was, in fact, a Jew from Lwow and that he
had managed to get hold of false papers during the war, which had saved
his life. Flirting with the Ukrainian girl had merely been a shield. He
also told us that he had been very concerned about us at the time, but
could not say anything without giving himself away. We had several similar
experiences after the war.
One of our friends, who worked in the same company as we, foolishly spread
the news that he had bought a gun and this, unfortunately, became public
knowledge. Several Gestapo men walked in one day, and we were sure that
we would all be arrested. They had heard that someone was rumored to have
a gun, but did not know who. One of the Germans started shouting that
all of us were armed. A friend of mine, a short man, somewhat of a schlemiel,
was summoned by one of the Gestapo men purely at random: 'Du Moses, komm
her.' He beat him, his glasses broke and he collapsed. The Germans left,
we helped our friend, and the man with the gun was instructed never again
to divulge that he owned a gun. He had endangered our lives, which were
spared only by some miracle.
People in hiding places are uncovered by the police and sent to the camp.
Some are shot on the spot, together with those who are hiding them. At
the same time we begin to hear rumors that the Russians are approaching
- albeit not fast enough. There are also encouraging 'reports' about the
situation on the Western front. Despite the fact that there are neither
newspapers nor radios, we always get the news somehow - from a 'news agency'
called 'a woman told me.'
People already in the camp were still looking for hiding places, even
if they had been found once or several times. They also urged us to try
to hide somewhere, because they did not believe that we would be left
in peace, even though we were working for the oil company. Since I was
old enough to be on my own, my father decided that the time had come to
obtain documents for me that would allow me to exist as an Aryan, preferably
in Warsaw. It was easier to disappear in a big city, than in a smaller
place. I got in touch with gentile friends in Warsaw to let them know
my plans. They replied that I should write when I intended to come. Their
reaction to my news was quite remarkable, considering the times we lived
in. I never did go to Warsaw. But two good friends of mine took a chance,
and in line waiting to buy tickets at a railway station nearby, they were
arrested, sent to jail and shot. Why were they murdered? The reason was
given that infectious diseases were raging in the prison they were supposed
to be sent to, an explanation only the Germans could think of.
A young woman lived in the same house as we did. She was the secretary
to the German owner of the oil company, a refugee from Germany and exceptionally
intelligent and attractive. She was always very discreet, but she would
share with us whatever news she had that would benefit us. She survived
the war, but severed all relationship with the past and emigrated to the
States.
In the spring of 1943 all the people who lived in the house in which
we lived as well as in its surrounding areas had to leave, and now the
only place to go to was the camp. There was no other choice for our family
either - by that time we had stopped counting the moves - although going
to the camp seemed like a last resort, which it was. The Jewish district
outside this camp had ceased to exist.
The camp area was surrounded by a fence, complete with watchtowers occupied
by German guards with guns. At the entrance of the camp a German guard
was posted night and day. Leaving the camp was strictly forbidden. Nevertheless
people climbed over the fence and ran away to the forests nearby. We lived
in barracks, but we had our own room and a small kitchen, which gave us
some measure of privacy. We were also able to have our meals in our quarters.
On our way from camp and work and back to the camp at night German guards
would be watching us closely. Now we were virtual prisoners. A large column
of people would leave for the oil company every day, for they required
many types of workers, such as technicians, engineers, draftsmen, manual
workers and office workers.
From a town nearby, Drohobycz, the place from which the writer Bruno
Schulz hailed, friends arrive to stay with us on the way to a hiding place.
We too are becoming more and more insecure and aware of the necessity
of finding a place to hide. So far we have no prospect.
Rumors were circulating that a school friend of mine was building a bunker
deep in the mountains, to house 17 people. The bunker was equipped with
bunk beds, food, and access to water. Those who were ultimately hiding
there were in danger at one point, but they survived by sleeping during
daytime and venturing out at night. One day they discovered a little note
written by a German walking in the woods with his dog, expressing his
regret that people had to live under those conditions. Partisan groups,
Polish underground groups, Soviet Partisans who had been dropped into
Poland by parachute, as well as refugees from different ghettos also roamed
the woods. The Jews, however, were not always welcomed by the other factions.
