Zimmermann: Finally, Fatherland (?)

Michael Zimmermann

How I Survived the Wars and Peace:
My Life in the Gulag

Chapter III. Finally, Fatherland (?)

Bear with me and don’t ask what is the significance of the question mark. We will come to it further on, or you will guess yourself.

Our train arrived at the Warsaw station late in the night. Two cabs brought us to the house where mother’s parents lived. You can imagine the surprise of the Nadelmans when all at once their daughter whom they did not see for four years and who, as far as they knew lived in far away Moscow, suddenly appears at their door with four grown-up children. Although the German-Russian warfare ceased, no regular correspondence had been yet established between the two zones. Aunt Cecille, mother’s youngest sister and her son had their room in the grandparents’ apartment. Mother’s brother, uncle Maurice lived in the same building so we, the new arrivals, split between the two apartments and found temporary shelter. After a day or two, mother rented a huge room not far away from her parents’ place and we moved to our first civilized place since our departure from Moscow.

Historically, these were very interesting times. Germany was losing the war to the allies, and soldiers of the army of occupation in the former Russian territory had just one wish: to go home. In Warsaw streets, I was witness to curious events. Two, or more young Polish boys, not much older than myself, were approaching an armed German soldier and taking him prisoner. He willingly surrendered his weapon and followed the youngsters to some place of concentration where he would safely wait for the end of the war. Very soon, a provisional Polish Government was created and the country was reborn after more than 150 years.

Back in Moscow, schoolchildren were obliged to wear a school uniform. Mine consisted of long gray-coloured pants and a blouson, all supplemented with a wide leather belt fastened by a brass clasp bearing the school initials. An ankle-long overcoat, bottle-green with yellow facings and two rows of gold-coloured metal buttons supplemented my uniform. On the head a military style cap of similar colours. As I was rather short for my age, I looked like a general of some midget army and I noticed that I attracted attention of passers-by, or at least I felt this way. Across the street from where we stayed there was a tailor’s establishment, and mother took me there with the request that my martial appearance be altered to something more civilian. In the meantime, I had to wear my sister’s coat, while she was at home. While I was at a store in order to buy something mother wanted me to, the salesman spoke to me as to a girl. That was the limit of my suffering and I refused to go out until my altered coat was delivered.

This was the month of November and too late to enter any school. Moreover, my language of education was Russian, the only alphabet I knew was Cyrillic, thus, I was not fit to enter a Polish school. A professional tutor was engaged to lead me into the new world. The first day, he took me to a bookstore and presented me with a book: Jules Verne’s "The Children of Captain Grant." For years, this novel was like a bible to me. Whenever I was bored or felt sad, I opened the book at random and, although I could recite the coming text almost verbatim, immersed myself into the plot.

In spring 1919, mother rented an apartment consisting of four spacious rooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a large alcove. No furniture. Now, a very delicate situation arose in our extended family clan. As you might remember, while we were in Moscow, uncle Robert removed all our furniture from our previous place in Karmelicka street to save it from the dishonest temporary tenant who was supposed to be its custodian. Robert considered the very expensive sets of furniture his war booty and did not show any inclination of parting with them. Robert’s wife, aunt Penia was an exceptionally decent person, and she prevailed on her husband to do a decent thing and to return to his sister what, after all, belonged to her. Living room, bedroom, dining room furniture plus the grand piano and assorted wardrobes were returned to us and we moved to our new apartment where we were to live for almost fifteen years.

