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My father's father – my grandfather – was called Zvi-Hirsch and my grandmother – Szprinza. My father has two sisters and five brothers. They are: Chay-Sarah'keh and Eliyahu Stotsky with three children; Henya-Leah and her husband with two children; Shlomo and his wife Mer'keh with two children; Moshe and his wife Sarah with two children; Tan'keh (Tanhum) and his wife Fruma with two children; Joseph and his wife Esther with their son, Isser; Yud'l and his wife and two children. This family, on my father's side was destroyed by German hands.

Now comes the family on the side of my mother, Taib'eh: Her mother Faygl and father Yankl Meckel also had tow daughters (Bayl'keh and Chaya-El'keh) and five sons: Chaim-Yitzhak (died in America); Moshe and Ber'l (killed in the First World War); Ely'eh (today found in America); and David-Hirsch'l (fell as a partisan in the forest with the rank of deputy commander).He had a wife, Chay-Esther, and five children: Pesh'keh, Shifra, Rachel-Liebeh, Yankl and Ber'l – all killed by the Germans.

The family of Mensl and Freid'l Gapanowicz and their five children, also belonged to our family circle: Noah-Abba Gapanowicz and his wife It'keh with two children; Lejzor and wife Szprinza with two children; Itcheh-Moshe and wife with children (lived in Zhetl); Et'keh and her husband Jonah Kutitzky with two children (lived in Vilna); Rivka (lived in Astryna), her two children – Meir and Leah'keh (lived in Belica) – were killed by the Germans (Meir in the first aktion among the 36 Jews, and Leah'leh – in Vilna).

The family of Ber'l Radominer, who was the Shammes of the Synagogue, also belonged to our family circle. His wife was called Ed'keh, and their children were: Lipa, Bayl'keh (the wife of the hairdresser Baran), Hash'keh (the wife of the bandleader Yitzhak Kamenetzky), and Bash'keh (the wife of Yankl Kremen, Shlomo the baker's son).

There were seven of us living in my father's house: Father, mother, grandmother Faygl, my two brothers (Yankl and David), and one sister (Chaya) – we all lived a quiet and contented life. Apart from the fact that my father carried on a widely diverse set of businesses, he also participated in community affairs. He stood at the head of the Fire Fighters Brigade and apart from that he took part in other community work: for the Yiddish School, for the Volksbank, and Gemilut-Hesed, for the children of the poor, for Bikur Kholim, etc.

The door to our home was always open to everyone. With all of the troubles taking place in the shtetl, people constantly came to my father and he would always help with whatever he could. I remember very well that Friday when the Great Fire broke out in the shtetl. the entire shtetl was engulfed in flames, and as it happens, my father was not there at that precise moment. Suddenly we saw that my father was coming with the fire

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brigade from Lida. Accordingly, everyone ran towards him with tears in their eyes, a mixture of sorrow and happiness, believing that he will save the shtetl. During that fire, only two Jewish homes were consumed, and the larger portion of the non-Jewish houses, and because of this, my father was brought to trial in Warsaw. Thanks to the fact that the Catholic Church was also rescued by the dedication of the Jewish fire fighters, the court absolved my father of any guilt, and recommended he be awarded a silver medal for his energetic and responsible work in the Belica Fire Fighters Command.

I remember my grandmother Szprinza and grandfather Zvi-Hirsch very well from my childhood years in the shtetl. I would go running to them through a small side street sunken in snow. I was afraid of the collapsed little house that stood in the middle of this snow-covered street, because it was told in the town that bad people had been buried in the snow there. When I finally arrived at the home of my grandparents, I would climb up on the big oven, and warm myself up, and calm down a bit. My grandmother would never let us out until we finished off all the pancakes with goose fat. Then I would run back through the marketplace, and along the way, would slip and slide a bit near the Bet HaMedrash, where there was a large sheet of ice, and there people would skate on ice skates.

At night, when we would get good an cold, we went inside to the Bet HaMedrash, where there was a large warm brick bench (lezhayka^[1]), where the older Jews would sit and warm themselves, reciting Psalms or studying Mishna. My elderly and good grandfather, Zvi-Hirsch, was almost always among them, who would take me on his knee so that I too, could warm up, and listen in on the learning.

I very much loved to listen to the stories of the old Jews in the shtetl. My grandfather would tell stories from his time as a soldier in the First World War. Fish'keh Mayewsky, who fought in Manchuria and brought back two medals from there, had stories to tell without end.

On Friday night, after the evening meal, Rabbi Fein ז”ל conducted a lesson, for the general public, on the Pentateuch portion of the week. On the Sabbath, before dawn, my grandfather would be called to go recite Psalms.

What did the Jews of Belica live from?

Wednesday, the market day, the peasants would come traveling from all of the surrounding villages, and bring their produce to sell, and afterwards, would buy up their necessities in the shtetl. Apart from storekeepers and merchants, the Jews also were craftsmen in town: shoemakers, tailors, carpenters, hat makers, tinsmiths, blacksmiths, etc. I can still hear the ringing of the hammer in the smithy of the old smith Zelig, and his son, Aharon. You could hear that ringing all over the shtetl, at a time that Zelig Bussel with

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his children would beat out the sickles and scythes for cutting wheat in the peasant fields of all the villages in the area.

Thursday was the market day in Lida. Belica wagon drivers and merchants would hitch horses to wagons, or sleds, and travel to the Lida market to buy merchandise.