A number of young men in the army barracks decided to run away to the
forest. I knew many of them, and I had gone to school with a few. Several
of us were aware of the time and date of their planned escape. A few days
later we heard that everyone was shot or murdered, except maybe two of
them. Usually it was impossible to find out the reason for these tragedies.
Most often the Polish underground was accused of murdering the Jews or
else the local population.
In the meantime my father is looking more determinedly than ever for
a place to hide. We hear of such a place and take a chance to leave the
camp to take a look at it. A Ukrainian man had decided to build an extension
to his house to be used as a hiding place. More by intuition than by any
evidence we found, we decide that this is not the place for us. The farmer
does not seem compassionate and does not appeal to us at all. I have a
terrible feeling that he is building a grave for us and that we would
perish there. We eliminate this prospect. We have to look for something
else.
In the spring of 1944 the Chief of Gestapo arrived and announced the
pending deportation of the Jewish population. 'We want to protect you
from the Soviet Army,' he claimed, and mentioned the town to which we
will be deported. It was all lies of course. That night people fled to
the forests, bunkers, cellars and attics, wherever they hoped they would
be safe.
My father was of the opinion that, if the Russian were approaching as
fast as was rumored, we would be liberated in the foreseeable future,
and we might have a chance to survive after all. The search for a safe
place to hide became crucial. A friend mentioned a place that my father
felt would be acceptable. It was a room in the attic of a cottage on the
banks of the river. The couple who lived there made it clear that they
wanted to improve their lifestyle and would have to be paid for risking
their lives by hiding Jews. (Years later, when Yad Vashem announced their
plans to honor those who saved Jewish lives by awarding medals to 'Righteous
Gentiles', those who accepted money did not qualify. They were simply
called 'helpers.')
There was one big problem, though. We did not have the money to pay for
this hiding place. My father had no choice but approach a friend in Warsaw
who worked for 'his' company. A message arrived that the money would be
available immediately, and another Gentile friend picked it up in Warsaw
and paid our 'helpers' directly.
My mother and my sister reluctantly left for our hiding place as soon
as it was possible. I stayed with my father in the camp, waiting until
the very last minute to leave, and in fact thereby risking our lives.
The reason for this was two-fold: During the time we had spent in the
camp, people had begun looking up to my father, recognizing his leadership
qualities. He felt that he did not want to abandon them until it became
absolutely necessary. Furthermore, we realized that once in the attic,
we would lose even the small measure of freedom we had now and we would
be cut off from everybody and everything. In fact, my mother and sister
sent us letters begging us to let them come back to the camp, so that
we could be together, but that was of course impossible under the circumstances.
However, many people had no choice but to return to the camp. They had
gone into hiding on the assumption that the Soviets were on their way
and that the end of the occupation was close at hand. Unfortunately, since
this was not the case, their money, food etc. ran out, and going back
to the camp was their only alternative.
One day my father decided that I should go and visit my mother and my
sister. He said, 'I want you to go on Tuesday,' I said 'maybe Wednesday?'
but he insisted 'No! Tuesday.' And my fate was sealed.
In the last few weeks the supervision in the camp had become much more
lax, and people had begun to sneak out. It was obvious that some kind
of change was on the horizon. So my father decided that I too could take
a chance and try to leave the camp. And sure enough when I reached the
camp gate, the guard on duty did not seem to care about who was coming
and going. He did not even look like the guards we had gotten used to.
The German who stood there resembled more my uncle than an enemy, with
his pot belly, glasses and a smile that lit up his round face. And so
I was on my way.
I pulled off my arm band with the Jewish Star and put it into my pocket,
and for the first time in three years I walked on the sidewalk, which
was strictly forbidden to Jews. But I was fearful. Suddenly I heard heavy
steps behind me. I panicked - had I been recognized? Should I step down
from the sidewalk? But before I could decide what to do a German soldier
had passed me without giving me a second look. A farmer was carrying a
basket full of cheese. I looked longingly at the cheese, but no, I could
not ask the price. Another farmer carried a basket full of violets. How
I loved flowers! But again it was too risky to find out how much they
would cost. As I continued walking I met housewives with baskets full
of fresh food. Were they going home to sit down at their kitchen tables
with white tablecloths to have a cup of coffee? The world outside ours
was so colorful, so spacious, so free. I could hardly even imagine living
in this kind of a world any more.