I would like now to describe an event as seen in the perspective of 75 years. When we returned to Warsaw late in 1919, the owner of the commercial building where father’s business had been moth-balled, somehow learned about our presence in the city. He requested, quite legitimately after all, that the place be vacated of the furnishings as he had a prospective tenant in sight. Mother sold all movable furniture and had carpenters dismantle the heavy shelves and counters. On the day the latter were to be removed from the building mother was supposed to be present as was the landlord. Mother took me along. At a certain point she had to absent herself and she left me there to supervise the proceedings. I was 12 and stupid, and, somehow, I felt proud to represent one of the parties. I look at the situation now, after three-quarter of a century, and I shed bitter tears and my heart is bleeding. Each piece of shelving or counter was a fragment of a shattered dream of a man called Meir Max Zimmermann. I can only surmise that all the time father was travelling long hours in trains all over Europe, or in various hotels where he stayed, he dreamed of having his own business and being his own boss. He saved money, collected experience and good relations with the clientele to capitalize all this at the time when he himself will be the owner of the business. How many times he had in front of his eyes the the future business sign "M. ZIMMERMANN." And the day came when his dreams came true. There were many days and hours spent on supervising the entire arrangement and there came a day when father invited friends and business associates for the opening ceremony. I still have dim memory of the occasion. The business became an instant success. In his office father had a gigantic fire-proof safe (in those times most transactions were cash business). Once, during my visit at his place I asked father what is there inside the box. More for the benefit of others present, father answered: "Here are dowries for my daughters and some money for you too, my son." Father was sure that his business would prosper during his lifetime and, maybe, will be taken over by his son or son-in-law. Maybe, just maybe he gave me a name staring with letter "M" so that the sign will apply also to the next owner of the emporium. And, then the war came. Father could not accept the fact that this was the end of a short dream. He knew that every war ends some time, and he wanted to wait it out in the best circumstances possible. He took his business, and his family to Moscow. How could he anticipate what was waiting for us there in a very short time? People who stayed in Warsaw during the entire period of the German occupation (1915-1919) had a very peaceful time. Particularly Jews, whose Yiddish language was easily understood by the German occupying authorities, had an easy life with no chicanery they suffered from the Russian government. If we stayed in Warsaw and continued living in Karmelicka street while father would run his business as before, the turmoil of the two Russian revolutions would be something that happened thousands miles away and what you read about in the papers. I can only imagine father realized the terrible mistake he made by his wrong decision although the historical events surprised even seers. It is another example of what a chasm existed between father and me, or my sisters as well, that we never discussed the situation. When I parted from father I was already a mature person, we never, never sat down and had a chat about anything. We were simply not communicating, living side by side like strangers. Even the latter exchange some platitudes. I really cannot explain why it happened this way, was it because father was always absent when we children were becoming acquainted with the surrounding world? In 1921, father came to Warsaw from Moscow a broken man. History says that 10 million people were killed during the World War I. If "killed" means "destroyed", father was one of them. He returned to nothing. With his luggage, he had a small suitcase filled with Tsarist currency notes of high denomination. The total was about half a million of American dollars worth, and I am talking of American dollars of the year 1920. I do not know where father was hiding the notes before they totally lost their value after the revolution. Also, a short time before the Tsar was toppled, father sent bonds for a total value of 40,000 American dollars to his brother in New York for safekeeping. Later on, I will return to the story of the Russian bonds. Father returned to the city where he was building his career and achieved almost the zenith of his ambitions. I can only imagine his feeling when he was passing the building where his business used to be and whose two fronts were carrying huge signs announcing to the world that here is the M. ZIMMERMANN emporium. Incidentally, premises of father’s previous business were later rented to the Paris-based company "A.G.B.", a silk emporium which rented also stores on the street level, connected the the two floors with an internal staircase and formed a gigantic outlet which became the "watering place" for ladies looking for French silks. The Association of Commi-voyagers had a vacancy for an administrative job and eagerly offered it to father, one of the founders of the organization. Father was glad to return to the milieu of his colleagues and accepted the offer. The entire family somehow settled, each to his field. Lola was accepted to the Warsaw Conservatory of Music, Genia entered a school for bookkeepers, Rola went to school to follow her studies, and so did I.

The school I attended was quite a distance from our place, about one hour of brisk walking. I readily walked both ways, regardless of the season or weather. Granted, compared to Canadian winters ours were rather mild, with little snow which was mandatorily swept off the sidewalks by the janitor of every house. Galoshes were unknown, ladies wore short boots more to follow the fashion.

I reached the age of thirteen. Ours was not a religious family, besides in those days family celebrations like Bar-Mitzvahs, weddings, etc. took place at home, not in synagogues, and did not involve hundreds of people the way it is done now on this continent. On the day of my 13th birthday, father put phylacteries on my forehead and my arm, read few words of prayer which I duly repeated after him, shook my hand and announced that I am a man now. He also informed me that men in our family are members of a certain privileged caste of priests, the so called "Kohanim" which come all the way from biblical times. When I asked what was I supposed to do with the unexpected honour, father told me that there were some restrictions: I was not allowed to marry a divorcee, and I was not supposed to be on the territory of a cemetery. As both of these activities were not in my immediate plan, I merrily returned to my everyday occupation of a boy of thirteen. God forgive me, what a rotten "Koham" I turned out to be in the future, but we will come to it further on.

Girls. Of course, I was aware of existence of girls (no, sisters are not considered "girls"). The schools in Poland were strictly divided by gender which means that the only occasion of meeting the opposite sex was in parks. I had an eye only for beautiful girls and was aware that my chances with them were nil. I was short and ugly. So, to get even and to pretend my indifference, I was unnecessarily rude to them and they generally ostracized me.

I was a good student, my forte were Latin, German language and mathematical subjects. In general, the boys were calling one another by their surnames or nicknames, so my first name was here of no importance. Oh, yes, I had nicknames too. One was: "Shorty" due to my height, the other was more elaborate. When learning German grammar, we were told by the teacher that words describing occupation change in their plural. He gave an example. The word "Zimmermann" (the "carpenter" in German) becomes in plural "Zimmerleute". That was enough. For the next several years I was addressed as "Zimmerleute". The latter made sense whereas "shorty" soon became irrelevant as, at the age of fifteen I suddenly started growing from day to day.

