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This vexing question penetrates into the depth of the soul. It has distressed us for fifteen years already, and it will continue to pursue us as a terrifying shadow and will disturb our rest until the end of days, having no answer.

As long as we deliberate over the question, we recall that a similar question was once asked, under different circumstances, when our ancestors were still cleaving and holding on in this land. A difficult cataclysm overtook them, and they asked themselves bitterly: (Psalms 74:1): “G-d, why have You cast us off forever?” This question has returned time after time.

The way of life of this nation is strange, and the path of its fate is wondrous. The binding of Isaac serves as a sort of introduction and symbol for it.

If we remember the “days of yore”^[1] – we will definitively establish, without any question, the following things:

There is no other land in the entire world that is so soaked with the blood of its children as this land. There is no other nation in the world that has dedicated its soul to its liberty as this nation and has paid such a high price in blood. It was only on rare occasions that it received recompense for its large amount of blood.

The tribulations that afflicted the nation have been many, and at every horrifying tribulation, the bitter question emanates from its mouth: Why?

It is not only the members of the nation that do not know why and for what reason. Even the G-d of the nation wonders about the fate of its children. In its manner, legend speaks in the language of humans, and knows how to tell: (Sefer HaAgadah I, page 192):

“The Holy One Blessed Be He weeps.” He laments and says: “Woe to the king who succeeded in his younger days and did not succeed in his old age”….

The forefathers appear and supplicate: Why? Moses comes and shouts: Why? And they are not answered. Only Mother Rachel evokes the mercy of the Holy One Blessed Be He, and only she received the sure, comforting response: “For you, Rachel, I will return Israel to its place.” “And the children shall return to their boundaries.” (Jeremiah 31: 14).

The meaning of these words is: The mother is the guarantor for the continued existence of this nation, and the nation will continue on the path of its life, the path of its wondrous destiny.

The most difficult and frightful cataclysm was the conflict of the nation with Rome. Rome was the epitome of might, enslaving and subduing all who stood in its path. Tens of lands and nations were subdued, placing their necks under its yoke. Only Judea, small and poor, refused, and fought with all its might, and beyond its powers. “Judea Capta” [Judea is captured] boasted the victors.

There is no measure for the blood of our ancestors spilled in this land during their protracted clash with Rome, during the many revolts, the great war, and afterwards during the time of Bar Kokhba. “The blood moved boulders of 40 seah^[2]” “The nations of the world fortified their vineyards from the blood of Israel for seven years without need of fertilizer…” (Sefer HaAgadah I, 262). Who in the world can be compared to us with our love for the land and freedom? “Who is like you, O Israel, a singular nation in the land?”^[3]

And Rome, that evil kingdom, wearied its soul from the illogical opposition of that small, stubborn nation,

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crucified for freedom. Hadrian, may his bones be ground up, decided to destroy the soul of that nation, saying, “Let us destroy them as a nation, so that the name of Israel will no longer be remembered.”^[4]

They perpetrated a great massacre of the intelligentsia of the nation, “the ten martyrs of the [Roman] government, Rabbi Akiva and his comrades. The life of the nation was hanging on a hair. Legend tells (Sefer HaAgadah II, 56),” The ministering angels said before the Holy One Blessed Be He: “This is Torah, and this is its reward?” The Holy One Blessed Be He responded, “What can I do for my children, it is a decree, and there is no one to mitigate it.”

Rabbi Yishmael uttered a great, bitter scream, shaking the heavens and the earth. He uttered a second scream, and the Throne of Honor shook. A heavenly voice stated, “If I hear one more sound, I will turn the entire world to a formless void…”^[5]

When Rabbi Yishmael heard this, he was silent. That is, he accepted the verdict. The meaning of the Heavenly voice is: The fate of the entire world is dependent on the state of this small nation…

We know of two meanings of the nickname that the historian Simon Dubno, may G-d avenge his blood, called the Jews: “A nation of the world”^[6]. One is: a nation that the entire world is full of its place^[7]. Second: a nation whose days are like the days of the world, an eternal nation. Now a third meaning of this term has been revealed to us, as has been outlined by the poet, and as is implied by the legend.^[8]

If we wish to continue along our journey to “Remember the days of yore, and understand the years of generation to generation” ^[1], our feet will take us against our will from the inheritance of G-d and bring us to far-off, foreign fields to various centers that the nation created in the east and the west, whether close to the Land of the Patriarchs or far from it, and served as a refuge for the body as well as a fortress for the spirit for many generations. At the end, they were uprooted from them after no small amount of bloodletting, especially in the center in the west. The center in Sura and Pumbedita lasted for 1006 years. The center in Grenada and Cordoba lasted for 1500 years^[9]. We will skip over other small centers until we arrive at this latter center, which served as a refuge for 1,000 years, and was uprooted and destroyed before our eyes during our days, covering in its cataclysm one third of the nation in such a terrible and frightful manner that has no equal, whether in the center in Babylonia or the center in Spain.

