Poems about Concentration camps

When I was in Russia during the Second World War, flimsy rumors reached me relating to the German suppression of the various nations they had conquered, and especially of the Russians and Communists in their midst. Among these sometimes were also heard stories about atrocities and murders of the Jewish population. Of course one's heart was anguished to hear about all this, but in envisioning this situation for myself, I had never considered the scope of the destruction caused upon our Jewish brethren who had remained under the Nazi conquest. As soon as the war ended, I dedicated all my efforts to get to Poland to see the proof.

In liberated Poland I found few remnants of Jewry, most of whom returned from Russia, where they had clustered and wandered from place to place, hopefully seeking “survivors”, though in vain in most cases, of their dear ones and family. The Polish population was largely hostile, some explicitly so, others tacitly, and all “wondered” at the fact that some Jews still remained alive, and had not been finished off by Hitler. Thus was revealed to me all the heartbreak that had fallen upon us, and the stories I heard of the destruction pained me no end.

In the light of the truth, on my way to Dąbrowa after several days in Poland, I deluded myself. I asked myself if perhaps the Jews of Dąbrowa weren't so badly affected. In my mind remained the image of Dąbrowa when I had left in 1938, full of Jewish people.

Upon my arrival I was attacked by a shock which has remained with me even as I write these lines. Seeing the Dąbrowa Górnicza train station almost empty, though only a few minutes previously, a train from Warsaw had stopped there. I saw no Jewish travelers, though I had been accustomed to seeing them at the station and the surrounding area. I hurried to the town center, as maybe nonetheless...but the reality was even worse. For in my town, as it was in all of Poland, a Jew was not to be found. Not in “Old Dąbrowa” in the vicinity of the “shul” [synagogue]. Not in Okrzei Street, 1 May Street, Sobieskiego, with its rows of Jewish shops.

I arrived at a place where I had spent so many wonderful days. A “Shomer Hatzair” branch, and a little further on, the “Dror” organization. Most of the city [Zionist] youth groups had assembled here. Every evening we'd enjoy our time in this area, in an educational, Jewish and pioneering atmosphere. Some rallies and Zionist meetings would take place here. From here we'd leave on Lag B'Omer trips, the pinnacle of [our] pioneering and sport activities. And now I stand on this very same spot (a soldier in the uniform of the Red Army), and there is no memory of all those wonderful youth, as though they had never been. My searches took me to the Jewish “gymnasium” [high school], which was [now] practically bereft of people. There remained just a secretary, who recorded the names of the Jews of Dąbrowa from a list of survivors of the extermination camps. I found there my letter, which I had written shortly after the end of the war, and in which I had enquired as to the fate of family and friends. I had never received a reply, but now it was no longer necessary…

The visit to my neighborhood – Reden – I left for last. I was afraid to see the bitter truth. In this corner, which had once been dear to me, and in which had lived a Jewish majority, here too, the same picture repeated itself, but in colors much more somber. For in every house that I approached, and wherein I had known the occupants, had strange new faces. They were mostly Polish neighbors from all sorts of alleys who were “successful” in grabbing for themselves a piece of any kind, [even] dripping with blood and suffering. There were even those who continued using the belongings which they had stolen.

Indeed, only in Poland could such things have happened. It wasn't by chance that the German murderers chose Poland in which to build their camps of destruction.




[Page 451]

As I attempt, after more than twenty-three years to reconstruct the feelings that I had upon my return to the town of my birth, Dąbrowa Górnicza, I come up against difficulties, but – I shall try.

At the end of the war I was living in the city of Będzin. It was simply because in Będzin had gathered many Jews. Often I wanted to visit Dąbrowa but I simply wasn't brave enough.

One day I went, but only to “Huta”. At the municipality I had to show my identity card. To my surprise, the same clerks sat there as did before the war. I returned to Będzin but I really wanted to come to Reden because there was a group “the Jewish nature reserve”, wherein lived our friends Szymon Rozenblum, Jechiel Plois and Chaim Kristal.