At the age of 17 I finished the school, passed the final exam mandatory for everyone and, in fact, covering all subjects taken during the school years, and received a certificate of graduation, the so called "matura". The latter entitled me to enter any University in Poland. From my tender years I was planning to become an engineer. Hard to explain why, there was nobody of that profession in our immediate or distant family. To follow the said profession I had to take my studies in the Warsaw Polytechnical Institute (Poland had only two Polytechnics, the other one was in the city of Lvov). But there was a hitch. As a rule, there were two or three times as many candidates as places the Polytechnics could offer. Thus, candidates were to pass a qualifying exam covering mathematics and science. The amount of knowledge necessary for passing the exam by far exceeded what the school gave us. Besides, there was an extra hitch. Out of the limited vacancies offered by the Polytechnics, only 10% of them were reserved for students of the Jewish faith. This was the so called "numerus clausus", an official arrangement giving Jews a chance to study in proportion to their number in Poland’s population. I would like to point out here that some faculties in Polish universities had an arrangement called "numerus nullus" whiich means "off limit" for Jews. As I was aiming to take the electrical engineering, out of the 70 places offered only 7 were open to Jews whatever the results of their qualifying exam. This was a murderously fierce competition, and I did not feel I had a chance that year. I was only 17, rather young compared to the majority of graduates. So, I skipped the year, and devoted it to deepening my mathematical knowledge to have a chance the following year. I also decided to learn a foreign language, my choice was English. I joined evening courses in the English language. There, I picked two fellows of an acceptable level of intelligence and suggested that on top of the twice weekly lessons we meet the remaining evenings to deepen the language among us three. The result was highly productive, within one year we spoke fluent English with one another.

Here I have to begin describing the martyrology of being a Jew in Poland. Considering that I have skipped a year after the school, in order to be accepted to university I had to procure the so called "certificate of morality" i.e. that of a good behaviour. Such a certificate was being issued by the police and had to certify that I did not engage during the year in any criminal or subversive activity. It was a general feeling in Poland that Jews are rabid communists, an abomination in the law-abiding Polish circles. Consequently, weeks before the registration for the new year in Polytechnics started, I turned to the nearest police station with a written request for the required certificate. The only thing to do for them was to check their records to find if I was listed there as a suspect. Yes, the certificate was expected to be issued for a character by name "Moses Cymerman". The police had a profound loathing of individuals by name "Moses" (or "Solomon", or "Hyman" and many, many other monstrosities), thus I was told that it will take time. I used to come once a week to inquire, each time I was politely told that the certificate is still not ready. The deadline for Polytechnics inscription was near. I started coming every day, still the same answer. On the day of the deadline, knowing that if I was not registered I would loose another year, I went to the police station again. The policeman on duty told me that the certificate was not yet ready. However, apparently he saw in my eyes the profound despair. Without a word and not looking at me he opened the drawer in front of him and produced the filled-in certificate. No, we did not have taxis yet in Warsaw, the horse-drawn cabs were too slow, so by a combination of streetcars and galloping I reached the registration office of the Polytechnics practically a few minutes before closing.

Yes, my friend, this was but a sample. You are entering a hostile world, Moses Cymerman.

Let me dwell a while on the problem. Jews were living in Poland for seven centuries. If the country’s Christian population started hating them from their first arrival, at the time of my narrative the hatred grew to its zenith. It was either shown openly or hidden under a veneer of artificial politeness. With its total population of 35 million, Poland had other minorities too; Ukrainians (7 million), Byelorussians (3 million), Germans (1 million) just to name the larger groups. However, they lived in a solid geographical mass, while Jews were living all over the country, in big cities as well in small towns and villages. Thus, they were easily available to those who wished to unload their frustration, personal, economic, social or political. Jews were blamed for all ills at home, in the country, in the world (the space was, at that time not yet of immediate interest to the general public). For some, just seething with hatred was not enough, they wanted action. These were mostly university students, the pillar of the country’s culture and civilized future. In groups of ten, or twenty, armed with heavy bamboo canes, they strolled all over the city looking for a single or, maybe, a pair of unlucky passers-by whom they uncannily pinpointed as those of the Jewish race (oh, yes, the future doctors, lawyers, scientists of Poland considered Jews to belong to a separate race). In the meantime, just for a diversion, they broke shop-windows wherever there was a sign bearing a name they recognized as Jewish. This was almost a daily occurrence, and the police looked the other way. I personally was a witness when a uniformed policeman who happened to be in the way of an approaching horde of students shouting anti-Jewish slogans, hid in the nearest house entrance in order not to scare away the hooligans on their crusade.

I had to describe the general atmosphere in order to stress the fatality of bearing a name of "Moses". To concentrate their venom, the anti-Semites created a derogative nick-name for every Jew, and it was "Mosheck", a distorted name of the Prophet. it is the equivalent of the word "kike" so popular on this continent. Now, visualize the situation when a man comes to look for a job, or on another business and introduces himself as "Kike Cymerman". Can you estimate his chances of getting satisfactory results?

Back to the chronology of the events.