How did the nation regard this center in the country of Poland. Legend states: “At a time when the gentiles were persecuting the Jew in the Diaspora greatly, and the Divine presence, so to speak, saw that there was no end and no purpose, and there was a possibility that the remnant of Israel might be lost, Heaven forbid, the Divine Presence immediately came before the Holy One Blessed Be He and raised her complaint, stating: Until when? You gave the dove that was sent from the ark during the time of the flood an olive branch so it will have a place to set its feet upon the water – but it could not withstand the waters of the flood and returned to the ark. You sent my children out of the ark to the waters of the flood, and you did not create any place for them where they could rest in their exile?”^[10]

Immediately, the Holy One Blessed Be He took a piece of the Land of Israel that was hidden with him in the heavens from the day that the Temple was destroyed, lowered it to earth, and said:

“Be a resting place for the people of the Diaspora.” Therefore, its name is Polin, meaning “Rest here [Po Lin in Hebrew] in the Diaspora.” For that reason, Satan has no authority there, and Torah spread out throughout the entire country: synagogues, houses of study, and Yeshivas. Praise to His Name, may He be blessed!

And what will happen in the future? When the Messiah comes? What will happen to the synagogues and communities that we built in Poland? How is this? In the future, when the Messiah comes, the Holy One Blessed Be He will certainly transport Poland with all its communities, Beis Midrashes, and Yeshivas to the Land of Israel.” (From Kiddush Hashem by Sholem Asch: A conversation between the author Rabbi Yonah, and Mendel the Parnas of Złoczew.)

These things were stated at the end of the era, the era of Jewish connection to the State of Poland under the shadow of merciful kings, from Kazimierz the Great until Zygmunt August (during the 14^th, 15^th, 16^th, and half of the 17^th centuries).

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Not a long time passed before a terrible tribulation affected that peaceful Jewry. The years of 5408-5417 (1648-1656)^[11] uprooted the Jewish tree planted in Poland, Lithuania, and Ukraine. Approximately 700 Jewish communities and settlements were destroyed (some partly). That Jewry could not return to its strength for several generations after the great tribulation of the 5408.

Now, the latest cataclysm was most difficult and terrible, and final upon that same land of Poland. There, we had found a place of refuge for more than 1,000 years, even though our sojourn there during most periods was in accordance with the words of the poet: a sojourn “among scorpions, between the straits of the netherworld and the tribulations of the pit.” From time to time, there was spilling of blood, whether great or small. However, the martyrs of Nemirov^[12], like the martyrs of Magentza [Mayence or Mainz] did not ask: Why? In their consciousness, their victims were not in vain. They knew why and for Whom they were giving their lives. There was a purpose in their deaths, just as there was also a purpose in their lives. This was not the case with our generation, with the cataclysm of our day on the land of Poland, a cataclysm that our nation, learned in experience, has not seen the likes of in form or scope. Before our eyes and in our days, this center has tottered and collapsed, and will not rise or return! Is this a coincidence or a twist of fate, that this land, which was called Po Lin [rest or sojourn here] at its outset – ended up being the eternal resting place for millions of our martyrs? Six million?

Once, the refugees of the Diaspora streamed there from the lands of Europe, to its protective, sheltering land. Now, before our eyes, death trains traveled upon its land from the countries of Europe. The vast majority of its residents collaborated with the enemy.

“Cursed are you, cruel gentile. Cursed be your name for ever and ever.”

(Sh. Tchernichovsky)

A future historian who will research our history during the current [i.e. 20^th] century will blame that generation for shortsightedness, in that they did not realize what was coming and did not foresee the dangers to come. Did not Binyamin Zeev the son of Yaakov from Budapest^[13] and before him Yehuda Leib the physician from Odessa^[14], and before and after them many other great people issued clear warnings, as scouts standing on their guard, as they blew the shofars and called to the people:

Arise, escape before it is too late, for the ground is burning under your feet, and the volcano is likely to erupt at any moment, any hour.

“There is no hope here, my brothers, the end has already been determined. “There is no hope for the dove in the talons of the hawk…”

(Iggeret Ketana, Ch. N. Bialik)

… How can I come through the gate		There is no voice, and no answer,
Of the treasured land,		And the dove with a lad
My key is broken		Refined, are knocking
And the door is locked.		On the door of the gate.
(Behind the Gate, Ch. N. Bialik)

The ancients established in their visions that there will be the War of Gog and Magog prior to the redemption, and a large amount of Israelite blood would be shed. “It will be a time of tribulation for Jacob, and he will be saved from it.”^[15]

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Indeed, the great salvation arose before our eyes. Could it be that we paid the price through the loss of one third of the Jews off the face of the entire earth??

