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The Holocaust Era

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We were afraid to leave the house during the first days after the Poles left the town. Nobody knew what would transpire during the day, and how the new regime would behave. The new regime began to impose order in the town after a few days. Our feeling was that we were sentenced to a “prolonged death” under Soviet rule. First, they removed us from our spacious, beautiful house, and housed us in the same house as the Fuchs family. All of the businesses of the Shapira family were expropriated and nationalized, since the regime considered them to be a bourgeois family. The right to work was taken away from the family. We were given identity papers with a special sign (a black page) that identified us negatively to all the citizens and made us eligible for deportation to forced labor camps in Siberia. I benefited from a unique status. Since I was fluent in the Russian Languages, I was granted the right to work. I directed a branch of the government sick fund. This gave me the possibility of helping the Shapira family to a significant degree.

My father's family had an easier situation. Apparently, the new regime did not consider them to be a bourgeois family, and two of the sons were permitted to work since they were considered to be a “proletariat element”. Therefore, they were able to manage. Thus did life continue until 1941.

Sh. Vernik relates:

The great fear of what was liable to come already began in July 1939. During those days, a draft of adults to the Polish Army was proclaimed, which was a clear sign of approaching war. After the Molotov Ribbentrop agreement on the partition of Poland between Germany and the Soviet Union, we already knew that Soviet rule was awaiting us.

Chaos pervaded in the town for several days. There was no government, since the Poles had left and the Russians had not yet arrived. Many Jews preferred to leave the city and seek refuge in the nearby villages, for they were wary of the disturbances that were usual during the time of a change of regime. My father of blessed memory did not want to leave the house, and asked me to remain with him. Our relatives, the Shapira family and my sister Pearl traveled to some village with the intention of remaining there until the wrath would pass and the situation would become clarified.

Our house was located at the end of the main road leading to Kowel, and we were therefore able to see the Polish army men and installations in their retreat. I recall that a day before the entry of the Soviets, a caravan of

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the Polish Army passed through that street. They took out a farmer, who placed a red flag on his house to welcome the Soviets to the city, to be killed. To the best of my memory, this was the only casualty during the time of the change of regime. My father of blessed memory and I welcomed the Soviet soldiers with joy and a small meal. We knew that this was a miniature evil. Despite the fact that Father referred to the Soviet soldiers as “Yachfanim”^[1], he knew that one must follow the law of the land, and therefore one must welcome the new regime in an appropriate fashion.

After some time, when the first news came of the Nazi atrocities in the region under their occupation, we began to understand that our situation was better, and that we must utter a blessing over the evil, for there is a greater evil…

The first steps of the new regime failed to instill a sense of security in us. Everything in the stores in Ratno was quickly transferred to the Soviet Union. The Soviets purchased and took everything that came to hand, from shoelaces to eggs. It did not take long for all of the shops to be emptied. Anyone who hid merchandise was liable to a serious punishment. They indeed paid, but the money was non negotiable and it was impossible to purchase with that money new merchandise to replace what had disappeared. Father was correct: “Yachfanim”…

The residents accepted the situation, for they knew that any complaints against the government might lead to deportation to the far-off plains of Siberia. The only thing that could be done was to complain within the confines of the family, with nobody to see or hear. Even the youths of the town, who were mainly Socialists, realized that all of the talk of equality without discrimination between nations and races appears good on paper; but things appear entirely different in the day-to-day reality. We had no choice other than to accept everything “with love”, to stifle

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criticism, and to not arouse the wrath of the Socialists in our Ratno. The disappointment was bitter. The disappointment deepened after the new regime began to bare its fangs. The new institutions (including a court, prosecutor, and secretariat of the Communist party) began to prepare the Jewish youth for new ways of life and ideals. Of course, from that time, one had to be silent about the Land of Israel, for Zionism and other such concepts were fundamentally invalid. News reached us about deportations of “Capitalist elements” to work camps, but there were apparently not too many Capitalists in Ratno… and in any case, nobody was deported. On the other hand, my uncle Shlomo-Tzvi, his daughter, and son-in-law who lived in Luck experienced this deportation, for they were considered to be property owners. The daughter Dvora returned from the work camp after three years (today she lives in Israel). It is possible that several Jews of Ratno might have experienced these camps in Siberia, but the Soviets did not have the chance to “impose order” in smaller settlements such as Ratno within the two years. They only had the chance to nationalize businesses, expropriate houses, etc. Apparently, nobody attempted to refuse their requests, and when the general prosecutor came to our house and said that he wanted half the house as well as the sofa and the bicycle, his request was fulfilled. With time, my father was able to find out that this prosecutor was a reasonably good neighbor, and it was even possible to conduct some sort of business with him.