Purim in the shtetl was a joyous occasion. Everyone took pleasure in the drama circle presentation of ‘The Selling of Joseph’ and afterwards, the children would also put on their own acts: going from house to house to ask for ‘mishloakh manot.’ For this, the children would sing: ‘Today is Purim, and tomorrow it is over, give me a groschen and drive me out!’

Fyv'eh Yosh'keh's (Lozowsky) would ride around on his big horse on Purim, coming into our yard, come into the house and ask for mishloakh manot for the poor Jews in the shtetl. Old Sheft'eh with the long beard, would also com into our house on Purim, sat himself down comfortably at the table, and drank a good ‘L'Chaim,’ singing a good little ditty, for which my father would always give him a good donation and both kissed each other and wished each other to live until Purim again next year.

Purim barely passed, when we began to get ready for Passover. Fresh shipments of flour would arrive into the storehouses of our business. This, my father was preparing for the temporary baking operations. In Belica, we baked matzos not only for the town itself, but also we sent matzos to Warsaw and Vilna, from which the Belica Jews made an income.

In our house, we got ready for Passover several months in advance. The grandmothers would set up big pots with beets, in order that there be a borscht for Passover for all the families of the family circle. The grandmothers would also brew mead and put up wine, and from time-to-time, the children would steal up to sneak a taste, the most important thing is that no one should see that you were going there with a glass that was Chametz.

Passover, before the Seder, as was the case before all the other holidays, all of our families, after prayer services, would come directly to our house from the synagogue to say ‘good evening’ to the elderly grandmother Faygl, who lived with us, and from the other side, my father would not make Kiddush in the house, until such time that all of the children would visit their grandmother Szprinza and grandfather Zvi-Hirsch, and wish them a ‘Good Yom Tov.’

On the Sabbath, after services, the doors of the Bet HaMedrash would be opened, and the congregation would go home. At that time, the children would run towards their fathers and grandfathers and shout out joyfully, ‘Good Shabbes.’ To this day, those childlike Sabbath greetings echo in my ears, just like the melody of Zalman Joch'eh's recitation of the Psalms echoes in my ears, between the afternoon and evening prayers. In that time, in our house, my grandmother Faygl would weep out in front of a group of older women the

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‘Tzena U'Re'ena^[2]’ and afterwards joyfully pray the ‘God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’ prayer for a good coming week for the family and all Jewry.

Before the High Holy Days, all the Belica Jews would run to recite the Selichot prayers, and to pray for a good new year for the people of Israel. On Yom Kippur Eve, Rabbi Fein זצ”ל would hold forth with a very moving sermon in the synagogue, after which the doors to the Holy Ark would be opened, and all would weep together and in a loud voice recite ‘Avinu Malkeynu….’

Immediately after Yom Kippur, on that night, we would begin to get ready for Sukkot. On our yard, our father, every year, would erect a large sukkah, where the entire family would sit. On Simchat Torah, the entire shtetl would go to the home of the Rabbi, and escort him with song to the Bet HaMedrash. Also, for the entire year, the shtetl felt itself to be like one family. If something happened to one, the entire shtetl participated in what occurred – whether in joy or in sorrow.

This is the way will lived until September 1, 1939, when the war broke out between Poland and Germany. My uncle Yoss'l came on that day to take leave of us, because he had been called up into the Polish Army, and from that time on, we never saw him again. Also, other young Jewish people went off to war, and they never returned back to the shtetl.

After the Polish authorities left the shtetl in the middle of September 1939, my father, as the commandant of the Fire Fighters Brigade, took it upon himself to maintain order in town. Nowrocki, the director of the Polish school, Noah-Abba Gapanowicz, together with my father, organized the entire Fire Fighters Brigade into a force to keep order, with arms in hand, until the time that the Soviets came into the town.

The first two year (1939-1941) in which the Soviets were present, we did not live badly, despite the fact that everyone feared what the following day would bring. My father immediately liquidated his business and set up an operation to repair bicycles. Later on, he was selected to be in the leadership of the manufacturing cooperative, which ran a large cooperative store that carried all needed products. The mills, that had previously belonged to the Itzkowitz and Kalmanowicz families were nationalized. Baruch Wismonsky became the manager and the town Jews once again began to bake… only one Jewish family (Lejzorowicz) were sent away by the Soviets, together with many Polish and Byelorussian families…

On June 22, 1941 when the war between Russia and Nazi Germany broke out, the Germans immediately

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bombed our vicinity. The first explosions woke up the entire town at the break of day. All of the young people were quickly mobilized and sent off to Lida. However, the flames from the burning sit of Lida could be seen in Belica (a distance of 30 km), and the tumult was so great, that the mobilized youth turned back to Belica. On that day, up till noon, almost all of our relatives gathered in our house, we ate silently, with heads let down, because it felt like a tragic chapter was starting, despite the fact that no one imagined that the end would be so tragic…

When the first Germans appeared on their riding into the town, the children ran towards them, and looked at them with wonder. However, the shooting started immediately, because the Germans had collided with a unit of Russian soldiers, which had been late in joining the retreat of the Soviets. At that time, I fell into the house of Chaim-Reuven, and hid there, but I quickly felt that the Germans had set fire to the house. So I ran out of the burning house, and ran into Baran's house (later on this was Leib'itchkeh's house), but the Germans went from house-to-house and set fire to the houses. The entire town was quickly engulfed in flames. Then I ran through the gardens and got myself out onto the surrounding fields. Near the Russian Orthodox Church, I encountered my grandfather Zvi-Hirsch with my grandmother, and it was only on the following morning that I found my parents with the children in the village of Stok, several kilometers from the shtetl.