A soldier guarding a quarry nearby whistled a tune and called out to
me. I was terrified. Should I listen to him or simply ignore him? I did
not know which would be more dangerous, and I simply continued to walk.
Although I did not have the address where my mother and my sister were,
I recognized the house from my father's description. There on the banks
of the river stood the little house with the red roof. I climbed up the
outside stairs to the attic and knocked on the door. The person opening
the door asked for the password and then I was inside and reunited with
my loved ones.
The room I came to, was the kitchen, then there was a long hall and at
the end of the hall was the only bedroom, which our family shared with
the husband and wife who were our helpers. The toilet was in the hallway.
While talking to my mother, I thought to myself that this was after all
only a visit and that I would be returning to the camp later on. But suddenly
and unexpectedly Ewa, our Polish gentile friend, arrived with a note written
by my father. It said that under no circumstances was I to return to the
camp, because rumors abounded that a freight train was waiting on the
station to deport us. However, with his usual optimism he added that the
train might after all only be used to transport oil. In any event he would
join us in the evening. But he did not come, we did not sleep all night
and two notes were delivered the following morning, one from Ewa and another
one from Ferri, another gentile friend of the family. The notes warned
us not to leave our hiding place under any circumstances. Both Ewa and
Ferri had seen my father walk to the station with all the other people
from the camp, but they told us not to worry, they would do everything
possible to take care of us. There was nothing we could do, but sit and
wait and hope.
Suddenly we heard my father's steps on the long corridor. The door opened,
and he walked in. His hair disheveled, he sat down on the sofa and told
us that he had run away from the train. He told us: 'I spotted Mr. Pietz,
a Volksdeutcher (German of foreign nationality) who works for the oil-company.
On my way to the train I had noticed a hole in the fence that surrounded
the train station. I told Mr. Pietz that I wanted to give him the keys
for my desk, so that he would be able to use it now that I was leaving.
In return I asked him to walk with me to the fence. I knew that no one
would watch Pietz's movements. He accompanied me to the fence and in so
doing protected me.' Perhaps Pietz had felt it was safer to save a Jew
than to shoot him, because of the proximity of the Russians. My father
succeeded in getting away, while others who tried the same route were
shot. And so began our 4-month' life in hiding until the Russians liberated
us.
We shared the small room with our two 'helpers.' They slept on a bed
and we had small cots that we shared. The only times we could use the
bathroom was in the morning and at night. Under no circumstances could
we leave the room while the couple was away at work. There were people
living downstairs who were not supposed to know that we were hiding in
the attic and we had to avoid making any kind of noise, at all cost. Our
'helper's' wife would bring us food. She was honest and would always tell
us the true price, although had she wanted to she could have named almost
any amount. At the same time she had to be extremely cautious when shopping,
since she suddenly needed twice as many loaves of bread and other products,
which could arouse suspicion. Likewise, although she could not afford
to buy a pair of leather boots before, now that she owned a pair, she
did not dare to wear them, since the neighbors would ask her how she could
suddenly afford such a luxury.
And how did we pass the time? We read, my mother wrote a collection of
proverbs and played solitaire and prayed in her own way. Ferri visited
us a few times and provided some diversion. He brought a book, a loaf
of bread, a smile showing his support. He gave us the latest news, and
he came as though this was a normal social visit and not one that involved
a serious risk.
One day my father announced that, come what may, he had to go to the
bathroom. It happened to be a Sunday and our 'hosts' (the husband actually
called us his guests) had a visitor, a relative of theirs. They were in
the kitchen, while we were in the bedroom in total silence. The visitor
needed to use the bathroom, but my father had locked the door. He immediately
went back to the kitchen wanting to know who was in the bathroom. When
he did not get an answer, he became suspicious and asked: 'You are not
hiding Jews, are you?' Since our 'helpers' did not want to confirm or
deny it, he began to threaten that he would go to the police to denounce
us all. Our 'host' came to us and told us that we were in serious trouble,
and described the situation. My father decided to face the man. But how
could he appear dignified with slippers on his feet? Despite the risk
of being heard downstairs he put on his officers' boots, went into the
kitchen and addressed the guest. 'You can do what you want, but I have
connections to the Polish underground, and the day after liberation they
will know about you and you will not be allowed to live,' he told him.