Translator's footnotes

1. Based on Deuteronomy 32:7. Return
2. A seah is a Biblical / Talmudic unit of volume, equivalent to approximately 8.5 liters. Return
3. From the Sabbath afternoon Amida. Return
4. Psalms 83:4. Return
5. Based on Genesis 1:2. Note, this legend of the Ten Martyrs is graphically portrayed in the Eileh Ezkera section of Yom Kippur Musaf. Return
6. Usually translated as “an eternal nation” but here open to different meanings, so I gave a purely literal translation. Return
7. Seemingly: That this nation is significant for the essence of the entire world. Return
8. That the veritable existence of the world is dependent on the Jewish nation. Return
9. These timeframes are not exact. Return
10. A very difficult legend, with different aspects of the Divine speaking to each other, so to speak. A multiplicity of the godhead is not to be read into this legend [as per Christological views of the deity] – rather, from a human perspective, it appears that G-d has a more aloof form, as well as a more immanent form. Note, the author, Sholem Asch, is known for having interspersed some elements of Christological ideas in his writings. Return
11. The Chmielnicki uprising. Return
12. The site of one of the worst massacres during the period of the Chmielnicki uprising. Return
13. Also known as Theodor Herzl. Return
14. Also known as Leon Pinsker. Return
15. Jeremiah 30:7. For a Biblical description of Gog and Magog, see Ezekiel 38. Return

I still remember your image, O tiny town, that dwells far from the bustle of the world, and almost alone.

At a time when fates were being determined, you remained exactly within your bounds, and had a bit of this and that.

I still remember your streets, narrow and long, with low houses on both sides, as soldiers arranged in a row. Every house had an extended family, with one or two families, and children running about in the yards.

In the summer, the doors and windows were open toward the street, and one could look inside to the faces, and see everything that was going on in the rooms.

In the winter, the windows were covered up, and the houses were turned inwards, as if they were hiding their residents.

I still remember the days of summer, warm days of bright sunlight, when the entire town spilled out to the street – in the morning to work and in the evening to stroll.

How good and pleasant was it to get up in the morning and see the cows going out to pasture in herds, accompanied by the cowherd with his stick and faithful dog.

I still remember boys and girls rising early to go on excursions outside the city, to the meadows and forests, to set up camps there and spend an entire day in the bosom of nature. These were the youth who were preparing themselves for a new life. The center of that life was then the Land of Israel and the national renaissance movement.

I still remember boys and girls hurrying to the cheders and schools with their schoolbags on their shoulders and joyous laughter on their faces – who knew what fate was awaiting them?

I still remember parents going out to their work, some to commerce, some to trades, to concern themselves with sustenance for their families. Toiling parents bearing the yoke of life – who would have thought that such would happen to them?

I still remember rainy days, as if the windows of the heavens had opened, and the thunder shook the windows of the houses. Behold, lightning flashes, and fire breaks out in one of the houses in the suburbs. The sound of the alarm of the guard reaches one's ears to put out the fire. The rain even stops as if to give time to save the house, a cow, a horse, or anything that can be saved from the talons of the fire that spread quickly through the roofs of the houses and the surrounding hay.

I still remember clear, snowy winter nights, sparkling in the white that covered all existence. Inside, the family gathers around the hot oven with the steaming tea.

As those winter days approached, the heads of the families prepared themselves with food, firewood, animal feed, and warm clothing.

I still remember those peaceful days when the course of life flowed along at its own pace, as nobody foresaw that a Holocaust would come.

I still remember the days of spring and the days of Passover. Every corner in the entire house had been washed and cleaned. We enjoyed the splendor of the world, and were immersed in worldly life, without seeing that a disaster would break out.

I still remember many youths leaving the town to go to bastions of learning in the large city. When they would return home for holidays and vacations, they would be wearing the hats of gymnazja [high school] students, thereby arousing the jealousy of those in their age cohort who did not merit to leave the town and go afar.

I still remember boys and girls rebelling against the current realities of life, as they set out for places of Hachshara [pioneer training], so that they could join the camps of the pioneers making aliya to the Land of Israel when the time came, setting out for a new, difficult life.

I still remember this rebellion of children against their parents, of escape from home, of abandoning the school bench, of leaving elderly parents to their sighs, of forging a different life, of burning all bridges in order to build a new bridge through which the members of the generation who were yearning for their own homeland and their own life would pass.

I still remember the last days before the World War, when the pure Jews did not want to believe the footsteps

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of the approaching Holocaust, as they held their children back and did not permit them to make aliya, for that was fraught at that time with the danger of stealing across borders and crossing seas without permission.

Then suddenly, the screen fell, and everything that remained behind it was very far from us, separated by continents and seas.

I still remember the first tidings of Job that reached us about the slaughter and murder, and the atrocities of the Germans in the town, with the assistance of the gentiles who collaborated with them, and there was nobody to save us.