When we returned to the incinerated town, we entered into an empty warehouse, which belonged to Noah-Abba and it became the place where we lived. With the little wagon that we children used to play before, we now transported bricks from a variety of places, and built an oven in the otherwise bare warehouse, in order to be able to bake and cook. All the Jews of the town were compelled to get together in the few remaining Jewish houses and warehouses that survived the fire.

After they killed the first thirty-six Jews of the town, with Rabbi Fein זצ”ל at their head, the burgomaster Balabanski called together the Jewish representatives and promised them that there would be no more killing. He even gave out permits to go and do work in the villages, and the Jews of the town, indeed, were able to earn a little bit, for bread, which they brought from the villages.

Seeing that the synagogue too had been burned down, and there was no Torah scroll, my father with Yitzhak Mayewsky went off to Sjalec, and brought a Torah scroll from there. We formed a clandestine minyan in a side hut owned by Rish'keh Poniemansky (a daughter of Mot'keh the shoemaker), and when the older ones would pray there, the young stood outside on guard.

After Sukkot, an order arrived from the Germans, that all the Jews must leave the shtetl. Our family traveled to Scucyn, there our father had family, even if truthfully, we were supposed to go to Lida. For this reason, therefore, when we arrived in Scucyn, my father and uncle were arrested, and taken to be shot. Thanks to the fact that my father had good credentials from the Belica burgomaster, they were released, and permitted to take up residence in the Scucyn ghetto. We were among more than 70 people from Belica there. At that time, my father also did not sit idly by. Together, with a number of other Jews, he quietly organized a general

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kitchen for those arriving Jews, because Scucyn had not been burned down, and the local Jews there had foodstuffs. My father, and older brother Yaakov, would, on a daily basis, go out to do forced labor, and we smaller children would lie hidden, while patiently waiting for them to return from work, and possibly bringing back something to eat…

On a Saturday in winter, when we were all in the house and preparing for a midday meal, somebody ran in and shouted that the Germans were in the ghetto and getting closer to our quarter. My father and brother Yaakov, ran out of the house, and managed to get over to the Aryan side. I also ran out after them, but the Germans had already reached our house and began to shoot at me. My young child's feet carried me swiftly in their nature, and as a result, the shots did not hit me. However, about an hour later, coming back to the house, we found my brother David shot and lying on the white snow, along with my grandmother Faygl, and two of our Scucyn relatives – Chaim-Yoss'l and his son, Bezalel Koppelman.

On that bloody Saturday, several German murderers shot many Jews and it was only by a miracle that our mother managed to get out of their hands – she ran away, and they looked for her in all of the surrounding houses.

On Saturday in the afternoon, all of the bodies of those Jews who were shot, were laid onto two wagons, and they were taken to the cemetery. The ground, however, was very much frozen, and it was not possible to dig a grave, so they were left to lie in the wagons until the following day. It was first only on Sunday morning, that a fire was made, in order to soften the earth, and in this way, slowly dug out a common grave. After this, those that were shot were laid in the grave, and they were covered with the earth and snow. My father said Kaddish for his son, mother-in-law and two relatives, while the others recited Kaddish for their relatives, and black ravens crowed over our bitter fate.

In my childish fantasy, I was not yet able to grasp why the German murderers were shooting at innocent children. After David's death, my father and brother Yankl would go to work every morning outside the ghetto, and I along with my sister Chaya, would wait an entire day for their return. Despite the fear of death and the terror, Jews in the ghetto quietly dreamed that their salvation would yet come. I remember how they would tell the story in the ghetto of the ‘table on three legs, held up without nails’ that three men had their hands on, and thereby warm up the table, so that if you were to ask ‘how many?’ one leg knocks out the number. In general ‘trios’ would get together late at night, in a hidden location in the ghetto, and inquire of the ‘table’ for how many days longer the nightmare will endure? To this, no one in the ghetto could give an exact answer, whether he had seen with his own eyes, the way the ‘table’ had knocked out the number of days with one leg, weeks, or moths, until the deliverance…

That ‘deliverance’ came finally, drenched in the blood of hundreds of Jewish martyrs. The Germans, and their accomplices, on the Friday night and Saturday of the 8^th and 9^th of May 1942, surrounded the Scucyn ghetto, and no longer permitted anyone to go out. On Saturday morning, everyone was driven out of their houses, arrayed by family in the place of the Batei Medrashim and began the familiar selektion processes, of sending some to the right (to remain alive) or to the left (to death). Fate had it that we were permitted to live – since our father was listed by the Germans as a locksmith by trade, and we were sent to the right. In that group of ‘necessary Jews’ they segregated about 500 people, while the rest, approximately 2100 souls, were driven off to the previously prepared pits outside of the city, and there, they were shot, a group at a time.

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On that day, with my child's eyes, I saw how the Jewish people were being led to the death pits. Hundreds of men, women and little children went on their last walk, clutching one another, surrounded by a cordon of armed German wild beasts. I saw, with clarity, how my elderly grandfather and grandmother walked along, holding the hands of their youngest grandson, their Isser'keh, looking ahead with proud glances, whispering to themselves, no doubt, the holy words of a final confession. This was the way heroes went to their death, not frightened people, because anyone who has looked death in the eyes in this manner, and went to those pits with their visages held high – such a person had to possess a spark of heroism within them.