But my father realized quickly that his approach might not have been the
wisest one under the circumstances, and asked the guest how much money
he wanted. He named a price and my father agreed to pay, in return for
his promise to keep quiet about what he had seen. Our friend in Warsaw
paid the bribe. Despite the fact that he could have accepted our money
and still have given us away, the man was actually honest enough not to
denounce us.
The town is bombed by the allies, and everyone is trying to find refuge
in cellars or other safe places. But we must stay in the attic, it is
far too dangerous for us to venture out. Our pale faces might betray who
and what we are. My then 16-year old sister is hysterical at first, but
eventually manages to control herself.
Our 'helper' decided for some strange reason, that the air raid siren
was not sufficient warning for an imminent air raid and asked the landlady
downstairs to ring our bell in advance of an attack. But there was no
bell, and an electrician was called to install one. We were instructed
to hide in a kind of storage space in a corner of the attic, prior to
his arrival. The attic was actually very large, and on the way to our
cubicle, my foot caught a dry plank and went right through the floor.
How very lucky that only the wood broke and not my leg! The space that
we thought would hide us from the electrician's view was narrow and confining
and we sat close together, hardly daring to breathe. Suddenly we saw the
electrician approach and soon he was face to face with us! What was going
through his mind? He looks at us and turns around and leaves.
Our dilemma was terrifying. What are we to do? Do we tell our 'helpers'?
Is it fair not to tell them and risk their lives and ours? Is silence
better than words? If we tell them, it would surely be the end for us
and perhaps for them too. Our indecision actually decides for us - we
will not to tell them and hope for the best. As it turned out the electrician
never did denounce us. He became our hero.
The tension mounted day by day. Here we were six people sharing a small
living space, and it took its toll. One day our helper came to us, claiming
that she had been followed while crossing a bridge. She simply opened
the door and told us: 'You will just have to leave.' At this time we knew
that the Soviets were very close and that it was just a matter of days
before we would be liberated. But my father refused: 'No, we cannot leave
now.' So she threatened that she would not bring us any food. My father
did not object. Then she told us that she would bring us horse meat, and
again my father gave his silent approval. The next day, evidently having
had a change of heart, she brought us flour and water that my mother put
to use immediately. Our 'helper' had obviously relaxed, because she too
could see the end.
Each day the sky became redder and the booms of the artillery became
louder. One day our 'helper' made us aware of a crack in the wall of the
attic, through which we could look down on the street. We knew what we
saw was the beginning of the end, German soldiers fleeing, many of them
with bandages covering their wounds or limping along. Liberation was imminent.
RUSSIAN OCCUPATION.
The long awaited Russian army finally moved in to Borislaw on August
8, 1944. A few hours later our 'helper' opened the door and told my father:
'The Russians are here, now you can leave. But your family must stay until
it gets dark.I do not want my neighbors to see that I was hiding Jews.'
My father leaves and returns with a big smile on his face, announcing
that the world outside is beautiful. In the evening all of us leave the
attic for the first time in four months and set out to the center of the
town. Many people, who like us, have emerged from the forests, bunkers
and other hiding places, are gathered here. I am uneasy. I feel as though
we are part of a circus, for we are surrounded by the Polish citizens
of the town, who simply stare at us. No one speaks to us, except for one
woman who turns to us and says: 'Congratulations. You are free.'
'Free' to do what? We have nowhere to go, no roof over our heads. We
must look for a place to stay. Eventually, after walking the streets for
a while we come upon an empty apartment, which the Germans had apparently
just left. For a few days we allow ourselves to enjoy a comfort almost
forgotten. In the meantime the new occupation forces of the town of Borislaw
are looking for suitable housing, and it does not take them long to find
'our' apartment. In no uncertain terms we are told that we must vacate
our temporary home. We are back on the streets again and totally dependent
upon the kindness of different people to let us stay with them for a night,
or two or three.
It takes time to get used to 'freedom' again. It is not possible to forget
the years of danger and deprivation in a matter of hours, yet I soon begin
to feel that I am regaining a measure of dignity and hope. I write in
my diary: 'The grass is greener, the flowers are more beautiful and the
sky is bluer than ever before.'
We had hoped that the Russians would treat us well, but that was not
to be. We soon realize that in their eyes we, the Jews, could only have
survived by participating in high treason or cooperating with the Germans.