I still remember when I came to destroyed Poland after the Holocaust, my journey from city to city, and the hopeless attempt to save what was possible. At that time, the survivors were poor, sparse, and lacking of means.

I still remember the darkest of dark, worst of the worst, the information brought to us by the survivors, the last remnants, who told us about those who were about to be murdered digging their own graves, and the deportation of the residents of the town who were unable to stand before the bullets of the murderers and the knives of their helpers.

I still remember the day when I stood on what was once the famous death camp of Auschwitz, and on the gas chambers and crematoria that remained in their full awfulness and frightfulness, and the heaps upon heaps of bones of millions of people who were cremated in that place.

We will surely remember all this, and we will not allow ourselves to be silent until the end of all generations.

Who can describe the magnitude of the destruction? Who of us has the power to put it all on paper? Indeed, a decade or more has passed since those bitter, unstable days.

I said: I will delve into the forgotten depths and dredge from there that which comes to my memory – day to day realities, holy and mundane, specific and general, about that which was and is no more.

I went from house to house, from one desolate, gloomy road to the next, from dawn until the stars came out: On every wall there were only shadows, and thousands of eyes shout out and supplicate on account of the fear of death that pervaded.

As I was walking there, a single living soul, uniting with the souls of thousands of our martyrs, old and young, big and small, fathers and mothers, members of all strata, who were united in a single communal grave as they fell. Beasts of the field consumed the flesh of all the others, who did not merit a Jewish burial.

I delved further into the echoes. Now I saw my native city as it was during my childhood and youth. I saw its many Jews at their daily work: some in education, some in culture, some for Zion, some for their day-to-day needs, some for whom the matters of aliya to the Land overtake their rest, some concerned about the difficulties of a daughter who has come of age – these matters concern them and do not allow for silence.

How lovely were your deeds, O residents of David-Horodok? You helped, gave support, assisted, made things easier, created something from nothing through the sweat of your brow. Your livelihood came through the mercies of Heaven.

Is there anyone who was satisfied with little in the material sense as you were; and who was as dedicated to and strove for the needs of the spirit as you were dedicated and strove? I recall the Hebrew schools, which suffered countless difficulties, and nevertheless maintained themselves and educated 90% of the children of the town. I recall the echoes of spoken Hebrew on the lips of the valiant “Bnei Yehuda,” whose lives were dedicated to ensuring that it took root within the town and outside of it. Here is the orphanage, the libraries, the halls, the synagogues. The spirit of Zion pervaded every house. This dedication to Zionism and the Land of Israel was to such an extent that at times it seems that your feet were standing upon the ground of Israel.

But no, I cannot express your entire essence, realities, and destinies, O martyrs of my town. Words fail the mouth, and tears dry in the eyes. Woe!

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A strong desire moves me to erect a monument to David-Horodok, where I was educated and raised. It is a populated town situated in the Polesye district, covered with bogs and poorly connected to transportation. It was a town in which poverty and crowding were blended. On the other hand, Hebrew culture and life pulsated within it. Already about fifty years ago, Yishai Adler worked there in the dissemination of Hebrew enlightenment and the revival of the language. Many were helped by him and continued successfully even after his departure. There was enthusiastic Zionist activity in this Jewish town, and its residents were among the first to take part in the Second Aliya. They snuck over borders, and traversed the seven levels of hell in order to reach the Land. I will not dwell here on the description of this town. It seems to me that its name and memory are spoken of in the community.

A few months ago, at the time of the Russian conquest, pieces of information began to filter through from letters from Russia. Among them was the letter of a fourteen-year-old boy, the only one who survived from our entire city. The following is written in the letter, among other things: “The heart turns to stone at the sight of all the troubles, murders, tortures, and the burning of people alive. After I wandered around for three consecutive years without a roof over my head, without the right to life, filthy and starving, awaiting an unusual death at any moment – I cannot believe that I am here alone, that I alone remain of my entire large family and my unfortunate town. Woe, my death would have been better than my life.” – laments a fourteen-year-old boy! “What more can I write. The matter is terrible and known. The wound in the soul is deep. You must certainly be wondering how I could write such, but it has already been some time since I had a human heart. The fire of revenge is burning inside me. I would drink their blood, and do to them what they perpetrated upon us – – – ”

Indeed, the pain is great, and the chances of our brethren in the Diaspora are bleak. Nations will arise to new life, cities and houses will be built upon their ruins, but our dear parents and siblings will never rise again.

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A. Declaration of War and We Guard the Order

On Thursday, August 27, 1939, four days before the outbreak of the war, announcements were posted on the streets of David-Horodok regarding a general draft. The Jewish community in the city was perplexed. People went around as shadows, knowing what was to come. Nevertheless, many believed that the war was not near.