I took the qualifying entrance exam and, glory of glories!, was among the seven Jewish candidates allowed to study electrical engineering in the Warsaw Polytechnics that year. Now, I was one of the freshmen starting the first year in the institute of high learning but I was at the same time a member of the underprivileged group of Jewish students who were deprived of some privileges. For example, in Poland each institute of High Learning had a distinctive cap indicating the wearer as a legitimate student attending that source of learning. That of the Warsaw Polytechnics was of a certain shape, in brown colour with gold-colour letters. The wearer was proud to strut with this head-gear as a legitimate member of such a respected university. Not a single Jewish student could wear the cap. It had been so arranged that the cap was the symbol of a fraternity of the students attending the Polytechnics, officially a private organization, and this one did not accept Jews. Period. If you saw a man wearing a fedora or other head-gear on the territory of the university, you knew that here goes a representative of the hated group, the head-gear being the predecessor of the yellow Star of David in the Nazi era. Let me jump a few years ahead, after I had completed the university period, having received my diploma as an Engineer. I am talking about the year 1934/35. The gentile students of all universities in Poland declared that they didn’t wish to sit on the same bench in the lecture room as the Jews. Thus, in each lecture room, on the left side (for some reason, this was considered humiliating), one or two benches were assigned for seating the Jewish students. Any Jew who dared to sit down elsewhere would be brutally reminded about the mistake he is making. Quite naturally, the Jewish students did not agree to such a ghetto arrangement and, by mutual agreement, decided to remain standing for the entire duration of the lecture. Altogether, they were standing a total of five or six hours a day. The poor fellows were under illusion that the ban is temporary, and it would be abolished. Fat chance! What about the lecturing professors? ( As a footnote, not a single professor in the Polytechnics was of the Jewish faith). Well, the professor entered the lecture room filled with about a hundred students, saw a tiny group of them standing for the entire time of the lecture while the benches in front of them remained unoccupied, and pretended there is nothing unusual. Didn’t I say that the Jewish youngsters were hoping for some change? In 1939, when the war started, the situation remained unchanged. If just a single professor had taken a stand and declared that he is not going to continue lecturing until the situation is back to civilized normal, those students who seriously wanted to absorb the necessary knowledge of the subject leading to a diploma would prevail on the rabid anti-Semites to abandon the seating ban. No, it did not happen. I am addressing you, professors, deans, lecturers and other officials of the Polish institutes of High Learning, an eternal shame on you for your tacit approval of the arrangement I have described above!

Violence on the territory of the university was a frequent occurrence.The Warsaw Polytechnics had such a densely packed program of subjects - lectures, seminars, laboratories, draughting - that the students were busy from 9 a.m. till 7 p.m., six days a week, and there simply was no time for such diversions like manhandling the Jews. However, students attending other institutions at the university level, like the Institute of Commerce, Institute of Agriculture (not a single Jewish student) had more leisure time and they paid visits to the classrooms of Polytechnics to do some cleansing work. It so happened that the profession of engineer did not attract young women. Nevertheless, there were a few girls studying chemistry or architecture. Whenever the marauding gangs saw a Jewish girl sitting on a high stool in the laboratory or in the draughting room, to stress their chivalry inherited from generations of Polish knights, they raised the stool with the girl sitting thereon and carried them out for deposit outside the building. They did not stand on such a ceremony with the male Jewish students.

Let me describe the complex of the Warsaw Polytechnics. It consisted of four huge buildings at quite a distance from one another, situated in a big park with alleys, flower-beds and benches, surrounded by a tall iron-rod fence. The main building contained lecture-rooms, administration, professors’ offices and an inner courtyard of the entire four floor of the edifice.Then, there was the building of Chemistry, building of Physics and one containing the draughting rooms only. The reason I am giving you a detailed description of the scenery is that it is connected with my narrative.

The stories I am going to tell are not coming from hearsay but from the very immediate source.

A Jewish student I knew happened to go from one building to another on a dark winter evening. He was grabbed by a group of youngsters, put on a bench while several of the attackers pinned him down sitting on his head and body. Then, one of them started cutting his exposed throat with a shaving blade, ear to ear. When blood covered the torso of the victim, on a signal the group jumped up and disappeared in the bushes.

A Jewish youngster, a brilliant student, was thrown out of the window of the second floor onto the tiled cement floor of the enclosed courtyard. He badly injured his head, was hospitalized for months, became a pitiful vegetable.

In one remote corner of the courtyard, Jewish students were given a cabinet, a table and a couple of chairs to be used as an office of their fraternity. In contrast, the premises of the gentile fraternity, off limit to Jewish students, consisted of huge club rooms, offices and cafeteria. One day, a general meeting of all university students in the city was called to take place in the courtyard of the Polytechnics to air some grievance against Jews in general. It so happened that five Jewish students were at the time in their fraternity "office". The concentrated rage of the mob was directed against the pitiful group of five. Shouts of expletives came from the horde, encouraging one another to massacre the hated enemy. Two fellows from the crowd approached the tiny group and said: "Look, it does not mean that we like you. On the contrary, we detest you. But our feeling of honour does not allow such a disproportion of forces. When it comes to a fight we will fight on your side."

Was I personally in a predicament? Yes, I was. A friend of mine and myself just left the Physics building where we attended a lecture and were on our way to the main building. We did hear some rumours that some violence is being prepared but hoped for the best. Tough luck. We were approached by a group of ten or so. Anticipating trouble, my friend dashed across the grass back to the building dropping his hat and his glasses. He was followed by some of the attackers, grabbed by his arms and brought back to where we were standing. We were told: "You have no business anywhere here, out of the campus"! Then they led us towards the gate in the fence without brutalizing us. But, there was a hitch. Another group of "cleansers" had different plans. From the gate-keeper who had a small cabin at the entrance they took away the keys, locked the man inside his small office and locked the exit door. Now, my friend and myself were surrounded by a group of about twenty seething with hatred but not manhandling us yet. There were shouts demanding that we be thrown over the fence. Luckily for us, the gatekeeper who presumably feared losing his job being involved in the fracas, crawled out the window with spare keys and opened the door. We were allowed to walk out unharmed. What were my feelings during the entire event? I leave it to your imagination.