The sister of Chaim Fajgl Kochan encouraged me. We took the streetcar to Mieszka [Street] and from there went on foot. We were immersed in conversation, [as] we continued to tell each other our experiences during the war, when suddenly I realized we had reached the “Tema”.

I don't remember if it was in May or June, I only remember it was a beautiful and clear day, as the same sun shone as did before the war… It was a weekday but [strangely] quiet in the streets. Our legs were heavy and the walking was slow. And thus I arrived at the first Jewish house, a house which before the war's outbreak was my home, the house of my friend Tehila Lendner. We [had] called the house “the palace.” Now it was empty. No one, it seemed to me, from this beautiful, enlightened family, was left. I peered through a window at the side of the house, perhaps I would see the comely, pleasant face of Tehila, but no. I stood [there] a few minutes in silence, then left the place.

On both sides of Królowej-Jadwigi Street had been Jewish houses, shops and courtyards full of Jewish life, [and] beautiful children, for whom was prophesized a great future, now hung a heavy quiet on this street.

Gliksman and Liberman's houses, and all the apartments full of Jews; Manela's shop, who had died tragically in the first days of the war; and the house of Jungster. Where were all the Jewish residents?

The house of Handek Szelowski, who had wanted only Jewish tenants, and truly within his three buildings lived Jewish families. In the front lived wealthy Jews, on the sides dwelled the lesser wealthy, and in the last house next to the “Hulda” lived tenants who could not always afford the rent.

This house was filled with childhood memories, as it was there that I was born. I always remember this house with great nostalgia, in particular the poor neighbors, the good and dear Jews Szlomo and Riwka Bajla Halperin.

For what did I have to continue to stand there but to look around and around and then to continue onward. The houses which but yesterday rang with the Grosfeld and Rozenblum families, with its well-groomed gardens in this city of mining and soot and the good and industrious Jews who struggled financially because of their large families are no longer there.

On the balcony of our apartment sat a group of gentiles happy and cheerful. I did not go up. Why would I go up? Among the columns I suddenly heard: “Look at that! Kożuchna is still alive!” She was a Polish friend from a school bench. I didn't answer her. I sensed a strangulation in my throat, but at that moment I resolved to leave at the first opportunity [this] accursed Polish soil.

And indeed I was among the first to leave. I wandered another four years until I reached the shores of Israel.




[Page 452]

At the close of 1945 the Kibbutz Hame'uchad [Movement] organized a seminar for emissaries, among the objectives of which were to reach by various ways the concentrations of Jews in liberated Europe. Information reached Palestine that in Warsaw and Lublin began to cluster several tens of thousands of Jews who had been saved in Poland, as well as those who had arrived from the Soviet Union, Lithuania and other places. Warsaw had been liberated in January 1945. Before then, Lublin had been designated the temporary capital, and it was there that began the grouping of the remnants of Polish Jewry. Hope flickered that all the survivors of Germany and the Soviet Union would return. It was told to us in Palestine that the heads of the Jewish Underground in Poland and the Zionist bodies had begun to again organize the pioneer and youth movements in order to send them in various ways to the Land.

I was called to a seminar of for emissaries at Givat Hashlosha at which participated about 100 members who were candidates for emissary work in Italy, France and Eastern Europe. (The areas of concentration of Jewish survivors). The seminar took 6 months. In the winter of 1946 the emissaries were dispersed to different countries and by different means to the areas of Jewish concentration and points for Aliyah. The British Mandate impeded our way, and it was not easy to receive exit permission for such purposes. It was necessary to camouflage our departure by various subterfuges. I was among those chosen to go to Poland, where various emissaries were already at work in conjunction with the remnants of the Jewish youth groups. In a zigzag manner, through France, Germany and Czechoslovakia, via a contingent of “repatriates”, I reached the Polish border. Here it was possible to see the wanderings of nations. Some returning to their countries, while others, the Germans, returned to theirs. The Jews, too, “returned”, only there was no place for them to return to. Their homes had been either destroyed or long since occupied by Poles, and the gentiles on trains were surprised to see many Jews. “They are still more of them!” they cried derisively, singing songs mocking a Jewish manner. Although [ostensibly] anti-Semitism was forbidden by the government, there were attacks on Jews in the trains perpetrated mainly by hooligans, the remnants of the “Endekes”^[1] which rampaged then in Poland.