They are not interested in what we have to say, and a wrong word or simply
a defiant look was enough to cause some of our fellow Jews to be severely
punished. The Russians' official attitude towards the Jews is not one
of trust but one of suspicion.
When we were liberated we had only a vague idea of what was happening
out west and of the killing grounds of Germany. Later we found out the
full extent of the horror of the death camps. Europe was still occupied,
but we knew that Germany had basically lost the war. The Soviet army was
pushing ahead, but the Germans were resisting and fierce battles raged
on all fronts. For the Russians it was all a matter of winning the war,
no matter how many lives were lost. To celebrate their victories, young
Russian men and women danced in the streets, playing the accordion and
singing. Once the different towns were occupied by the Soviet army, schools
were reopened and the Soviet administration took over.
In the meantime we are still looking for a place to live, while we spend
the night wherever we can. I decide to visit a nun with whom I worked
at one time. Perhaps she has an old bed or a mattress that she can give
us. She is back in the convent, but she is not willing to extend a helping
hand. It strikes me as strange that the nuns are so noisy, but it was
actually I who was used to whispering, and only by comparison do their
voices sound so loud.
Before we went into hiding we gave a few items to some of our neighbors
for safekeeping. For the most part they are returned to us, but when they
are not, we do not argue. Food is scarce and I try to improve the situation
by looking up a few acquaintances, in the hope that they are willing to
give me some potatoes or cabbage or whatever ever else they grow in their
gardens.
We meet other people who have been in hiding, and exchange stories of
our experiences. Before we know it, and although we still have not found
a permanent home, our life assumes a measure of 'normalcy.' My sister
goes to school. One of her teachers remembers her from before. During
class one day she asks a question, my sister picks up her hand, but the
teacher rebuffs her: 'I do not want a Jewess to respond.' Nothing seems
to have changed. Anti-Semitism is still rampant. Even that is 'normal.'
We attend a gymnastics performance at my sister's school and my parents
meet friends for coffee, all of which indicates a slow return to the kind
of life they remembered. The conversations between my parents and their
friends often concern their relatives who have disappeared and who they
hope will now return.
Eventually we found an apartment, and felt more settled. My father returned
to work for the same company he worked for before the war. I myself was
impatient to resume my education and left Borislaw for Lemberg (Lwow),
determined to go back to school. We had many relatives living in Lwow,
but when I looked for them no one was alive. Out of curiosity I visited
a flea market on my rounds in the city, although I had no money. What
could the vendors possibly offer for sale? I realized later that the clothes
they displayed had belonged to the murdered Jews of Lwow. The first Polish
merchant I met asked me in a rough voice: 'And where were you hiding?'
Before leaving Boryslaw I had been given the address of a married couple,
Fred and Lidia, who were living in an apartment in Lwow. The owner of
this apartment, an opera singer called Stefa, had been hiding this couple
for several months. Fred was a doctor and had been accompanying transports
of wounded Russian soldiers back to the Soviet Union. Now he and Lidia
were going to leave for the newly established Polish government in Lublin,
and Stefa agreed to let me stay at her apartment in their place. However,
since I had nowhere else to go, I was able to move in immediately.
A few days before Fred and Lidia's departure a Russian officer appeared
at the gate late at night, insisting that he had moved to this apartment
building that morning. Fred explained to him that, due to the curfew that
was in effect at 7 p.m., the janitor who lived next door had locked the
gate from the outside. But to appease the Russian Fred looked for the
key everywhere, however, to no avail. When he told him that he was a Polish
officer, and he could not do anything to help him, the Russian pulled
out his gun and shot Fred. We all heard the shot. Fred was able to run
a few steps and then collapsed in the very apartment, in which his life
had been saved. Fred's death was tragic, the more so because he had survived
the German occupation, only to die at the 'liberators' hands. He and Lidia
had been the only survivors in their families. For Lidia this was a horrible
blow, but she had to leave Lwow as planned, her husband in a coffin. I
remained in the apartment. In time I came to realize that the perpetrator
of this crime would never be brought to justice.
I did not lose any time going to the university, where I visited its
different departments. One of the professors asked me: 'How will you manage?'