After some time, they began to draft young Jews to the Soviet Army. This situation improved the situation, for it was known that if one of the sons of the family was serving in the Red Army, the family would be in a good situation with respect to the government, and would have all the rights that the authorities granted to citizens.

I was drafted to the Red Army along with eight other youths from Ratno in the latter part of 1940. Our camp was near the city of Kolomyja. Until the outbreak of the war between Germany and the Soviet Union, we worked at building an airport. We were located in a work camp that served as a corridor to the main hall, that is - to prepare youths before their actual draft to the Red Army. We were under Soviet rule for the duration of a year and a half, and we felt the Soviet boot “in all its glory.”

Tanya Bokser (Gandelsman) tells:

The war, with all the tribulations and suffering related to it, already began in September 1, 1939 for the Jews of Ratno. The road that divided the city into two was a main road in Poland at that time, and it was natural for it to serve as a target of bombardment. Most of the residents of the city escaped to villages at the time of the outbreak of the war, and our neighbors, Ukrainians who were known for disgrace, knew how to extort the maximum from the Jews who came to seek refuge under their roofs. Despite the fact that they were accustomed to making agreements on the price at the time that the Jews entered their village homes, they would set new terms and demands each morning, until the situation became loathsome to the Jews, and they returned home to Ratno.

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When we returned to the town, we already knew about the partition of Poland into two, with the eastern sector of the country, including Ratno, being transferred to the Russians. The leftists in Ratno, or those who were known as such, displayed great excitement at the impeding changes, and tried with their enthusiasm to excite the rest of the residents who were very wary about what was awaiting them. The city council prepared a splendid welcome for the Red Army. A gate of honor decorated with many flowers was set up. Red flags fluttered for show atop all the houses. The residents tore off the white section of the red-white flags of Poland that they owned, and the entire city was decked in red… Representatives of the city hall waited on the road to greet the Soviet soldiers. The vigil lasted for two days, for they did not know the exact time that the army would arrive. In the meantime, an entire division of Polish soldiers passed through the town on their way to Zabolottya. On the route of their retreat, they passed the place where the enthusiastic devotees of the Soviet regime were waiting, waving their red flags and hurrying to settle scores with them.

In our house, we were interested to know the whereabouts of our neighbor Pesia Sheines. The family was gathered into one house, and soldiers with weapons stood around us. A few of them went through the closets to search for red flags that would prove the anti-Polish sentiments of the residents. To our good fortune, they did not succeed in finding the red flag in our house, and they satisfied themselves with confiscating the fresh bread that had been baked during the night. Of course, during the retreat, they did not forget to shoot in all directions, and many bullets fell upon beds under which the frightened residents were sleeping.

When the soldiers of the Red Army entered the town, the enthusiasm began to dwindle. Various shopkeepers and merchants succeeded in hiding the merchandise that was in their possession, but they had to sell anything that remained in the shops. Business died down after several days. The tradesmen also went around without anything to do, with the exception of the shoemakers who had plenty of work, for they had to patch the old shoes since there were no new shoes to be found. Almost all sources of livelihood were closed off. A significant portion of the workers became government officials if no taint was found in their “pedigree.” The economic situation grew more serious from day to day. The Jews were very bothered that they would no longer be able to prepare a proper Sabbath, for what would the Sabbath be like without challas, fish, and meat, as the Jews of Ratno were accustomed to from time immemorial. The bread line increased from day to day. Many people stood in line at the cooperative for long hours in order to purchase what was available. People learned that they must buy everything that was available for purchase, whether or not they required the merchandise…

In contrast to the serious economic situation, there was great pride in the cultural activities. The local elementary school turned into a ten grade school. Many people who had interrupted their studies under the former regime returned to the school bench. Various educational courses were organized. There were special courses for illiterate people, choirs, meeting halls, clubs, etc.

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Cultural energy directed toward the instilling of Communist ideology to the broad community was felt.

The Tarbut School turned into a Yiddish school. Most of the teachers got accustomed to the regime and the new conditions. Many clubs were organized under the auspices of the school.