I arrived in Poland on Pesach of 5706 – 1946. Warsaw was largely destroyed. In intact Praga [Warsaw's eastern suburb], there was a large concentration of Jewish survivors as well as a training camp for Jewish pioneer youth. The Jewish institutions were centered in Łódź, and there was the center for emissaries from Palestine. The pioneer groups in Poland swelled and expanded in their return to the Homeland, and thus began a growing rush of Jews and youth. Pioneer movements of all the Zionist parties established training centers in the port cities: Szczecin, Gdańsk and others, as well as in towns of Lower Silesia near the Czech border. Through these went Jews without formalities to Czechoslovakia and from there to the beaches of France and Italy. The Polish and Czech governments turned a blind eye to these activities.

After several days stay in Łódź and Warsaw, points for training centers for the “Dror” organization were established in the border towns of Lower Silesia. On the way to Wrocław my first stop was Sosnowiec. While still in Łódź I had been informed that in Dąbrowa and Będzin were not many Jews, and the largest community was in Sosnowiec. And indeed in 1946, Sosnowiec had the largest numbers of Jews who had returned from Russia, from Germany and from other concentration camps. The progress of returning Jews expanded after the ejection of the Germans. A Jewish leadership organization and foundation was set up and Jews began to seek an income. Many continued wearing Russian Army uniforms, either through habit or because they had no other clothing. Tradesmen opened workshops, while others busied themselves with trade. They bought items cheaply from the Germans and resold them well in Zagłębie.

I went to the community leadership to search family names in their index cards, but the addresses were illegible. In the town the “Dror” organization functioned with about 30 boys and girls. There I met a family member, Obzinski, Abram and his girlfriend Sima (now in Kiryat Bialik), and from them I learned my brother was in the city as well as family members of the Baitner family. After a short time I found my brother Abram and his bride (now in Petach Tikva), and Riwka and Juda Bajtner (now in Bat Yam) and their brother, Towja (who later emigrated to the U.S.). All that night we sat together and from the mouths of each came stories of their hardships, expulsions, abuse and escape. Their memories were still fresh and their stories brought new nightmares of the Holocaust. My brother Abram told me about the bitter fate of my parents. My young sisters, Sarale and Ester (ages 16-18) clung to their parents and refused to be separated from them.


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By the railcars the Germans tried separating them. When they were unsuccessful, they sent them all to Auschwitz. He and his brother Szymon managed to reach the Russian border. Through trouble and danger they came to L'viv [Lwów]. There Szymon reconsidered and decided to return to Zagłębie without giving an explanation to his actions. All petitioning to the contrary were fruitless, as he apparently was more afraid of the Russians than of the Germans. From that point on his footsteps were lost and no more is known of him. Abram arrived in the Soviet Union together with a large stream of refugees and Polish army soldiers. He was mobilized into the Red Army, fought at the fronts, was wounded and finally released at the end of the war. It has now been three months that he returned from there and came back to the old streets. He runs around dressed in Russian “Shinel” and knows no rest. It was thus that I met in Sosnowiec with the one surviving brother of the Szlomo family.

The story of Riwka and Towja, who had tattooed numbers on their forearms, was similar to those of thousands of those who went to their deaths in stages: Actions, selections, Jewish police, “Judenältester” [Jewish Elder], and “Katzet” (KZ's) were common. One's heart shrank from emotional guilt: how did the Jewish Yeshuv [population] in Palestine not know about these Jews, who had drunk from such poisonous cups?