On Friday, September 1, 1939, at 4:00 a.m., German soldiers crossed the Polish border and advanced as quick as lightening. The gloomy news that a portion of the Jewish and gentile population was drafted by the firefighters

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to ensure the fulfillment of the command and to stand on guard during the alarm was posted. I too was among the draftees. We stood on guard day and night.

One evening, we were summoned by the fire chief and informed that the Polish police no longer exists, and it was our duty to protect the order until the arrival of the new regime. Some of us were given axes and hatchets, and others were given live weapons. The residents of the surrounding villages organized themselves and armed themselves with anything they could get their hands on, with the aim of attacking the city and pillaging it. However, the villagers were stopped by the civilian police at the entrance to the bridge over the Horyn River. The police threatened to open fire, and they scattered.

The situation continued to be tense and we remained on our guard, with the exception of the time of shofar blowing on Rosh Hashanah. After about two weeks I found out from Moshe Margolin and Simcha Mishalov that the Red Army would shortly arrive in David-Horodok. Indeed, the Red Army entered the town on September 19 at 6:00 a.m. The Jewish community felt relieved. My unit of five firefighters who guarded the Olshan bridge was the first to meet the Red Army as it entered. They thought that we were Polish police, and their aimed their weapons at us, until we were able to prove who we were. They did not leave us, and we advanced together to the Horyn bridge at the other end of the city. Three Polish soldiers shot at us next to the house of Moshe Baruchin, for they did not want to give up the city without a battle. Two lieutenants of the Red Army fell in the ensuing battle.

All of the draftees and firefighters were commanded to advance with the firefighting equipment under a volley of bullets in order to extinguish the fire at the bridge that was ignited by the Poles. When the Russian tanks approached the river, we informed them that it was very deep, but they responded “Nichevo” [Don't worry; let things take their course]. They entered the water and crossed the river with the help of special wings.

The new regime did not particularly affect Jewish life. The religious and Zionist segments were most affected. Elders and people of faith, who had always been punctilious about the holiness of the Sabbath and festivals throughout their entire lives, were forced to worship at 4:00 a.m. on Yom Kippur and then go out to work at 7:00 below the riverbank of Moche Rimar. Everything that had existed was cut down and disappeared. Suspicion replaced friendship and brotherhood. The idea of leaving for Vilna slowly developed, as it would be an opening of hope for leaving for the free world. A free exchange of population continued for about two weeks. On one Saturday night in October, hundreds of Jews came to the home of Rabbi Shapira of blessed memory to bid him farewell as he left for Vilna with his wife. As I entered there, he approached me, and said: “Yaakov, I command you to travel to Vilna immediately, for your Zionist work will stand for you.” I understood him, sighed with a broken heart, and said, “Rabbi – You are correct.”

My father of blessed memory wanted very much for me to leave Horodok. Since he was unable to express his will to me, he repeated this in front of my friends several times. It was not easy to come in contact with several of my friends, for it was impossible to tell this to anyone. The first group, numbering four individuals – Yosef the son of Moshe Baruchin, Avraham Gurevitz, Zeev Ronkin, and I – set out in the direction of Romania via Rovno and Lvov. We were forced to return since there was no crossing. The second time, we set out toward Vilna. When we reached Eishishok, we were told that they were sending people back from Vilna, so we returned. The atmosphere was very oppressive, and I decided to leave Horodok at any price.

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E. On the Way to Vilna

At 6:00 p.m. on September 22, 1939, toward evening, as I was standing next to the store of Yosef Basevitz, which served as a co-op for provisions, one of the trustworthy people of the new regime approached me and told me that I was given an ultimatum to bring the Beitar archives to the police station… My response was that the archives were completely destroyed at the beginning of the war, along with all the Zionist archives. I knew that my days in Horodok were numbered. Two days later at 8:00 a.m., I was informed by Yosef Gloiberman of blessed memory that his brother Yaakov and David Gurevitz had crossed the border from Vilna to transfer the Admor of Karlin. I hastened home, and after a brief consultation with my parents, sister, brother, brother-in-law, and uncle, I packed my belongings and set out on my journey. I also wanted to speak to my friend Yosef Baruchin and convince him to come with me, so that my conscience would be clear, but Yosef Gloiberman dissuaded me from that, saying that has already set himself up, is working in a bank, and has a red card. I went to Chaikel Freiman and asked that his son Leibel accompany me. He agreed, and we set out to Luninets.

We met up with Gloiberman and Gurevitz in Luninets. The Admor did not come, and we continued to Lida, and from there to Turgal, the last town at the border. After much wandering, tribulations, and difficulties on the fifty-kilometer trek through the mud and snow on our knees, we succeeded in crossing the border. Leibel Freiman was the weakest of us. As we ran across the border zone, a length of four kilometers, until the nearby grove, we realized that he was missing. I was certain that he remained on the way because of his weakness. I backtracked approximately one kilometer to look for him, but I did not find him. When I returned, I found him in the grove. When I asked him where he had disappeared, he told me that he had fallen because of lack of energy, but at that time, Rabbi Sorotzkin was crossing the border on a sled, and he took him across as well.