For me, the Soviet regime was literally a golden era. Despite the serious economic situation in the home, I returned to my studies. I studied Slavic languages (Russian and Ukrainian), I was active in various cubs, and I was also one of the three first members accepted to the Komsomol^[2]. The two others were Ukrainians. In the Komsomol elections, I was also elected to the committee of the entire district and to other committees. My activities gave me a true feeling of happiness. My happiness especially grew after I was sent to study in Lvov on the recommendation of the party institutions, as was the custom in the Soviet Union. I continued with my activities in the Komsomol and was elected as second secretary of the school even when I was studying in the Teknikom.

During the era of Soviet rule, the school in Ratno organized a large choir that quickly learned the Soviet songs. Its appearances during national holidays earned them great acclaim. My brothers and sisters studied in the Yiddish school.

I wish to note in particular a young, nice and very talented teacher, Moshe Karlin, who married Golda Droog. Golda worked together with me in the office. She managed the tickets and accounts of the cooperatives and displayed great skill in her work. She was known as a charming personality, and earned great approval. It is fitting to specifically mention this lovely couple, Golda and the teacher Karlin, as well as their tragic end.

The chief accountant of the cooperatives was Yitzchak Held, and his assistant was Yisrael Chayat. In addition, the following individuals also worked as government officials: Hershel Schneider, Yisraelik Weisblat, Dvora Held, Motel Kacyn, Mordechai Langer, Susia Frigel, and others.

Translator's Footnotes

1. Hooligans Return
2. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Komsomol Return

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Already on September 1, 1939, giant Polish signs were displayed in the town, giving notice from the Polish president Mościcki that “The eternal enemy of Poland invaded our country, and we will return with war to its gate.” Many people crowded around these signs, as if this was some sort of surprise. People spoke of the impending war for many weeks before this time, and from the depressed eyes of my parents and family members, I too realized that something unusual was about to happen. Now, that the matter of the war had become a fact, I comforted myself with the knowledge that school would not recommence, that the long vacation would continue, and that I would not have to travel to Kowel where I had been studying in the gymnasium…

The next day, the noise of the German Messerschmitt^[1] bombers disturbed our calm as they dropped their loads on the roads upon which rows of Polish army vehicles and the first caravans of refugees had been moving since the early morning hours. I recall that my grandfather Shmuel Simcha of blessed memory attempted to calm us sitting with the entire family around the table: “We do not need to be afraid of the bombs, and there is not reason to escape from them, for each one falls in the place preordained by Divine providence.”

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Many refugees passed through the town, and one day, a Jewish family that had escaped from Warsaw ate at our table. From this family, we heard details of the behavior of the Nazis in the areas that they had conquered. I internalized the true reality of this war when I saw that the father of this family gathered the crumbs of bread that were left on the table and hid them in his pocket…

On September 17, we saw airplanes flying low over the town dispensing proclamations. Many people, myself included, ran to collect them. The proclamations informed us that the Polish state had collapsed, and the Russian army was about to enter the town and liberate us. In truth, I did not understand the meaning of this liberation, but there was a feeling of relief. This meant that it was not the Germans who were coming to us, but rather the Russians, and this was also a positive thing.

It was not long before a caravan of Soviet tanks arrived in Ratno from Kowel. Along with all the children of Ratno, I ran to welcome the soldiers of the Red Army who displayed great politeness, permitted us to sit on the tanks, distributed boxes of Russian matches to us, and told us a great deal about the wealth and plenty in the great expanse of Russia, from which we would shortly be able to benefit …

It was not long before delegates of the Soviet regime, along with several local Ukrainian collaborators and several Jews who were known for their Communist inclinations, came to us and began to impose order in the town. The shopkeepers were commanded to open their shops, and tradesmen were ordered to return to their workshops. The new rulers stated that the lines of communication between Brisk and Kowel would be reopened, so it would be possible to stock up on new merchandise and renew the inventory in their shops.

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The owner of the textile shop began to suspect that the sources of his livelihood had been closed off.