My father, and other Scucyn Jews, were occupied that entire night, and for the following days and nights, with collecting the solitary bodies of those who were shot, which lay around strewn along that last way – from the place of the selektion to the place of murder – and buried them in the town cemetery, not far from the fress mass grave.

The 500 people who remained alive were drawn back into the ghetto. In our dwelling, my father brought in a Torah scroll, and prayers were conducted three times daily. Fear subsided, since by this time nothing provoked fear anymore, because we no longer had anything to lose. – Death became a weekly affair…

Our father, once again, took himself to his community concerns for others, helping out so long as it was possible, while one was still alive. Since four horses remained in the ghetto, my father arranged for plowing the gardens in the ghetto, planting vegetables ans wheat, and until it grew in, arrange to procure foodstuffs from the outside for a community kitchen. This actually came to be realized, because at the time when waste was taken out of the ghetto, to the Polish side, it was not complicated to bring back in a variety of foodstuffs into the ghetto from the Aryan side. With another little boy (Shmulik) from Vasiliski I took part in this endeavor, because children and young people could more quickly negotiate the areas outside the ghetto, while remaining undetected.

At the same time, our father energized others to sow potatoes, and plant vegetables on the land beside each house. Because of this, the Jews in the Scucyn ghetto in those frightful times, almost never went hungry, including those remnants of Jews, who arrived from the liquidated ghettoes in Radun, Vasiliski, Zhaludok, etc. We took them in with outstretched fraternal arms, and the community kitchen gave out food to every Jew that was needy, that came to Scucyn.

Among those who came from Radun, was the family of the local Rabbi there – a mother and two grown sons and one daughter. The set up a ‘school’ in there residence, and almost all of the little children in the ghetto would come there before dawn, say their prayers, and then study. The two grown boys studied the Pentateuch with the little boys, and the girl taught the little girls their blessings. It is not possible to imagine this today, that in those terrifying days, when the slaughtering knife literally lay against the throat, which also the younger children felt against their throats, that the will was found to both pray and study. My father played a significant role in awakening this will and strong belief – he had a word of comfort for everyone, and offered encouragement not to lose hope until the very last moment of life. He, personally, hoped and believed, that the day of liberation must come for the Jewish people, and we will yet be privileged to see the revenge taken against the German murderers.

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In the Lida Todt-Lager

But until we finally got there, we lived through enough troubles. At the end of the summer of 1942, the Germans came into the ghetto and mobilized workers for the Lida ‘Todt-Lager’, which was located on the premises of the prison. My father fell into this group, and with his traveling off to Lida, the kitchen in Scucyn continued to operate only for a short time, until it ceased to exist entirely. Therefore, my father concerned himself to assure that there would be a Torah scroll in the ‘Todt-Lager’ in Lida, and before dawn, prior to leaving for work, that the Jews should be able to pray as a congregation. He also brought into reality the concept of a community bath there: upon returning from work, everyone took along a brick, or a bit of loam, and in this manner, using these self-generated means, a bath was constructed in the barracks where we lived, where, silently at night, we would bathe and also wash out our bit of laundry.

My brother Yankl had already been previously mobilized to work in the same ‘Todt-Lager.’ At night, he would speak to my father, saying that they should flee the camp and go to the partisans in the forests, and later on, rescue our mother and the two remaining children, who had remained behind in Scucyn. On one night, indeed, three Belica Jews came to them out of the forests: Eliezer-Meir Savitzky, Rachel Itzkowitz, and Michael Groznik, who were good friends of my father, and who led him, and my brother Yankl, out of the Lida camp. Along with the, sixteen additional Jews left the ‘Todt-Lager,’ and among them also was Shlomo Koppelman from Belica. Thanks to their escape on that night, this group indeed did live through the war, and part of them later came to Israel. Only my dear brother Yankl, fell in the last days of the war (May 1945) at the time that the unit of the Red Army, to which he had become attached after the partisan campaigns, stormed the Brandenburg Gate in the heart of Berlin…

The danger-laden march, from Lida to the forest, lasted two days and two nights, and the sixteen rescued people and their three rescuers reached – Belica partisans. No sooner had they arrived in the forest, than my father and brother got in touch with a Christian they knew, in the village of Zbljany (He was called Kala) and he agreed to act as a guide for us to the Scucyn ghetto and to then bring us back to the forest. When the Christian came for us (with a horse and wagon), he decided to take only me and my sister, because he argued that my mother could expose us because of her very prominent Jewish features. However, we did not want to travel without our mother, and in the end, the Christian agreed to take her as well (to our good fortune, that day happened to have been a major Polish holiday, and the shtetl was full of Christians from the surrounding villages, and on top of this, a heavy rain fell). Germans rode by us several times, but we sat in the wagon, wrapped in coverings because of the rain… and so it was that at night we arrived safely in the village of Zbljany, at the edge of the Neman River. My father and brother Yankl, as well as my cousin Yankl, and many other Belica Jews, were waiting for us on the other side of the Neman, and immediately absorbed us into the new family of forest people – the partisans.

My brother Yankl and my cousin Yankl, did not want to stay in the forest being idle, champing at the bit to do battle with the Germans, to exact vengeance from them. They quickly joined up with the ‘Oktyabr Otryad’ – a fighting partisan unit in the ‘Pervomayska Brigade.’