Our situation was good when we were in Vilna, and after that in Ponevezh in the center of Lithuania. I wrote the following in my last letter home: “When the band starts playing, go out to visit your sister Rivka.” I was in Ponevezh when the war between Germany and Russia broke out. Yaakov Gloiberman was in Vilna, Leibel Freiman in Kovno, and Zeev Shafer on the way from Pinsk to Sarny. They all met the same fate. One day I received a letter from home informing me that my mother of blessed memory had died on 3 Shevat.

There in Ponevezh, I worked with a Pole who had remained in Lithuania already from the time of the First World War. He was considered to be a very honest person. When I went to consult with him, he advised me to hide with him, and even promised to concern himself with obtaining Aryan papers for me. I did not lose my common sense. I thanked him and told him that his neighbors would certainly report me, and I did not want him to suffer because of me. Therefore, I decided to escape to Russia. Then the Pole gave me some money and wished me success. At 2:00 p.m. that same day I set out with several friends to Dvinsk [Daugavpils] on the way to Bogshiva in the Russian territory. We continued on through Polatsk and Vitebsk. The bombing was terrible. Everything was destroyed and burnt. The skies were darkened during the day from smoke, and were reddish at night from the fires. We survived only through a miracle.

We saw Smolensk going up in flames during the light of the day at a distance of seventy kilometers from us. Since we could not continue, we returned and traveled toward Kuybishev. After a journey of about one month on trains, we arrived in the Viznichok station, forty kilometers from Kuybishev. There, we worked in agriculture in the Puti Socializma Kolkhoz [collective farm]. Our nerves partially calmed down, but our nights passed without sleep, for we worried about our relatives and friends.

After the Stalin-Sikorski agreement was signed, Polish citizens in exile in Russia were granted asylum. The largest group began to stream toward Central Asia, the concentration area for the armies of General Andras, with the hope of making aliya to the Land. Through great effort, we succeeded in leaving Kuybishev and reaching Zarbuloq in Central Asia.

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However, we did not succeed in moving from there on account of the well-known relations of the Andras brigades with the Jews. I remained in Zarbuloq for four years. I succeeded in establishing contact with my brother in the Land of Israel. How great was my joy and emotion when I received the first telegram from the Land. I also succeeded in establishing contact with David-Horodok natives in Russia: Kopel Moravchik, Yissachar Kirzner, Yosef Yudovitz, Yaakov Bregman of blessed memory, Shalom Kvetny, Asher Baruchin, Shmuel Zezik, Baruch Lelzizky, and others.

When we were in Zarbuloq, all the Jews there, who were from Poland, Russia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Bessarabia, organized themselves. A charitable fund was even set up to support those in need.

Not far from us there was a hospital. Most of the sick people, who mainly suffered from typhus, dysentery, and malaria, received milk and bread every day. Members of the committee would visit the sick twice a month, bringing them food packages and encouraging them. The committee also concerned itself with the religious needs of the refugees. A house was obtained to serve as a synagogue. We even received a Torah scroll from the Jews of Bukhara, which was twelve kilometers from Zarbuloq. A minyan was held every Sabbath. People would pledge money for the needs of the community fund during the aliyot to the Torah on Sabbaths and festivals. There participation was especially great on the High Holy Days. I served as the shofar blower for two years.

When the awaited moment arrived, and the war ended, I contacted the town council of David-Horodok. After some time, I received their response: “The fate of your parents was the same as that of all the Jews of Horodok. All the Jews were liquidated, and their property was pillaged.” At that time, Yissachar Kirzner visited me. We went to the post office together to get the responses of the town councils of David-Horodok, Stolin, Visotzk, Pinsk, and Nesvizh. The text of all of them was the same. Those moments were the gloomiest of our lives. We did not believe and could not come to terms with the bitter truth that was thrust in our faces.

The sense of despair was strong. The cold pained the hearts and souls. Loneliness and apathy pervaded all over. Humans were created in the [Divine] image, created to exist and live on the land in a state of blessing, to enjoy life in every place. However, the “enlightened” world that had advanced in giant steps from a technical perspective, accepted with equanimity the rivers of boiling blood of our brothers, sisters, wives, children, and infants who had been seized with vile force and in sadistic ways from the arms of their mothers and tossed upon walls and rocks. This world was still thirsty with a voracious desire relating to the tragic, unforgettable past. The ground had yet to be calmed from the blood of the victims that it had absorbed. It was screaming, calling out and warning: “The voice of the blood of your brother is shouting at you from the earth”^[1] – and there is nobody responding as the voice calls out in the wilderness. Their final screams echo, but the ears are blocked and the brains are dulled – nobody is listening!