I returned to my studies in the Hebrew Gymnasium of Kowel, but to my great surprise, it was no longer a Hebrew gymnasium. Instead of Hebrew and Bible, the Russian, Ukrainian and Yiddish languages were taught. The change was extreme. It was particularly difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that the teachers who had formerly taught Hebrew had begun to teach Yiddish. I could not bear to see the anguish of my beloved teacher Yosef Avrech, left handed, who later became well known for his acts of bravery during the actions in Kowel. I recall that he invited me to his home one day and gave me a private lesson in Bible. We studied the 11^th and 12^th chapters of Jeremiah, and my beloved teacher explained to me the interpretation of the war of the prophet against the people of Anatot. I will never forget the dual meaning of the verses “What business has my beloved in my house, seeing that she has practiced lewdness”^[2], and “You would be right, Oh G-d, if I dispute with You, I will reason with You, why does the path of the wicked prosper? Why are those that deal treacherously secure?”^[3]. He repeated the end of this verse several times, and I understood his intention very well, even though he sufficed himself with innuendoes, for these were very obvious innuendoes…

In contrast to specific teachers who demonstrated the ability to become accustomed to the new regime, there were many students who did not easily get used to the new spirit with its fundamental changes. The spirit of Zionism and our love and desire for the Land of Israel was hard to uproot. We organized groups, and continued to secretly study Hebrew and Bible in parallel with our courses in school. Several teachers came to these groups and gave us clandestine lessons in Bible and Hebrew, despite the danger involved in this… In a postcard that I sent to my friend Avraham Papir (Nir) in Ayelet Hashachar on January 17, 1940, I gave expression to our feelings during those days. (The content of the postcard was later published in

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the Davar newspaper in the Land of Israel.)

I would travel from Kowel to Ratno once every two weeks. The great change was also felt in Ratno. My friends who had graduated from the Tarbut Hebrew School with Noach Kotzker as the principal began to study in the public school. The Tarbut School became a nine grade school with the language of instruction being Yiddish. Kotzker was not allowed to set foot therein. The Hebrew library was closed and there were tattlers in the town who transmitted details of all the Zionist activities to the security services (N.K.V.D.) One day, I invited approximately ten good friends to my house, and we established a group for the study of Hebrew, despite the danger involved in this. I gave this group the name “Gechalei Retamim”^[4] [Coals of Broomwood]. All the members of this group swore before the Holy Ark of the Synagogue of the Stepan Hassidim to refrain from saying anything about the existence of this group and its aims. Whenever I came to Ratno from Kowel, the members of this group would gather in our house, close themselves off in one of the rooms, study Bible, read the poems of Bialik and Tchernikovsky, and even sing Israeli songs in a whisper. To the best of my memory, the following people belonged to this group: Avraham Cohen, Davidl Sheftel, Chayale Hochman, Merida Liberman, Chaya Kotzker, Golda Karsh, my brother Shikale and his friend Henich Droog, Avraham Mogilensky, and others.

It is appropriate to mention something about one of our activities - bringing back the confiscated Hebrew books. It happened as follows. We found out that the banned Hebrew books were housed in the wall closets in the Papir house, where

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dances were arranged by the local authorities every Saturday night for the youth. On one of those evenings, all the members of our group came and spread themselves out among the dancers. When the tumult reached its peak, Mogilensky and Davidl Sheftel pulled out the electric plugs. Our members began to carry out the action in the darkness that ensued. We emptied the shelves of Hebrew books into sacks that had been prepared from the outset. By the time the electric “disruption” was repaired, all the Hebrew books were already in the secret place designated for them. The operation succeeded  without any of the adults knowing about it. Davidl Sheftel and I traveled to the gymnasium in Kowel the next day, as if nothing had happened. However, the N.K.V.D. men quickly followed after us, and opened a detailed investigation with the goal of revealing the books and the perpetrators of the “iniquity.” Dozens of adults were brought to the investigation, but they never thought that the “sinners” were 12 to 14-year-old children. It did not take long before my grandfather unintentionally almost placed us in the trap. One day when he was working in the barn, he discovered some of the books that had been hidden there. He brought the books out into the garden and hid them in the snow. “Heaven” helped us, for that night, a heavy snow fell, that better covered the books. When the snow began to melt in the spring, it was necessary to take the books to another hiding place. We consulted about what to do with them, and after obtaining advice from my uncle Reb Asher Leker, a wise, scholarly Jew who was dedicated to the Zionist idea with heart and soul, we transferred the books to the Shtibel of the Karlin Hassidim, and hid them in one of the geniza^[5] closets. Despite the ban and the danger involved, we continued to read Hebrew books, and the members of “Gechalei Retamim” distributed them amongst the youths of the town.