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I can remember, with what happiness, my brother came running to tell my father that the commander of the ‘Oktyabr Otryad’ accepted him and his cousin Yankl as fighters, and immediately gave them two automatic weapons. During he telling of this, I can recall with what elation and affection he pressed the automatic weapon to his breast, as if it was his best and most beloved friend.

Before taking leave of us, when my brother Yankl went off with the Red Army, to pursue the retreating Germans, he called me out of the hut, and took me off to the side in the forest, so no one would be able to see. He gave me a pat on the shoulder, and said: ‘Be well, Fyvel. Who knows if we will ever see each other again. Keep an eye on our father, mother and sister. I cannot remain here with you. I have to go first and foremost to take revenge upon the German murderers to the end.’

At that time he was barely a child himself, and this is how he spoke to me, one who was younger than he. At the time, I did not fully comprehend what his words to me meant. Today, I understand him better. There are, however, moments, when I think that my brother Yankl is not dead, that he didn't really fall at the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin… I often think, that my brother Yankl is alive, and is wandering to this day, somewhere through the Russian forests, with that same automatic weapon in hand, calling out: ‘Remember what Amalek did to you!’

And her, my brother Yankl leaps through the forest, gathering up the Jewish partisan fighters, who have remained in the forest for all eternity, standing them out in ranks and calling: ‘Foremost, Revenge!’ And here those partisan fighters rest: They have seated themselves in a circle, around a campfire: My brother Yankl sits in the middle and holds forth in his lyrical and intensely sorrowful voice: Умру, Я Умру Похоронят Меня; Нихто Узнает Где Могила Мая.^[3]

My heroic brother Yankl fought heroically as a partisan and as a soldier on the front, and fell heroically for the honor of the Jewish people, at the storming of the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin.

After my brother had gone off from us, my uncle, David-Hirsch'l brought an old rifle to my father, so that we could defend ourselves in the forest.

My father would go around to the nearby villages, and bring back food for all of us (my mother, sister Chaya,

and me). We escorted my father with love and fear, when, by day or by night, he would walk guard around our zemlyankas with the old rifle in hand, and lie low in trying to see if the Germans, the White Poles, or the Vlasovites, were getting close to us. I remember how he would shoulder the old rifle, and light up a pipe, cast a glance at me, my sister and mother, and vanish among the trees into the night darkness. Neither the great snows, nor the winds deterred him. Even when the trees would snap from the high winds, our father went at night to bring food for his family. He would go out late at night, and before dawn he would be back, after having visited the peasants that he knew, in the vicinity, and having pleaded with them for a bit of provenance.

In the forest, my mother and sister fell ill with typhus (our entire camp was infected with the epidemic). Only my father's energy which never relented, and was not broken, and remained untouched by the epidemic, were we also able to return to our normal strength, which had been severely sapped by the disease. In that segment of time, my father would run more than five kilometers a night, in order to bring us back a small bottle of milk. My mother was then so weak, that my father had to carry her on his back to the more remote hiding places, at the time that the German planes would bomb the forests.

The times, then, became very dangerous, the front came very close, and we could already hear the reports of the cannons. The army of the traitorous Russian General Vlasov, which had gone over to the Germans. surrounded our entire area, and because of this, all of the partisan Otryads were compelled to leave the forest and flee in a variety of directions.

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We were weakened after the typhus, and could not flee, and so we remained in our current location along with several other families, who also could not flee. During the day, we would move ourselves from the forest into the surrounding swamps, that were overgrown with heavy growth, and at night, we would come back to our zemlyankas in the forest, make a fire, dry out the wet clothing and make something to eat.

I am reminded of one early morning, in which my father had left my sister and I in the forest. He seated us in a ditch, covered with branches, and said that we were to lie still in the ditch (he wanted to spare us the need to lie a whole day in swampy water). However, we two small children were afraid to lie alone in a ditch, and in addition, there was a lack of air, because the ditch was very heavily covered. No sooner had our father and mother gone a distance from us, my sister and I crawled out, and ran in the direction of the swamp. all of a sudden, we heard a shout, and the sound of galloping horse's hooves. These were ‘Vlasovites’ who had surrounded the forest, and were looking for partisans. But my father, with his instinct, sensed the danger, and ran back to the ditch. In this manner, he ran into us along the way, and immediately moved us to the heavy bushes that covered the surrounding swamps.

In the last days before the liberation, we were left without food. We would gather blackberries in the forest, and sustained ourselves with this. One time, when my sister and I were gathering berries in the forest, a Jewish partisan came upon us, and reported that the Russian army is already quite close, and we will be liberated quickly. Or hearts filled with gladness, see4ing that the day of liberation was actually arriving. Several days later, we saw the cannon fire at a distance, and we heard and saw how Russian tanks were advancing and pursuing the retreating Germans.

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Back to the Destroyed Shtetl

I will never forget the picture when we emerged from the forest and saw the first of the Russian soldiers. They questioned us about how we were able to stay alive, embraced us, and enlivened themselves with us, giving us chocolate, bread and cigarettes. they took special pleasure with us, the children, literally not knowing what first to do for us. We learned from them that our shtetl, Belica, had been liberated from the Germans. All of the Belica Jewish partisans, with the children and women, went off on foot, with their rags on their backs, back home. On a summer evening, a small band of surviving Belica Jews arrived in the shtetl.