Let me mention another example. I was taking an oral exam in Political Economics, one of the subjects in the advanced period of my study. I was comparing a situation in foreign countries to that in Poland. I said: " ...whereas in our country..". At that moment the professor interrupted me: "When speaking of Poland, don’t use the expression "my country", O.K.?" In his opinion, the 700 years Jews lived in Poland did not qualify them yet to be counted as legitimate citizens.

In 1930, in the city of Vilnius which at that time belonged to Poland, during an anti-Jewish demonstration a gentile student was hit in his head by stone; hard to establish tossed by whom. The wound was fatal and the youngster dropped dead. Hurrah, now the rabid mob had a martyr. His name was Waclawski and the name became the battle cry for the mob attacking Jews all over the country.

Needless to say that the deep hatred and brutalizing of Jews were not limited to the institutes of learning alone.

Poland had about twenty political parties, the ruling one was of a rightist inclination. Gentiles were discouraged from shopping in stores owned by a Jew. To enforce this "advice" a man with a camera was positioned close to the store and took pictures of gentile clients emerging from the store with their purchase. The very next day, a picture of the "traitor" appeared in a publication called "To the pillory".

A more dramatic situation existed in small towns and rural areas. Here, traditionally all the trade was taking place in outdoor markets from stalls. But, stalls were not rented to Jewish merchants and they could not display their wares. The situation came to a critical point, and Jewish members of parliament (yes, there were a few of them) brought it to attention of the prime-minister during the nearest session. Here is what Poland’s prime-minister said: "Well, the economic boycotting is all-right, but violence should be avoided". These words should be recorded in the history of mankind the way the British prime-minister Chamberlain’s announcement "Peace in our time" was. The head of the government giving approval to thuggish activity of rabid anti-Semites against their co-citizens.

The hostile atmosphere was so explosive that the tiniest incident resulted in serious consequences. Let me give an example. In an obscure tiny community by name Przytyk (pronounced "Pshytic"), a Jewish butcher apprentice stood idly in front of the store where he was working. A group of passing gentile youngsters started taunting and jostling him. To demonstrate that he is not a coward the Jewish boy reached for a butcher’s knife he happened to have on him. Within few hours, the entire country was electrified with the news that armed Jews (some papers mentioned a machine gun) were attacking gentiles. Pogroms took place in many communities. Just ask any Polish Jew of my generation what the name "Przytyk" means to him and he will know like you know what the name "Waterloo" signifies.

You might ask what all this has to do with my autobiography. Please, understand that this was the country where I intended to establish my future, found a family life, have children. I did not think of emigration, besides there was nowhere to go. I was born in the capital of Poland ( forget my humoristic remarks at the start of this narrative), attended a Polish school, graduated from a Polish university, my mother-language was Polish. Poland was supposed to be my fatherland.

Let us analyze the word "fatherland." You might say, it is the land of our fathers. In the archaic meaning of the word, when generations of people used to live in the same place, it might be true. However, for the second or third generation of children born in America to an immigrant irishman Ireland is not their fatherland any more, it is the U.S.A. O.K., let us take another interpretation of the word, and notice that in every language it has the same origin. For the ancient Romans - "patria" from the Latin word "pater" - father; German - "Vaterland"; the Russians have even more sentimental expression - "rodina mat"- meaning "mother country". By these definitions the citizens of a respective country try to express a feeling of belonging, like children expecting protection, certain privileges, special treatment. Did I get all this from the country called Poland. Emphatically, NO! I can compare the treatment of that of a wicked step-mother of the type described in fables and rarely met in the real life.

I wish to return once more to the problem of names. According to Polish laws, surnames could be officially changed provided they had a particularly derogative meaning. Not the first names. In science, there is known the so called "mimicry law" which deals with the way some animals or reptiles adopt colouring or patterns of the surrounding nature in order to be less visible to predators. I am using this analogy to explain why Jewish people, in the hostile surrounding adopted Christian names of a similar sound but only for the purpose of everyday dealings like when registering in a lending library or just in company. Mine was Mieczyslaw (pronounced "Meetchislav") or in short Mietek ("Mee-e-teck") as I am known to everyone in our Polish gang now. In any official or semi-official situation I had to produce the name given to me at birth.

Now, that you have a general idea of the circumstances, let us return to the newly accepted student who had to overcome all the obstacles and they were many. It was truly hard work requiring long hours and a lot of hustling. On top of the scholastic occupation, I had to earn some money, the financial situation at home being rather lean. I was tutoring school children, mostly in their last year in the school, in mathematics. When I arrived home in the evening, already a student, primarily a girl, was already waiting. I also had students on Sundays. I was very good in tutoring, recommended by word of mouth among girls who, at their age of 16 or 17, tried to hone their charms on me.