'Manage?' I wanted to make sure that had I heard right. After all we had
been through, I knew in my heart that, in future, I would be able to manage
anything and overcome any obstacle. I had decided to study agricultural
engineering, not because I was particularly interested in this subject,
but because Palestine especially needed people with this type of education.
Among the survivors going to Palestine was always a distant possibility.
At the university I never divulge my past and never tell anyone that
I am Jewish. I meet Russian students, who are resettled in Poland, some
Jewish students among them. They are afraid to talk and whisper sometimes
that, where they come from there is hunger and extreme poverty. On one
occasion one of the students opens his coat and we see that he wears nothing
underneath.
On a one-week school break I returned to Boryslaw to visit my family.
My mother asked me to stay an extra week, which I did, but not without
consequences. When I returned to Lwow I was called in to the office of
the Secret Police and questioned about the extra week I stayed. I realized
then that my movements were watched and that one of the students was spying
for the Russians. Fortunately I had a legitimate excuse. Due to floods
in the region, some of the bridges could not be crossed for a while, which
I claimed had been the reason for my delay. This explanation was accepted,
although it was not true of course.
The university was often invaded by the Secret Police, mainly to check
the students' documents. Arrests were not uncommon, especially among the
former members of the Polish underground. One of my colleagues asked my
landlady why I did not go to church on Sunday. They obviously suspected
my origins.
I still feel threatened, and that danger is ever present. Because I am
so insecure I imagine that my safety depends on others and that I must,
therefore, ingratiate myself by offering my services. For instance I asked
the head of the student council if I could get him a loaf of bread while
standing in line anyhow. Eventually I come to dislike the kind of servility
that I have adopted, and do my best to overcome it, although it would
take time.
Nevertheless my life is changing for the better. I am happy to be in
a big city and take advantage of what it offers in terms of opera, theatre
etc. My first time at the movies turns out to be a scary experience. How
do I conduct myself? Do I look at the screen? But by the end of the performance
I realize that this is a truly enjoyable pastime. I also study hard to
make up for lost time and am happy in the knowledge that I am making progress
day by day.
In the meantime my parents decide to leave Boryslaw for Krakow, as does
most of the remaining Jewish community of the town. The situation under
the Russian occupation had become quite intolerable, so once again they
pack their belongings and move on. I will follow them after I finish my
first year of university.
The Soviet army occupies more and more of Poland and by the winter of
1945 almost the whole country is in Russian hands. Finally, in May 1945
the war is over. However, for the Jewish communities in Poland and elsewhere
in Europe there is no rejoicing. Too many lives have been lost, and we
do not even know the extent of the catastrophe yet. Then suddenly the
whole world is on the move. Former concentration camp prisoners go east
trying to locate relatives and friends, and from the east people go west
- anywhere.
My parents had in the meantime arrived in Krakow, and I followed them
as soon as I could. My sister waited for me at the railroad station and
I have never forgotten one of the first things she said to me: 'Every
afternoon I eat a white roll with butter and have a cup of cocoa.' I answered
incredulously: 'I cannot believe it.'
Krakow is a beautiful city, totally untouched by the war. As the city
is full of refugees, it is very difficult to find apartments and we sleep
in horrible places, but now at least there is hope and we know it is only
temporary. My father is working for the head office of his old company,
so we are among the lucky ones who have an income. My mother buys whatever
she can from Russians who travel from west to east and steal whatever
they can on the way. Sometimes it is a bar of soap, sometimes a bundle
of cloths that may or may not be rags, etc., but compared to most others
we are comfortable.
People return from the camps in their striped prison uniforms and shoes
that do not fit. Most of them are emaciated - skeleton like - with short-cropped
hair and pale faces. My heart goes out to them, they make me want to cry.
We know quite a few of the survivors, and they have somehow found out
that we are alive and that our family is intact - a miracle. My mother
becomes a surrogate mother for many of the young people who lost their
families and are now all alone in the world. When they knock at our door,
she is always ready to help in whatever way she can.
The newly established Jewish Historical Institute located in every large
city where survivors return, not only arrange for their immediate care,
but make sure that their testimonies are recorded. Jewish American Organizations
like the JOINT and UNRRA as well as individuals in the United States do
their best to help the survivors. Total strangers send money and parcels.
Once again we are among the lucky ones, as we get help from relatives
in Canada and in the United States. Their parcels contain useful articles
- clothing and food.