Translator's Footnotes

1. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Messerschmitt Return
2. Jeremiah 11: 15. Return
3. Jeremiah 12:1. Return
4. There is a footnote in the text here as follows: I proposed this name based on the explanation of my teacher Y. Avrech, may G-d avenge his blood, that “coals of broomwood” (Psalms 120:4) have a unique characteristic: The fire remains therein when they are already dim, and any wind can fan the flames anew. Of course, the meaning was that we young people will guard the flames (the national-Zionist spirit) until the propitious time. Return
5. The place where worn out books and holy writings are placed. Return

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I was about 13-years-old when the Second World War broke out. Everything that took place to me then is etched strongly in my memory. I see the home of my parents standing near the main street leading from Ratno to Brisk (Hornyk). My father was a tradesman, and he also owned agricultural land, a barn, a stable, and a fruit orchard. He was considered as “one of the people.” He nurtured good relations with the Ukrainians, and it seems that due to these relations, he and our entire family were saved from the Holocaust, as will be told later. Mother took care of the home, and especially of the education of the children: the sisters Beilcha and Udel, and me, the only son.

Father supported and maintained a private teacher in our home who taught me Hebrew as well as general subjects. I also studied with a Rebbe in the cheder, and later in the Tachkemoni School in Brest Litovsk. After that, I studied in the Tarbut School in Ratno. I became a member of Hashomer Hatzair, and became fluent in Hebrew. The teacher Kotzker was the one who taught me Zionism, and love of the people and the Land of Israel.

I remember well the years prior to the war, especially the many pogroms that were perpetrated in the cities of Poland during the years 1936-1939, as well as the anti-Semitic propaganda under the influence of Nazi Germany. More than once, my sister Beilcha escaped from Brisk to Ratno due to these pogroms and the Jew-hatred that was well-rooted in the Poles during those days.

In the eyes of my spirit, I see the first days of the war, when the Russians beat a hasty retreat from the town, and our Ukrainian neighbors began to pillage. I stood on the road next to our house along with several other Ukrainian “shkotzim” ^[1] of my age. Suddenly, an army car with Germans appeared. The S.S. captain exited the car and requested in German that we bring eggs. When he saw that his German was not understood by the youths, he utilized various hand gestures to explain his request. When we brought him the eggs, the captain gave the Ukrainian youths some German money (Reichsmarks) and emphasized, “Do not give this money to the Jews!” I understood very well the meaning of this statement. I saw myself degraded. I fled home, lay down upon my bed, and wept. Perhaps that was when I first felt that I was of a lower class, a person of no value, a Jew…

When the command that every Jew must wear a yellow 12 centimeter Star of David upon the back and the chest, my feelings of embarrassment and degradation deepened. I recall that I went out one day without the Star of David. An infamous Ukrainian policeman named Ivan ran into me, grabbed me, and beat me until I was bleeding. He kicked me with his boots and threatened me with his gun.

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He finally demanded ransom money from my father and my father was forced to give him a gold bracelet.

One autumn day in 1942, two days before the High Holy Days, Breitza Frumka (who died in the United States) came to us, knocked on the shutter, and shouted to my father in a choked voice, “Herzl, escape, save yourselves, the shtetl is burning, the Germans have surrounded it from all sides, and the great slaughter is approaching!” There was no room for thoughts. We escaped. My parents, my sister Udel and her two children, my brother-in-law Yaakov Hochman of blessed memory, and I found refuge in the home of a Ukrainian farmer at the edge of the city, two kilometers from the Prochod Mountains. The next morning, the farmer brought us bitter news: the Germans and the Ukrainian police were drafting residents to dig pits in the Prochod Mountains. That was that. The time of the final aktion had arrived. Throughout that entire day (13 Elul), we heard shots. The gentile who had given us refuge ascended a tall tree and looked across the Prochod Mountains. At times, he came to our hiding place and told us what he had seen. He wept, and we all wept with him. We knew that the end had come to the lives of our dear ones, our relatives, and all the Jews of Ratno. The shouts of “Shema Yisrael” echoed across the entire length of the Prochod Mountains. They were taken out as sheep to the slaughter. There was no, and there was no possibility of any, attempt of resistance. The thought that we were alive and all the rest of Jews had been killed and murdered was frightening and oppressive.