There was also the problem of the military service which in Poland was obligatory for able-bodied men at the age of 21. When I reached the age I passed a medical examination and was declared fit for the army to serve as a private for duration of two years.. However, due to the fact that at the time I was an active student the service was deferred until I graduate or reach the age of 26, whichever comes first. Now watch this. After I had graduated, I passed another medical test and again was considered fit for the military service. But, now I was already a person with university degree and, as such, was qualified to be sent to the Military Academy for duration of one-and-a half years to get training as a junior officer. However, the Polish army did not want officers with their first name Moses (or Solomon, or Israel, etc.) so I was transferred to the army reserves without active service. Thus, I never served in the Polish army. Who knows, if I had, maybe Hitler’s army would not have occupied the entire Poland within two weeks.

It took me six years of hard work to fulfill all mandatory assignments required by the Warsaw Polytechnics, considered one of the four best in Europe - all exams, laboratories, drawings as well as four months of actual practical work in industry which, in my case consisted of two months in a factory manufacturing electrical motors, and two months in an important power station not far away from Warsaw. Now was time for the final assignment - a diploma project in a field of my choice: power generation, transformer substation, transmission lines, etc. At my request, I was given a task of designing a high-voltage transmission line connecting an imaginary power station located in Poland’s oil-field district, with the existing city of Lvov with population of 360,000, to cover the peak demand. The project required again hard work - statistics, calculations, drawings - and took six months during which time I had to consult with a professor’s assistant to make sure that I was on the correct and approved track. The entire finished project had a form of a hard-cover book of about 200 pages plus associated drawings, graphs, etc. Next came the graduation exam in front of a panel of six professors associated with subjects I have passed in previous years. Within the period of two-three hours I had to explain how and why I have selected the method of working out the project, while each of the present examiners asked pertinent questions. I passed the exam with flying colours and, after a brief intermission for their inner decision, I was called back and congratulated for becoming a graduate Engineer.

Here I was, at the age of 25 with a hard-earned diploma of Electrical Engineer and all the doors to future CLOSED to me. The Associations of Engineers of Poland did not accept Jews as members, so the professionals of Jewish faith had their separate organizations. I joined the Union of Engineers (Jewish) who jointly with the Union of Medical Doctors (they were in a similar situation) had an office and club premises. Our Union had a job-seeking section where I registered together with about seventy other jobless engineers. If you wonder what happened to those Jewish youth who were not accepted to the Warsaw Polytechnics due to "numerus clausus", they went abroad, mostly to Czechoslovakia and France, where they received their diplomas of Engineer and returned home. Granted, their diplomas were not considered at par with those issued by the Warsaw Polytechnics but the fact did not make any difference in view of the fact that all us were idle anyway. There were in Warsaw two companies dealing with manufacture of electrical heavy equipment that belonged to Jews. But, their clients being the Polish state and army organizations the above firms preferred to employ gentile engineers who were acceptable to the staff of the buyers.

I needed some occupation and I needed money. Among the students of Polytechnics at their final stage there were some who did not feel strong enough to tackle the graduating project but were rich enough to engage another fellow to do the most of the work. In our parlance it was called "nigger work" as a reference to black slaves working in plantations. The buyer of this service did not completely stay away from the work, he did the leg-work, etc. besides he had to be informed about the progress to be able to discuss it with the professor’s assistant during the periodical consultations. The pay for about four months work for me was equivalent to what I would make for two months of engineer’s job. I did three such outside projects.

Maybe you started wondering why I did not mention so far female gender as if not existing. Oh yes, I was very much attracted to girls though I was a one-girl at a time character. There was one for a year or so, then I met another and dropped the previous one, being involved with the newcomer for the duration of similar period of time. Each of them secretly hoping to marry me eventually but marriage was not even on my distant horizon. Jewish males of my age were in a precarious position and I am talking of those with the acquired profession and not able to establish an existence. Young medical doctors were renting an apartment of say 5 or 6 rooms, bought a few tables and chairs and established a kind of clinic. A nurse at the door asked the arriving patient about the kind of his ailment and directed him to the appropriate "specialist". The pay was an equivalent to our present 3 dollars. On such a pittance no youngster could start thinking about marriage or having a family. The young lawyers did not fare better. They kept busy filling-in questionaires for people who contested the income tax, or similar unimportant business, their fee similar to that of their medical colleagues. In these circumstances, each of these individuals had just one solution: to marry a girl who had a rich father. However, apparently nature kept a certain balance: girls with a big dowry were, as a rule, ugly; the attractive girls had no dowry at all. The situation was at an impasse until the war came and solved this problem the way only a war can.

I got a job. Not exactly in my line of profession but at least where the fact of my being an engineer counted for something. The name of the company was A.Gantz and was established about 50 years ago by my new employer’s father and consisted of representing of several German important companies manufacturing precision and optical instruments. One of them was a company by the name Fuess, second to the world-famous Zeiss giant. The clientele consisted of the Polish air-force, meteorological institutes, various scientific organizations all run by the state. My role was visiting the actual or prospective users of our products, discussing special request which would be passed to the manufacturer, also technical aid during installation procedures. I was dealing primarily with engineers and scientists, thus the job was prestigious enough not to humiliate my dignity. This was the time when Hitler was already the head of Germany and the brutality of his regime was known to the world. Although A.Gantz was a Jewish representative, none of the now Nazi companies cancelled their business relations so satisfactory in the monetary sense. Now, hear this and please, please believe me. My boss, Alphonse Gantz, also an engineer, received a confidential letter from the president of the Fuess company stating their predicament. The head of the Polish air-force organization declared they did not wish to be visited by the Jewish representative of the German manufacturer and, provided the Fuess company do not change the situation they will take their business elsewhere. So, as not to lose an important client, the Fuess company was forced to find a gentile representative. However, in view of the long and so friendly and productive association with the A.Gantz firm they will continue paying the usual commission to their erstwhile representative for every transaction handled by the new agent who, naturally will be paid his commission as well. As a proof that the idea is not a fiction of theirs, the Fuess president enclosed a photo-copy of the original letter by the Polish client. The story might sound unbelievable and I would be sceptical too if I had not read the letter myself. Here is a Polish government institution asking the Nazi people to help them in getting rid of a sight (and probably smell) of their own citizens of Jewish "race." Note the noble reaction of the Nazi people.