Nobody came out to meet us. What we were met by, was the giant mass grave of those who were killed, beside the Russian Orthodox Church, and we were greeted by the incinerated Jewish houses. First and foremost, we all went to the mass grave, and quietly wept there. After that, we dispersed, and each of us went to find a place where we could sleep. The remaining unburned houses in the shtetl had been occupied by the Christians, and as a result, it was necessary to engage them in an argument. A small number therefore remained in the shtetl (a few families) and all the rest went off to Lida.

Temporarily, our family took up residence in Gapanowicz's stable, because Petrya Lubecki (a Belica Christian) was living in the house, whose house was also burned down in the fire, when the Germans had arrived. My father immediately arranged to work in a mill as a mechanic (Rachel Itzkowitz was once again the ‘balabusta’ of the mill). I began to work in a government business. In this way, we lived in the shtetl for a bit less than a year, when all by itself, the old sentiment awoke that had been buried deeply in the inner recesses of the soul. All at once, a quiet summons began to spread among the surviving Jews of that area: leave this accursèd earth, soaked in Jewish blood, travel to Poland, because from there, a way exists to get to the Land of Israel.

After we received the letter from the Russian army that our brother Yankl had fallen in battle, we decided to leave the shtetl as quickly as possible to travel to Poland. Our cousin Yankl Kremen traveled with us, who had returned wounded from the front. Late at night, almost in secret, we left the shtetl. Once again, nobody was there to escort us, and only dogs ran after our wagon, barking. We sensed that, this time, we were leaving Belica forever.

We went off to Lida, and later, in a transport with other repatriated Poles, we came to Poland. We arrived in Lodz, and there we met others from Belica, and arranged accommodations with the Mayewsky family. We were in Lodz for four weeks. During that time, a partisan movement was created that organized groups of partisan families that were sent to the Land of Israel by illegal means.

From Poland, we went to Czechoslovakia, spending three weeks there, and later, on foot, crossed the border into Austria at night. Here we met a large number of partisan families, because in the meantime, the illegal aliyah had come to a halt, and we began to settle into the D.P. Camps. My father, together with other

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partisans, started up a communal activity, and in this manner, created the Austrian Partisan union (פח”ח), which played an important role in all of the D.P. camps in Austria. The union was represented in the Zionist Federation in Austria, and in all D. P. camp institutions that took up the issue of the Jews in Austria.

Here too, my father committed his entire energy to this community work among the partisans. Also, other Belica partisans took other positions in the leadership of the partisan union.

On March 10, 1949, our family left Austria. In the port of Naples we saw the first Israeli ship ‘Galila’ and it was on this ship that we arrived in our homeland.

Translator's footnotes:

1. I have seen this rendered as lezhanka, reflecting, perhaps, some difference between Polish and Russian. Return
2. The Yiddiah Teitch-Khumash, or Pentateuch, used by Jewish women, to follow the text of the portion of the week, if they did not have a facility in Hebrew. Return
3. Umru, ya umru, pakharonyat menya; y nikhto nye uznayet gdyeh mogila maya…’
   Translation: “I will die, I will die, they will bury me, and nobody will know where my grave site (is).” Return

After the Liberation

Several weeks after the liberation by the Red Army, our life began to normalize itself. True, it was difficult for us to get used to the idea that we were living on the same Earth, in the same place where our nearest and dearest had been exterminated. It was hard, but no other alternative existed, after having survived, and remained alive.

In the first days, we were concerned about making a roof over our heads, about procuring something to eat, and clothing to wear. The better Christians, and peasants who knew us, began, a little at a time, to help us.

The war was still going on in full force. the Red Army achieved great victories, Every day, the Red Army would bring many captured Germans into the shtetl, along with Ukrainians and Vlasovites.

A POW camp was created in Belica. Former partisans and Jews were mobilized into a cadre of guards for the camp, as well as to conduct assault campaigns against the remnants of the hidden Germans. To this end, the so called ‘Истребителнй’^[1] Battalion., was organized.

All the young people who belonged to this battalion took revenge against the murderers that were captured, especially – captured S.S. troops (may their names be erased), and Gestapo staff. A sentiment of taking vengeance was awakened in each and every person, on behalf of our martyrs. It was also planned to carried out acts of vengeance against the mieszczany neighbors, who cooperated with the Germans and spilled Jewish blood.

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The Shtetl in Ruins

The shtetl was entirely ruined. The Jewish houses, which remained intact on the Njacec street, on the street of the Shokhet, were occupied by Christians. They were evicted, and the few broken Jewish families occupied them in turn.

There was not a single family that had remained intact. Very few remained from the Belica Jewish community, the majority having been killed in the ghettoes and camps.

We took up residence in Faygl Ben-Zion's small house and attempted to re-build the building, which had been knocked down during the war.

We began to come around a little bit. In those days nothing was done to plan for the future. The war was still on, and bloody assaults continued to take place on the part of the ‘White Poles,’ against the liberated cities and towns. We were also fearful that they might fall upon our shtetl.

On September 15, 1944, draft notices arrived for all men between the ages of 18 and 45. Immediately on the following day, they were required to present themselves, to the designated mobilization points. All those called, gathered together, and went off to Lida on foot. There, we met many Jews of our acquaintance, from the surrounding towns, remnants of those who remained alive from camps and the forests. Each one of us wanted to take a little more rest after such intense suffering, that we had experienced, and ways were sought to temporarily be released from service.