That evening, the Ukrainian farmer asked us to leave his house. He was afraid of slander. Having no choice, we moved to a grove in the region and hid there. At midnight, we saw some sort of moving image in the grove. We identified it by the light of the moon. This was a Ukrainian who was known as a Jew-hater, an avowed anti-Semite. We did not know whether he intended to kill us or turn us in to the Germans. In any case, we did not have any delusions, and we surmised that our end was coming as well. We were all surprised when this Ukrainian suddenly fell upon my father's neck, burst out crying and began to tell his frightful story: “In the evening after the slaughter, I went to the Prochod Mountains to search for silver, gold, and clothes that had been left behind by the murdered Jews. When I approached the place, I heard groans bursting forth from the ground that was still quaking. There were still living, breathing souls in the bowels of the earth… Blood was still flowing from the channels that came from the layers of sand… I was not able to stand there, and I fled… I swear to you, Herzl, that I did not take anything. I fled while I still had my soul, and as I fled I made a vow that if I find a Jewish family, I would try with the best of my ability to save them. I swear to you, Herzl, in the name of everything holy, that I will bring you food every day. I will protect you. You must live.”

That is what the anti-Semitic farmer said through his weeping and sobs. In order to prove that he was telling the truth, he told us to remain where we were, and he would go to his house to bring us food. My father and brother-in-law apparently could not believe that he really meant it. Perhaps he went to bring reinforcements to turn us into the hands of the Germans in return for the monetary reward that the Germans used to give to everyone who

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turned in a Jew? When he left us, we escaped to a different place…

We met him again after some time. He searched for us. He was not angry at us for escaping. He understood our concern. He told us that he brought food and milk for the children, but when he came to our hiding place and did not find us, he realized that we did not believe him. This Ukrainian farmer remained faithful to us and always helped us. We found support and encouragement in his house. He fulfilled his vow, and the fact that we remained alive is due to him.

It was a very cold winter, and snow fell without stop. We trembled from cold and fear. We dwelt in some structure filled with straw and fodder. We attempted to dig very deep into the pile of fodder to warm up a bit. We were dirty, and the lice ate us voraciously. We were oppressed and desperate. We were certain that we were the only Jews who had survived. The murderers conducted thorough searches, and any Jew who was found was immediately killed. We thought that the Nazi motto of “Judenrein” had been realized.

At that time, our hiding place was in the house of some gentile widow. She pleaded with us to leave her house. She was afraid that they would kill her and us together. We returned to our house that stood on the noisy street through roundabout paths. We had one and only hope: that the Germans and their Ukrainian collaborators had already conducted searches in that house, and perhaps we would be able to stay there for a day or two until we find another hiding place. My family members remained in the house, whereas my brother-in-law and I went out in the darkness of the night to the small settlement of Siltse in order to search for a hiding place for the entire family. After remaining in our house for two days, the Ukrainians entered at night in order to pillage what was left. They moved from room to room, and when they reached the room at the edge where my family was sitting, and they saw people, the robbers became frightened and fled. Of course, my family members were also frightened. They fled from the house and found refuge in the barn of a farmer - and thus we were saved again. The next day, the Germans arrived and set up a police station in our home.

We continued to wander from one hiding place to the next. Ukrainian farmers assisted us, supported us, and advised us where to hide. All types of gentiles gave us food. In the evening, I would go with my brother-in-law to the houses of the farmers, from where we received bread, milk, potatoes, and the like. During summer nights, we gathered potatoes in the fields and cut fruit from the trees. One summer evening in 1943, a year before our liberation, I went with my brother-in-law to search for food. We decided to not go together. Rather, we each went to a different farmer. After I furnished myself with several loaves of bread, I decided to walk among the bushes in the direction of the hiding place of the entire family. Shots rang through the air, and I lay down in the bushes, trembling in fear. This was the first time that my brother-in-law was not with me. I was afraid of his fate and the fate of my family. Who knew which of them were hit by the bullets? I saw dark things in my imagination.

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I lay silently for a long time, and then decided to crawl along. I reached the barn in which my family was hiding. They also heard the shots and were concerned about our fate. They were happy of course that I had returned in peace, but who knew what happened to Yaakov? He was a brave, optimistic man, and the pillar of strength within the family circle. He had served in the Polish Army, and knew how to overcome all fears. I had become very close to him during the long nights that we would wander together in the fields, groves, and the houses of the farmers. I attempted to calm my family members, and told them that Yaakov would certainly return early in the morning. Instead, the gentile came to us in the morning, and told us the bitter news. He found Yaakov lying on the crossroads, with a bottle of milk and a loaf of bread in his hands. The gentile covered him with a blanket, and at night, according to our request, he buried him atop a hill in the area. However, the family, including my widowed sister, her two orphaned children, and all of us were grief stricken. After some time, we found out that he had been murdered by a young Ukrainian who wished to take revenge for his father who had been killed by the partisans, who according to him were Jewish.