Hardly anybody returns to the small villages in Poland for fear of being
killed before even looking for their loved ones and their belongings.
There is a major pogrom in the town of Kielce, where 40 survivors are
killed, accused of blood libel. This is a signal that the Jews have no
choice - whoever can must leave Poland.
My parents never returned to Warsaw, because the city had been totally
destroyed by the Germans, but my sister and I did, to attend the unveiling
of a monument on the site of the former Ghetto. Survivors from everywhere
participated in this ceremony, including people who had come from Israel
to look for their loved ones. We marched with thousands of other people
through the streets of the city, waving Zionist flags and singing songs.
It was an incredibly moving experience. Among those watching us were German
soldiers clearing the rubble on both sides of the streets.
While the Jews are planning their departure from Poland, I am continuing
my studies at Yagellonian University, and my sister is in her last year
of high school. There are always reminders that we live in a country where
we are not wanted. The principal of my sister's school, a woman, insists
that my sister comply with the Christian religion, and when she refuses,
she makes her life miserable. In a restaurant, one evening, when some
of us begin to dance the 'Hora,' we are told to stop because this is a
national dance and cannot be tolerated.
A Jewish Student Association, consisting of a variety of factions, such
as Zionists from the 'left,' 'right' and 'center,' as well as Socialist
groups, has been established at the university. There is constant bickering
among the different groups, the main topic of discussion being whether
we should stay in Poland or leave the country for good. The only thing
that can unite us is planning and organizing a party.
We know people who are lucky and are able to leave for America. They
share their first impressions with us, and tell us with pride that their
pictures appeared in the local newspapers. In the beginning, when only
a few received their visas they were a novelty in their new country. They
would describe how happy they were and how good life was in America, when
in fact most of them had to struggle to make ends meet. We have made contact
with my mother's sister, who is now in Canada and has engaged a lawyer
to arrange for our visas.
While we were waiting to emigrate I was in my last year of university.
Despite all our problems, our existence was fairly pleasant, albeit influenced
by our apprehension of our upcoming departure for a new country.
It was very difficult to emigrate to the States, because of an existing
quota system, and for many their main destination was now Palestine. The
Haganah sent representatives to Poland to recruit the Jewish youth for
its organization and to encourage them to go to Palestine illegally. Many
availed themselves of this opportunity and left. They ultimately fought
in the War of Independence, where a great number lost their lives.
The bureaucracy in Poland is terrible, and the officials fight us every
step of the way in our preparations to emigrate. They request endless
lists of things that we are planning to take out of the country, down
to the last book. This too is becoming a war of nerves.
The most difficult part of leaving Poland was saying goodbye to friends.
My parents and their parents before them had been living there all their
lives, and even for my sister and me it was a difficult time. When we
were finally ready to leave, I can recall that friends, who came to the
railway station to see us off, had mixed feelings. On one hand they were
happy for us, on the other hand they were jealous. But we actually met
many of them again, some of whom I am still in touch with. I never returned
to Poland, because I could not bear to be there without the friends I
lost during the war. Both my parents visited Poland again. My father was
a witness at one of the trials of a former Gestapo in Boryslaw.
On our way to Canada we went to Prague and to Paris where we spent a
few weeks. Coincidentally a friend of the family was in Paris on his way
to Australia. He stayed at the same hotel as we, and he helped us get
around in the city that was completely strange to us. We visited all the
important sites, and because it was Passover I was sent to the Joint Committee
to get Matzo. To my big surprise the young man who distributed the Matzo
was an old childhood friend. Needless to say, we were happy to see each
other and could not stop reminiscing and talking about our past. So much
had happened, since we last saw each other. A few weeks later we left
for Le Havre, and boarded the 'Samaria,' together with a few other Jewish
refugees. Many Polish workers were on board, immigrating to Canada like
us. They greeted us with a sarcastic 'here are our Polish Jews.' Among
the workers was an old school friend of mine. As I had no desire to reestablish
our relationship, we made some casual conversation and parted.
The voyage was for the most part very pleasant. The sea was calm, no
one got seasick, and after about two weeks we arrived in Quebec City,
where we were reunited with my aunt.
We were safe at last.
MONTREAL
From Quebec City we traveled to Montreal, which was our destination.