The craftsmen got work in military factories, and they became ‘exempt’ from going to the front. We, however, had no such skill, and it was difficult for us to procure any sort of work like this.

Several days later, the prior commander of the Jewish partisan Otryad ‘Bielski’ arrived (Tuvia) and proposed that my brother and I work in his office as employees. He was the director of a brick-making factory and other factories requiring craftsmen, who worked for the Red Army.

At the same time, he assured us that we will be able to remain working for him, undisturbed, and in time, we could become exempt from going to the front.

We accepted this proposal with great satisfaction, and immediately, on the same day, we sat down to begin working as assistants in bookkeeping. However, we were not very long in remaining undisturbed at this work. The Soviets needs as many recruits for the front as they could get. On one day, we were again summoned to present ourselves at a collection point. We went off there, along with the remaining workers from the

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factory. We received a medical examination, I was found to be healthy, and able to do army service, but my brother was let go. On October 12, 1944, I was taken away as a recruit in the Russian army, and together with three other Belica young men, I went off to the barracks in Lida. Those boys were: Yaakov Zlocowsky ז”ל (Israel's son), Yaakov Kremen (Israel Meiram's son) and Neta Odzhikhowsky (Fyv'eh Nissan's son).

No intervention on the part of my bosses was of any help, and I was compelled to go away into the army. We spent a few days more in the Lida barracks, until all the formalities were properly executed.

We were then sent to Baranovici. As soon as we got there, I was separated from my comrades because of my lesser age. On that same day, they were sent off in the direction of Brisk, and I continued to remain for several days in Baranovici. On the fifth day, I was sent, with a group, to Bobruisk (Eastern Byelorussia). We were taking into an old, big fort, with large, long barracks. It was here that I first really felt like an army recruit. I was assigned to a machine gun division, the conditions were very bad, and it was very hard for me to get used to the new circumstances. Day and night, we were driven to battle drills under the most severe discipline. The food was very bad, and I would suffer hunger and deprivation. I quickly absorbed the principles of battle tactics, and this lightened my situation. After one and a half months, our entire division was selected and sent off by train in an unknown direction. We were certain, that we were traveling to the front, but after three days of travel, we came to a small station, not far from Minsk. Later on, we were taken to a large military camp, and deployed in the forests. According the plan, each of us was allocated to an active unit. I fell into an artillery division and I was supposed to work as a radio operator. Later on, I was sent to the division HQ. Here, I worked as the telephone liaison between the HQ and the battery. I felt good, and I was satisfied with my work. I oriented myself quickly in all my relationships, and assumed the duties with ease. I got a good name with my commanders, and for this reason, things went easier for me.

A short bit of time later, the order arrived for our entire division to travel to undertake battle, before going off to the front. I would get frequent letters from home, my brother being found in Lida, and worked at the assembly point as a secretary. My father lived in Belica, where several other Belica families were to be found. In the vicinity, remnants of the ‘White Poles,’ could still be found, and they continued to prey on the villages. They would frequently fall upon the shtetl, as well as upon Soviet posts.

On November 15, 1944, we left, in full battle readiness to the place where the previously mentioned maneuvers were supposed to take place. The location made the impression on us of being a real section of the battle front. But later on, I acclimatized myself to it, and the cold and heavy snow no longer bothered me. We slept under the open sky, and after several days, I tasted what real front conditions were really like.

The noise of the cannonade was deafening, and I began to apprehend what life at the front was really like. I no longer let it get to me, and I learned very well, how to conduct myself at the front, in battle, and nothing frightened me any longer.

Along with all my other comrades, I requested to be sent to the front as quickly as possible, in order to

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defeat the enemy. I had a lot of luck, in that none of my Christian comrades knew that I was a Jew – which helped me avoid being subject to anti-Semitic abuses. After five days of maneuvers, we traveled, with our arms, to the front. The ‘ardent’ songs of the front carried across the fields that were near the location where our echelons passed through.

On December 20, 1944, our echelon left the station in the direction of the front. Every soldier was traveling with a feeling of happiness and hope for a quick victory over the enemy. After four days we came to the small Polish railroad station of Łuków. Our division spent the entire night offloading itself from the train cars, and with the arrival of dawn, we were already waiting for our orders of where to go. That location, was near the front.

At ten o'clock, the order from the Head Office arrived, to board all vehicles with our arms, and to go to the front. We immediately went off. The road was continuously camouflaged through the forest. We saw bunkers that had been dug out, by the retreating German army. On both sides of the road, we saw burned out tanks spread all over, ammunition and automobiles that had been abandoned, by the retreating German army. Also, there were many killed people laying around in the forest. It became readily apparent that a very, very heavy battle had taken place here just a short time ago. The vicinity was completely ruined. The villages – burned down, and the civilian populace were residing in temporary zemlyankas. Part of them showed evidence of wanting to be evacuated. The military camps of the Red Army were spread out through the forest, and at every step, one stepped upon the weaponry, and also masses of soldiers. Everyone live in zemlyankas, and the tumult and noise of this strong retreat of machinery was deafening to the ears. On riding closer to the front, it was possible to hear the report of gunfire more loudly. By nightfall, we arrived at our designated location.

Our division was assigned to the first Byelorussian front, which was under the command of the renown General Zhukov.

The Eight Army, in which I served, occupied the entire Vistula Theater. The army at that time was positioned defensively.