… Good news began to arrive. The Germans were defeated in Stalingrad as well as on the eastern fronts. The German Army retreated and the Russians advanced. There was a ray of hope. We continued to move from hiding place to hiding place, but now we were no longer as oppressed as previously. At that time, we found refuge with a farmer named Vokolka, who helped us greatly. A change took place with the Ukrainians who had collaborated with the Germans. They decided to sever their covenant with the Germans and begin to struggle to establish an independent Ukrainian state. These people were headed by a Ukrainian general named Bulba ^[2], and they were called “Bulbovchi” after his name. They fought against the retreating Germans as well as the advancing Russians. We were caught between the hammer and the anvil. Our situation became more serious and required us to take extra precautions, for the Ukrainians were organizing in the forests and the groves in which we found refuge. The discussions amongst ourselves were conducted in sign language. We were afraid to utter a sound. My sister's young children who had lost their father talked in a similar fashion. One day two representatives of the Ukrainian organization suddenly appeared accompanied by the farmer who had saved us. They had a unanimous announcement: since my father had a trade and knew how to fix weapons, our entire family had to move to their camp near Khoteshov, where they would protect us. My father would work at fixing weapons, I would help him, and my mother and sister would weave scarves and socks for their fighters. We could not refuse, and we moved to their base, where a small house was put at our disposal. They treated us well in accordance with the explicit directive of their commander.

I had been accustomed to night living during the two years of wandering. I loved the dark that protected me, and I recognized all paths in the dark. I was afraid of the sunlight, for the light was liable to turn us in to the murderers. It therefore seemed strange to me to walk in the light of day, to absorb the sun rays, to breathe the clear air, to be free, and to see people outside and not be afraid of them…

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Everything had now changed with our way of life. We slept on a bench rather than a pile of straw and fodder. We ate at a table rather than in a barn or sheep pen. We felt that the “Bulbovchi” Camp was like a royal palace… We lived with them and enjoyed our freedom for seven months. Indeed, this was a very forced freedom, for we knew very well what these Ukrainians had perpetrated against the Jews in the past. We also knew that they did not maintain us out of love, and if they reached the conclusion that we were no longer of benefit to them, they would not spare our lives. However, as long as we were of benefit to them, they provided all our needs. We thought on occasion: what will these murderers do with us? We searched for means of escape, but the nationalist Ukrainians were stationed throughout the area. Our attempts to make contact with the partisans who were some tens of miles away also came to naught. My father became friendly with one of the captains, a member of the staff that was responsible for us. He greatly valued our work at repairing the weapons and weaving the scarves. His nickname was “Stochka” and he had been a policeman in his time. He revealed a secret to my father: they had decided in their group that in the event that the partisans were to advance to us and attempt to conquer the area, they would kill us. He swore that he would save us if such a time came.

One evening, I visited the house of one of the farmers along with the friendly captain. The host brought refreshments and liquor. Our friend became drunk, and “when wine enters, secrets come out.” He said that the situation had become serious, the partisans were pressing from all sides, there would be a need to retreat, and they would be forced to carry out the plan that he had told my father secretly.

Before we returned home, the captain tapped my shoulders and said, “Do not worry, as long as I am alive, no harm will befall you.”

Despite his promise I was very depressed. When I returned home, I told the members of my family what was about to happen. Sadness descended upon all of us. We did not sleep that entire night. What could we do? Now more than ever we wished to live, to witness the final defeat of the Nazis, and to taste the taste of true freedom. However, we knew that they were following after all of our footsteps day and night.

Toward the next evening, the Ukrainians retreated from the area due to the pressure of the partisans who had begun to clear the area to prepare for the advancing Russian Army. We remained alone among ten families of farmers. We had been warned that we were forbidden to leave the house in which we lived. We were awake all night, tense and uptight over any sound from outside. Our friend Stochka returned to us toward morning. He was tired and unshaven. He told us that they wanted to come at night to kill us, but he convinced his friends to refrain from carrying out their plan, and promised them to turn us over to them. He advised us to flee in the direction of the partisans, and asked that we remember him positively. Tears flowed from his eyes, and, from the appearance of his face, we sensed that he was speaking the truth. We felt sorry for him, and we advised him to escape together with us, but he did not want to betray his friends. We parted from him in great agony.