We stayed with my aunt Maria and my uncle Szymon (Simon) in their apartment
on Queen Mary Rd. That first week was like a dream. Smells, sights and
sounds were different and strange, and the comfort of our new surroundings
calmed our frayed nerves. My aunt and her family were extremely loving,
trying to make our transition as easy and pleasant as possible.
In Poland my uncle had been a wealthy man, the equivalent of a CEO of
a company manufacturing and wholesaling plumbing supply, in fact the very
company my father had worked for all these years. Even before the war
my uncle had visited Canada, but had decided then that this country was
not to his liking. However, I believe that he even at that time invested
some money in Canada, just in case. At the beginning of the Second World
War he and his family left for Palestine and from there they emigrated
to Canada - after all.
In 1949, when we arrived my aunt and uncle were already settled in Montreal.
My uncle had opened the same type of business in Prescott, Ont. as the
one he had been in charge of in Poland, and in time it became a financial
success. My aunt spent her time socializing among the German and Polish
immigrants, who had arrived in Canada before and after the war.
That first week many people called to invite us, they were curious to
see what we looked like. Although many of my aunt's acquaintances claimed
that they were interested in finding out how we had survived the war,
it turned out that this was not really so, and therefore we never brought
up the subject. However, my mother would tell my aunt, that we had gone
through hell and that, when my father and I left for work, she would never
know if she would see any of us again. For a very long time I was equally
reluctant to speak of our past.
Among my aunt's friends, there were those that we were sure would help
us but never did, and others who surprised us and did.
After the first week's 'honeymoon' we started looking for work. My sister
and I hardly spoke or understood any English, as we had only studied French
in school. However, my father's knowledge of English was good, so he was
in a better position to find suitable work. My first job was in a pharmaceutical
company, counting pills. Here everyone spoke French, albeit a dialect
that sounded strange to me and I did not understand. At the end of the
first day someone told me that now I had to sweep the floor, which turned
out to be a daily routine. But I could not afford to be choosy, and this
job brought in $18.00 a week. Ultimately, through connections, I received
a phone call. A position for a lab technician at the Allan Memorial Institute
was available. Did I want to come for an interview? I realized that this
might be the opportunity I had waited for and responded immediately. I
was hired by Dr. Bernard Grad, who would be my protector and mentor during
the coming 2-3 years that I worked at Allan Memorial. In fact, we developed
a lasting friendship and I am still in touch with him and his wife.
My father became a bookkeeper in a construction company through a friend
from Warsaw, my sister went to work in the office of Frost Pharmaceuticals,
and my mother crocheted at home, which earned her some pocket money.
Once everybody was working we moved from my aunt's apartment into our
own on Monkland Ave. Soon we began to enjoy a normal life in our adopted
country. My parents developed new friendships, mainly among the Polish
immigrants. Their life-style remained European, meeting for coffee on
free afternoons and visiting each other in their homes. Lake Placid became
their favorite vacation spot, and in time they went for a visit to Poland,
to Israel, and even to Florida.
As for me, I too socialized mostly with other immigrants. But two years
after we arrived in Canada that would all change. I met my future husband
Ben, who was Canadian born, and through him I would meet young people
with a totally different background than my own. In the beginning I felt
intimidated among Ben's friends, always aware of being a stranger in their
midst. My English was still poor, and I carried with me a Polish-English
dictionary wherever I went. However, in Ben's company I was soon very
comfortable, because he always accepted me for what I was and never considered
me different just because I was born in Poland. Six months after we met
we were married.
My children were born, 2 boys and 1girl, the girl being the middle child.
As a mother of three young children I thought it imperative that I stay
at home with them. I spent the next 10 years as a full time mother, but
began to prepare myself for the future by taking courses in education.
When the youngest child was school age, I was hired by the Protestant
School Board as a Special Education teacher. The school was located in
the Department of Child Psychiatry at the Jewish General Hospital. While
working there I returned to McGill University for my Master's Degree and
continued teaching until the age of 71.
In my busy and fast moving life there was not much time to deal with
the past. However, if, during those years, I happened to meet someone,
who was genuinely interested and really wanted to know about my past,
I would tell this person things I had not thought about in quite some
time.
And finally when I retired and wondered what to do with my free time,
the Holocaust Center came to mind. I had come full circle - I had to go
back.
|