The next day Towja wandered with me through the alleys of the city. The Jewish quarter had been occupied mainly by Poles who were not local. “Here lived your Jews from Dąbrowa before the destruction.” “Here lived uncle Woznica”. “Here was the shop of your brother, Aron-Dawid.” Aron-Dawid was the eldest son of our family. A traditional boy of the Mizrachi people. Father reaped much satisfaction as he was the sole offspring to follow in the ways of our fathers. Upon his marriage, he went to live in Sosnowiec. He built a family and had a daughter. His father-in-law helped him to earn a livelihood in a shop selling writing materials. When the partnership in Dąbrowa broke up, and the sons scattered here and there, Aron advised his parents to move to Sosnowiec. When the Action began in this neighborhood, Aron was not to be found and it was thought that maybe they were successful in being hidden by non-Jews. But the reason was more typical of what happened to the Jews and the hope was false. Who knows, perhaps somewhere a young girl named Madza, age 25, Aron's daughter is still wandering around.

On a beautiful and clear spring-like day, we boarded the streetcar and went to Dąbrowa. I had left the city in 1932, and since then 13 years had passed and what emptiness and depression! We got off at Reden and went by the houses: here lived a Pole and there an unknown person, all now taken, but the stores were open. Stores had been turned into residences. We came to the house of Josef Rozenblum, there my parents had lived. The store was closed. I went through the gate and peered into the window of the middle room. A woman was seeing to her face. I wandered around the yard. Women were busy with laundry and cooking. I went into the kitchen. They asked me: “Who is the gentleman looking for?” What could I answer? I had mental visions of a familiar face. Perhaps I'd hear the call of a mother for her son in Yiddish. They looked at me suspiciously and I left.

We walked silently along the main road, everyone immersed in his own remembrances, when we [suddenly] heard a cry in Yiddish: “Hey you!” It was Herszl Rozenblum. We recognized each other immediately. We went into a house, his parents' house, a low house with a large roof. It was perhaps the one house which had not been seized by the gentiles.

Mieszka (Szopena) Street without Jews

Herszl explained that we were not alone there, and took us to a nearby house. There, on the roof, we found a Jew aged about 35, seated next to a sewing machine. He was apparently a tailor, not a local Jew but someone from the surrounding communities, who was hit by chance. With him was a young woman whose name I believe was Tauba. We sat and talked. I asked [questions] and Herszl answered. The tailor was silent. Herszl had been one of the first to return. When he found this couple purely by chance, he brought them here. When I asked him which Jews could be found here in Reden, he said none, except for one, Kalman Herszkowicz. We left them and continued walking to the tar-paper factory of Lejbl Strzegowski. In the office we found Kalman.


[Page 454]


At first we spoke to him in Polish, but when we left the office we began speaking in Yiddish. He said the government, because of his stance as a veteran, devoted Communist, had given him the reins of the factory, which had gotten to tremendous achievements. We asked how many workers there were and replied forty. I asked him how was it he wasn't fearful for his life, a single Jew among many poor gentiles under difficult labor conditions. He said “Heaven forbid! They are not poor people, and besides which, the worst things in my life happened already, so for what should I be afraid? We asked to meet his wife and children, but he vacillated and answered what he answered. As we were leaving he accompanied us and revealed: “I wish I could start a new life, even in Palestine, but I am chained and hopeless.”

We returned to Huta Bankowa. We looked for Jews there. Towja recognized someone on the street and asked in Polish which Jews had survived here in Huta. The man replied “Dr. Mitelman” and someone else. That was it in total. 4 in Reden and 2 in Huta. I passed with resentment the front of Inger's store. From it emerged songs and voices. It had become the clubhouse of the Polish scouts. Since workers begun to remove old mines from the streets, they filled up with people. Indeed, everything remained much as it was, as things flow with time. Only the Jews were no longer there.

I finished by saying that I would come again, come back once more, to pass over the streets and find the dreams of my youth. Once more to see my parents house, the home of my childhood. But this was not in my hands. Work in the movement and the stream of returning refugees prevailed. An internal force told me, escape! Get the people out of here! And so I did.

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