At that time, Frumka was with us. She was the girl who had warned us before the extermination that we should flee from our home. She and my mother went out as scouts

[Page 175]

to search for the partisans in the direction that the friendly captain had mentioned. However, in the interim, the partisans arrived to the place we were, riding on horses. They were surprised to meet Jews and young children. There were Jewish partisans among them. It was difficult for us to believe what our eyes saw: Jews fighting with weapons in their hands. The partisans burned all the houses, took all the weapons and sacks of wheat, and left the place. We joined them. We arrived in Khoteshov and from there to Kamin Kashirsk, where we met other Jewish Holocaust survivors. After years of wandering, affliction and terrible tribulations, we began to breathe the breath of freedom. The Russian Army took control of the area, and we were able to walk through the streets without fear.

{Photo page 175: “To the mountains I will lift my eyes, from whence will my help arise” (Psalms). The artist - Ben.}

Translator's Footnotes

1. A derogatory term for gentiles. Return
2. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taras_Bulba-Borovets Return

[Page 170a]

I am pacing along a tortuous path toward the destroyed shtetl of Ratno. Along the way, I passed through Jewish cities and towns whose Jews way of life for many generations was now covered with dust, ashes, and thousands of graves. The Holocaust survivors are now wandering over these ruins; brands plucked from fire, gases, and shards remaining from the axe of the executioner, one from a city and not even one from a family, who now look as stalks cut from desolate fields. To anyone who did not witness it, my journey along paths that I had sworn never to return to seems strange. I cannot bypass them. All of the roads here are paved with Jewish blood.

It was Ratno at the end of 1945, on a Sunday morning. The sun is warming and shining beams of light today, as always. I was contemplating: For whom? Petrified, I was walking as a wanderer in the darkness, with one thought afflicting me incessantly: Is it indeed possible for the sun to light up and bestow warmth upon the murderers and victims together? I walked along the ruins and grassy hills of Jewish Ratno. Between walls about to fall and mounds of ash, Jewish houses still stand that appear to Jewish eyes as canopies in

[Page 171a]

the cemetery… Living beings peer out from these houses, asking in astonishment: “Is there still a living Jew in Ratno?” I linger next to a garden that is turning green today as it did in those days. Alas! Children are dancing and singing in a circle, but my eyes are directed to another place - to that part of town that has turned into a heap of ruins, to the children buried under the piles of bricks and ashes, and perhaps to the sin that they sinned by planting these gardens?

I meet my former neighbors as they are dressed in their holiday finery, on their way to worship their god who chose them as murderers and us as victims, and I contemplate: My G-d in heaven, were you to grant me now the powers of the mighty Samson in order to shake the sacred objects of the murderers, and “Let my soul die with the Philistines!”

The sun is setting, night is approaching, and I am still lying beside the graves in the Prochod Hills. Everything around is desolate and deathly. Only the clouds are moving across the dark sky - clouds whose source is the smoke of the crematorium that carried them here, the smoke of the burned bodies. These clouds make me drowsy and envelop me in dreams.

Today as always, my beloved wife greets me, but her dark, glowing eyes are now extinguished; her pink, smiling face is now pale as never before; and her delicate lips that would drop me motherly kisses now whisper: “Do not come here again, don't come…”

My child, my treasure, my diamond comes to greet me, but today he comes to me without his childlike language… With his soft hands that would always hug my neck he shows me today his small head that was shot, and from which warm, childhood blood flows.

I wake up in a cold sweat, with a broken heart and in agony and pain. The clear moonlight shines upon my dream heroes… I lit memorial candles for the elevation of their souls. To the light of the candles, I begin to read bloodstained pages of books that I collected from the ruins of Ratno:

The heavens shed tears, and blood pours from my heart.

[Page 172a]

I close my eyes so that I can plunge into my agony… If I had read these words that emanated from the hand of a Jewish lyrist, whom long ago I would have understood differently than I do today, but even today - I do not understand why the heavens did not shed tears when the Nazi murderers shot at the hearts of Jews, and why they continued to give light during the days of the murder of the Jews as they did during the days of Jewish life?

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