Let me give here certain background of the political situation. For some time, Poland had a non-aggression agreement with Germany. However, the Nazi regime becoming bolder, Germany demanded from Poland some territory that the latter refused to cede. In retaliation, Germany annulled the non-aggression pact. Poland found itself with its mortal enemy on the other bank of river Oder. A government plan of building-up of heavy industry was implemented and the so called "Security Triangle" in the south of the country established. Newspapers carried ads looking for engineers of all specialties and the pay was better than average. Hundreds of professionals, particularly those on government jobs where the salaries were mediocre, dropped their places of employment and anticipating lifetime jobs joined the new project. Suddenly, hundreds of vacancies opened up. For example, just one Ministry of Transport advertised in Warsaw offering 50 positions for engineers. At the same time, our Union of Engineers had a list of 75 qualified engineers looking for jobs. You guessed right, not a single one was accepted by the Ministry. Just one example.

I did not consider my job with A.Gantz as a permanent one. After all, I had spent six years of my life and accumulated professional knowledge to do something more imposing then being a glorified salesman because that was what the job involved.

Let me describe another situation. An ad in the local newspaper announced that Philips of Poland (subsidiary of the Dutch company) is looking for an electrical engineer and the job description nicely coincided with my qualification. Applications were to be sent to a code number in the newspaper office. I sent a detailed application, however gave my name as M. Zimmermann knowing quite well that Moses Cymerman had no chance whatsoever. Yes, they called me and asked me what the initial "M" stands for. Smelling a rat I gave them my privately adopted Polish name of "Mieczyslaw". They still were not assured and asked me for my father’s name. I gave it as "Maximilian." Next question: "And your mother’s name?" Answer: "Maria." The man at the other end of the line was apparently a very sharp-minded individual, he still recognized a Jew in his interlocutor. I never heard from them again.

I would like to go back to the reason why Jews adopted Christian sounding names starting with the first letter of their true name. For those unfamiliar with the European construction of apartment houses I have to give a few words of explanation. The entry to the building consisted of a tunnel-like passage with a huge gate. You entered a court-yard around which the apartments were situated in several floors. Among the tenants were various craftsmen and professionals who had their place of business combined with their residence. Each of them wanted to notify their prospective patrons about their existence and the apartment number. Consequently, on the facade of the building, close to the entrance gate you could see an accumulation of small signs advertising for example: dentist’s office, tailor’s, dressmaker’s, etc. The sign carried the name of the advertiser, as a rule an initial and the surname. Hear this! In 1937, the Polish Parliament passed a law. Every sign, however insignificant, has to show the full name (the one in his birth certificate) of the advertiser. That way, a passer-by seeing the sign will be fully aware of the faith of the person soliciting for business and will avoid making mistakes.

Let us go back to our family. We still lived together, parents, my sisters and myself. Lola graduated from the Conservatory, was giving piano lessons, played in an ensemble formed by a group of musicians on some special occasions. Socially, Lola preferred the company of gentiles and she communicated little with the rest of us. Genia and Rola opened an atelier of artistic handicraft which met with success. Everyone contributed to the household expenses and, somehow, we made a living. Like many of our friends and acquaintances, we lived from month to month, not planning for some distant future seeing the sinister situation both in our country and in the entire Europe (growth of Nazism, fall of Czechoslovakia, etc). Little did we know how catastrophic the actual military preparedness was in Poland as we were fed false statistics.

Here, I am going to describe events of almost every single day, although we did not realize then how close we were to the brink of an abyss into which the entire country was going to fall. Warsaw’s population was commanded to take some preliminary steps in case of unexpected attack. Strips of paper were to be glued cross-wise on panes in every window. An inside, windowless space in the apartment should be prepared as a shelter for the family, with food and water supply stored there. The poisonous gas protective masks were not available, as a substitute it was recommended to have around tampons and a small bottle containing boric acid solution. When sprinkled with the solution and held against one’s mouth and nose the tampon was supposed to protect the person for a while until a shelter was reached. Now it sounds highly ridiculous, but at the time everybody took it seriously and did not leave home without the protective devices. The city illumination was subdued, windows at night covered with heavy blankets. At work, just at that time I was supervising the installation of some machinery supplied by the A. Gantz company to a military installation on the city outskirts.