Were I to have been an inventor, I would have invented the proper medicine that could uproot the frothing poison. The time has come to “silence the accuser, and let the defender take his place.”^[2] They did not even come to a Jewish grave. The two mass graves of the natives of David-Horodok on the route to Chinovsk are orphaned. Nobody comes and nobody visits. Nobody sheds a tear, and nobody bats an eyelash.

The torture and suffering are etched deep in the wounded heart. There is no power in the world to cause them to be forgotten, and there is no way to ignore them. I was far from you during those terrible awful days and nights. Alone and abandoned, your souls expired collectively and ascended toward the heavens of the G-d who did not inquire about us, and who did not ask about us – this is what fate wanted. The impure iron fist was victorious…

May you rest in peace, and may your souls be bound in the bonds of eternal life, and be righteous intercessors for those that remain.

Translator's footnotes

1. Paraphrased from Genesis 4:10. Return
2. From the Amnam Ken hymn of the Yom Kippur evening service. Return

[Page 209]

(From a letter sent by one of the partisans of the Red Army to his sister in the Land. This letter contains first-hand testimony to the fate of two towns in Polesye, Stolin and David-Horodok, both known for their activities on behalf of the funds^[1] and the Hebrew language. The Bnei Yehuda movement, consisting of school youths who took upon themselves to change over to the Hebrew language at home, on the street, and in every place, was formed in the latter, David-Horodok, approximately a decade prior to the war. They actualized this decision with exceptional consistency and dedication, and served as an example for many other Tarbut schools in the country of Poland.

The author of the letter, Michael N. lived in a village between these two towns, and he begins his letter with the fate of the Jewish community in that village. We bring characteristic sections from this letter, which open a window for us to peer into the darkness of the hell in which millions of our brethren in Poland found themselves.)

…For complete days and nights, there was only one thought in my heart: Do you at least know about our torment and the bitterness of our fate? When I escaped from the darkness of the ghetto and the accursed Germans, and wandered through the bogs and forests, in holes and hiding places, literally like a mad dog, only this thought was on my mind: How can I inform you, my brother and sister, so that someone from our family will know after my death what I went through? At times, I thought about taking my own life. It is only when your memory came before me that I girded myself with strength, and a spark of hope passed over me: Perhaps? And with the rest of my strength, I overcame everything, and my only aspiration was that the day will come when I will arise with weapons in my hands to take our revenge.

It was not easy for me to be accepted into the partisan brigade, and later into the Red Army. I passed through Lithuania and Latvia with the Russians. I fought on the front, and I finally even reached the impure Berlin, and took revenge for our spilled blood… However, the deep wound in my heart will never be healed…

In 1941, one week after Tisha B'Av, I remember that this was a Sunday, the great slaughter in David-Horodok took place. All the men were gathered into a field outside the town with the pretext that they would be taken to work. They were all murdered by gunshot.

I was then in the village of Rubiel, and we did not know anything. I always loved fishing. I arose in the afternoon and went to the river. I called my cousin Yaakov R. to accompany me. He joked and responded in his usual fashion: I will come to the river in an hour by horse and wagon to pick up your fish. I went myself. At 5:00 p.m., I heard the sound of gunshots, one after the other. I hid deep in the bushes, and I waited that perhaps

[Page 210]

someone from the village might come, and I will understand what was the meaning of this. One of the farmers passed by and brought me the terrible news. A few hours before this, nobody knew what was about to happen. Everyone was working at his work, one with his anvil, and another with his needle. Then suddenly – all were dead. Yaakov was among them. An hour earlier, he was still joking, and now he was dead. For what reason? 53 people were murdered in our village, including Motel Z., the father of our sister-in-law Chanale. Yaakov still said a few words before his death. All the Jews of the village gathered at the shed of the firefighters. They were chained in groups of threes, marched between the barns, and murdered.

Later, news came from David-Horodok about what had happened there.

I secretly snuck out of the village and set out to Stolin. The murderers sensed that I was not among those murdered, and they went out to search for me. However, one of the farmers who was my friend hid me, so that they would not find me.

It was still quiet in Stolin at that time. The wild S.S. men had skipped over Stolin for some reason. They only captured David-Horodok, and the Christian residents did their job. The shkotzim^[2] among the local farmers also perpetrated their deeds in the village of Rubiel as well as the next village.

(Note from the publisher: The murderers from among the Christian residents were not so brazen as to also murder the women and children. This was a well-known form of restraint, a sort of Christian “righteousness” to not attack women. Even in 1920, when the gangs of Bulak-Balachowicz rampaged through Polesye, they maintained this Christian “righteousness”.)