Although the general situation was critical, it was known that Germany was massing their army on the Polish border, our government did not want to provoke the enemy and did not yet announce the general mobilization of the able-bodied male citizens, those in the reserve. However, during the night, secretly, young men were visited at their homes by patrols commanding their immediate reporting to the appointed places. Only on the last day of August, a general mobilization was announced openly, thousands and thousands of young men dropped what they were doing at that time, went home to say good-bye to their families and hurried to the meeting places. Any absence was considered "desertion", a serious act in time of war. Now, it came out how desperately unprepared Poland was. Those reporting were told that there are not enough military uniforms or arms, they should go home and expect further notice.

Early morning, Friday, September 1, 1939. I was getting dressed in preparation for going to my job at our client’s factory. The radio brought a solemn speech by Poland’s president that started: "The enemy crossed the borders of our beloved fatherland ... But, we are going to throw him back ..." Very patriotic, but even more pathetic in view of the situation of which he was aware. Only recently, during the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the end of the WWII, I learned that on the very first day of the invasion of Poland one-and-a half million German soldiers poured into our country.

Feeling that my immediate job is at present infinitely more important in helping the defense of our fatherland in view of the fact that it involved a military plant manufacturing medical products for the army, I took a streetcar and arrived at the site on time. The atmosphere was extremely tense, everyone wanted to demonstrate his dedication to the war effort. One hour later, speakers playing martial music announced an air raid. The entire personnel, both military and civilian took out gas-masks from canisters hanging on their respective necks, and put them on. Me, the only outsider and hapless idiot, took out the tampon and a little bottle containing the life-saving liquid, sprinkled the tampon and held it against my nose. Even now, after so many years, I am blushing seeing myself in that pathetic position. Then, the German air-force started bombing the buildings of the military complex, apparently the intended target of their raid. I witnessed an indescribable panic. An officer who knew me approached me and said: "You better go back to your company." I went back to our office and explained to my boss the improbability of continuing our work there. Of course, I turned out to be right in view of the speed with which the events were taking place. Next day we were informed that the installation work is being temporarily suspended in view of the damages suffered during the raid. Just a footnote to the theatrical use of masks the day before: during the entire war, even at their most desperate phase, the German army did not even once use the poison gas, fearing retaliation.

Day number two. Radio gave misleading information, however, we in Warsaw saw that the actual situation is rather desperate. Whole caravans of escapees from the western areas of the country, not only civilians but military vehicles, entire fire brigades, police units, etc. were passing our city rushing to the east, away from the front. The German army was moving through the country like a hot knife through butter. Reportedly, there were some skirmishes, the Polish cavalry (I don’t want to be misunderstood, I mean men on horses armed with lances and sabres) trying to stop the onslaught by the most up-to-date German tanks.

September 3. Hooray! France and England declared war against Germany. Thousands and thousands of Warsaw citizens marched to embassies of the said countries to express their gratitude and admiration. With two such military powers as allies, Germans will be crushed in no time. O God! How immensely uninformed we were, how far from the full truth. In the meantime the caravans of escapees intensified on all main highways leading through the city of Warsaw. Those who reported to their respective units for active service were still at home. Chaos became almost universal. Nothing was working normally any more. At nights, the city was in complete darkness now, from time to time the radio was announcing air-raid alarms which meant that people should enter shelters, those in the streets the closest building, at home - the windowless area. City outskirts were bombed, there were victims.

September 4 and 5. Tremendous tenseness, people did not know what to do next. I was going to our office but nothing was being done, we just huddled together.

September 6. I had little premonition how crucial this day will be in my life. Our radio was constantly on as this was the only source of official announcements that could reach us. In the evening, all able-bodied men were commanded to go to several points in the city, closest to their residence, to dig ditches. It was recommended to bring one’s own spade. Three of my close friends dropped in, my home being on their way to the place of destination. Among ourselves, we had just one spade. It was eerie to be outside. Thousands upon thousands of men going in the darkened city towards the place were ditches were supposed to be dug. A complete chaos, nobody knew what to do, where to start. Our little group deposited our single spade in a dark corner and returned to my place. We decided not to separate and waited for further news. Very soon, the next official command came from the radio speaker. All able-bodied men are to leave the city eastwards and to report to the nearest military recruiting point. We knew very well that no such point existed any more but all decided to obey and march out. Each of my friends went home to get ready for the exodus, the meeting place again being my place. Genia’s boy-friend, came to say good-bye to her and to suggest that he and I leave together. His name was Adam and he was working as a scenery maker in one of Warsaw’s theatres. He brought some canvas of which he sewed two knapsacks which turned out a blessing in our long march. I hurriedly packed some underwear, shirts, a raincoat, extra pair of shoes, some provision. In the meantime, my friends arrived ready for the exodus. I better introduce them by name: Sigmund and his brother Joseph, Richard and Lutek. Adam decided to join us, thus there were six of us. Came the moment of saying good-bye to my family. Father wept. Mother suggested that I stay behind and hide in a cellar. I assured them that I will be back in two weeks or so, the war will be over by then with France and Great Britain as our allies. In pitch dark, our little group marched out. Genia and Rola tried to accompany us for a while but I chased them back this being not a safe circumstance. Little did I know that I would never see father, mother, Genia and Rola again. Little did I know that I was leaving behind for ever the normal life when a person knows where he will sleep when night comes, and that he will eat when meal time comes. Each step took me closer to.....

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