The unfortunate, bereaved women wandered through the fields and forests. They were pillaged of all that they had, and there was no place for them to go. The communal council of Stolin interceded strongly. After much effort and payment of high bribes, they were permitted to come to Stolin.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, two murderers entered the home of our brother Moshe, removed him from his house, and imprisoned him. After three days, we found out that he had been killed by torture. We only managed to bring him to burial a half a year later. We wrapped him in his tallis, and his son L. recited Kaddish for him.

From the time that my days of torture and torment began, I remained alone, surrounded by widows and orphans. I had to concern myself with restoring their starving souls. There was always a minyan in our home, and our father recited Kaddish, at first for the martyrs of Rubiel, and later for the souls of our brother and aunt. Our father did not speak. He held his lips and was silent. At times, when the women burst out weeping, he would warn them to refrain from lamenting, as he himself choked his tears in his throat.

And me – I was forced to show strength and fortitude, even though I was fully immersed in tears. At 7:00 p.m. it was forbidden to be seen outside. The house was closed. The blinds were drawn, and we sat closed in and talked about you again and again. Do you know our fate, and will you ever find out about it?

Thus did the winter pass. They expelled us from our home on the eve of Passover of 1942. Then, they began to mention that a ghetto would soon be set up in Stolin. Countless payments and fines were extorted from us. They literally ripped the skin off our bodies.

On the eve of Shavuot, they finished encompassing the ghetto with a fence consisting of fifteen metal wires, with three meters between each pillar. We were ordered to move into the ghetto. Each one of us took something along, for we had to sustain the wretched body. Our father took his walking stick and walked. We were all in a single room, as were the others.

In the ghetto, life began that was worse than death. We could not come or go. Every day, twelve people died. People lay down swollen from hunger. I saw the swollen feet of our parents and my heart burst inside of me. There was no other conversation on the lips, only food, and food. We found ways to sneak food into the ghetto. We heard the astounding news. The heart did not want to believe. Could it be possible? Children too? Would such a thing happen?

Then, the dark, dismal day came, the eve of Rosh Hashanah of 1942. There were 7,000 souls in the Stolin Ghetto, and all were murdered. The graves had been prepared beforehand. They were stripped naked, placed prone in the pits, and shot row by row.

[Page 211]

I will never forget the last night in the ghetto… We sat together with our parents until 3:00 a.m. We bid each other farewell, kissed and wept, kissed and wept. We bid farewell to your pictures, and held them close to our hearts. Our father recited the confession, and our mother bathed, donned clean white clothing, and prepared herself to greet death. She chased me out of the house: “Get out of here, leave, you will survive. Hide yourself. It should not be on our hands. At least, you will take revenge for our blood. You will tell about us!”…

At that moment, I did not believe the words of our mother. How can I escape death, we were surrounded on all sides. I finally left them, only to give them the illusion that I would survive, so as to ease their final moment of life. Thus did I part from them forever.

* * *

More than once, I cursed that moment when I left them. O, how I wished to die together with them, embraced in their arms, just like all the martyrs died bound together in an embrace. I lay in a narrow cellar with Zeev M. for eighteen days. I sought a way of leaving there. My heart told me that if I succeed in leaving the ghetto, I would not die. I told me friend that we should try to escape together, but his wife was still alive, hiding in one of the holes, as was his mother, brother N., and sister Batya, and he did not agree to leave them. His uncle Shalom D. and family also remained alive after the slaughter. I was the only orphaned one. I met them at night and attempted to change their minds and search for a way and means to leave the place. However, they waited, for perhaps a miracle would happen. Thus, they remained.

Then I began to search for methods on my own. On the eighteenth night after the slaughter, I snuck out of the ghetto in the darkness. The windows and doors were broken. Everything was desolate. Every moment, it felt to me that I would soon stumble into a body of one of those killed. The hair on my head stood on end.

Then I stumbled into a living person. I approached him, and I was quite surprised when I saw before me a tall gentile. (This was the head of the thieves of Stolin. Later I found out that he was in prison.) He brought me out of the ghetto.

All those who remained behind were dead within a few days.

* * *

At that time, days began that had no worth to me. I was an extra person on the earth! I do not have the power to describe what I endured. Only thanks to some of my friends, farmers from the village, did I succeed in going out to the highway. That means that I entered the partisan brigades, and from there to the Red Army. I will not tell about what happened to me after that, for it is no longer important.

I hope that you will receive a clear idea of everything that we, the residents of the village of Rubiel, endured. In the army, I met two other lads, brothers, the sons of A. Shulman the Levite.

Translated from Yiddish by Y. Idan
Davar, 19 Tishrei 5707 October 10, 1946.

Translator's footnotes

1. This seemingly refers to the two main Zionist funds at this time: Keren Kayemet [Jewish National Fund] and Keren Hayesod [Foundation Fund]. Return
2. A derogatory term for gentiles. Return

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