Following our orders, we deployed into the Sobolyev forests, where, at the same time, we constructed zemlyankas, for ourselves, and installed a regular system of communication with the HQ. The place was overrun with Red Army personnel. Something was being readied. Day and night, I would run with the my Katushka weapon on my back, with the telephone in hand, and set up the necessary communication. The noise of the machines, tanks and airplanes was almost unbearable. Yet, a little at a time, we got used to this as well. In the mornings, as soon as it would get light, I was already at the Pierodovayo – (command line) – beside the commander, and controlling the communication. I would sit at the observation post for the entire day, and receive the orders from my commander, In the evening, as soon as it would get dark, the German artillery would shell the surrounding points of our operating base.

No official battles had taken place in those days yet. The noise and the swishing of cannon shells and bullets, that used to fly over our heads, instilled fear in everyone. The skies were lit up by rockets and projectiles, as well as the conflagrations from the other side, from the so-called ‘neutral zone’ (the neutral distance

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between the two sets of positions). I worked very hard for a few days, until a fully equipped telephone communication system was installed, and everything was then functioning in the best order. We were preparing ourselves for an attack, and out of sheer exhaustion, we would grab a deep sleep.

The cold intensified, and freezing set in. The place in the forest where we were stationed also became very bad. There were swamps that did not freeze over. We constantly went around with wet feet. This had a bad effect on my health, as well as the health of many of my comrades. The commander of the division suddenly fell ill with a cold, and I had to fill in for him. I had a good command of my work at this time. I would take over a variety of telegrams and orders, and would quickly get in contact with HQ and commanders. Apart from this, as a commander of a detachment, which consisted of five people, I had to send the soldiers off to a variety of posts, to five separate telephone stations. This was one of the most responsible positions, because for ever order not properly filled, there was the threat of a death sentence. This alone encumbered me with the execution of the missions with great responsibility. For my committed and dedicated work, I earned much loyalty from my direct command, and also from the higher battle authorities.

The time went quickly, and I became inured to the hard life at the front. In those days, I thought about nothing, but only about ways – to exact revenge and obtain victory over the German murderers.

On January 2, 1945, in the middle of the night, the Germans opened up with heavy fire. They indirectly began to attack our support points. The order immediately came regarding a counter-attack. ‘На Ступат!’ (Attack!) Everyone shouted out. The tumult became great. With an ‘Hurrah!’ the Red Army troops ran out of the trenches, in the direction of the ‘Neutral Zone.’ The tremendous machine gun fire, mine throwers and cannons, lit up the entire area. The battle lasted for the entire night, and there were many killed and wounded. Wit the coming of the morning, the shooting became weaker, and later – stopped entirely. We succeeded in driving off the attackers and the attack was interdicted. I took part in a battle for the first time. I sat by the telephone for the entire time, on the observation point, and I carried out the orders of the commander. The life of a soldier at the front became clear to me after this, but I nevertheless hoped to survive and to return to my father and brother.

We would have frequent battle confrontations. There were small counter-attacks, but official large-scale battles did not happen. However, it was easy to take note of the fact that we were preparing to launch a large offensive. On January 4, 1945, as soon as day broke, I was immediately sent to the observation point of the forward front line, with an order to create good communication with the cannon positions, as well as with the commander of the division and its HQ. Immediately upon arriving at the place, the order was carried out. The commander of the division, immediately ordered, that in keeping with the evidence, we should wipe out one of the points which was found in the ‘neutral zone,’ and was creating damage to subsequent attacks. It was a small house, from which the Germans would constantly shoot with machine guns at our posts. The commander of our first battery received this order from my telephone station – and it became possible for the commander to wipe out this dangerous point. The commander of the division personally thanked me for my work.

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The Germans at first did not respond, and waited until evening. As soon as it became dark, they began to fire their artillery at our positions. After several minutes, they attacked our posts, and they passed through the ‘neutral zone.’

They met our posts with heavy machine gun fire. After an order from the Chief HQ, we launched a counter -attack. A bloody battle spread. The German infantry units put up a strong resistance, and only with the help of tanks, were we able to penetrate their bunkers. The Germans drew back to the small Polish village of Warka. I sat by the telephone and filled out all of the orders of the commander precisely. Our cannons did not stop firing. Many dead and wounded littered the battlefield. The noise of the machines and tanks and the cannon fire blended into a wild tumult. The sky was red from the surrounding fires, behind the front. On the following morning, it quieted down, and I began to make arrangements for communications in our new location. The Germans fortified themselves in a nearby village. Our battery assembled itself in the forest, and everyone attempted to dry out their wet things by a fire, exchanging details about the battle. We also sang and played songs from the front.

After this battle, rumors spread among the soldiers that very quickly, a major offensive is going to be launched against the German troops, carried out through the First Byelorussian front. I was a bit frightened by the responsibility, which fell on me during the big battles, but I hoped that I would be able to fulfill my mission, as I had done to date.

January 8, 1945 was the day of the assault. During the entire previous night, preparations were made for the attack. We waited for it to get light. As soon as day broke, I received the order ‘Be Ready!’ The first large rockets appeared in the sky. Immediately after that, along the entire front line, there was an awesome report of fire from all manner of weaponry: cannons, mortars, and from the famous Russian Katyushas. The reverberations of the shooting carried without respite through the air, as if it was tearing it apart.

Communications were working well. I was in contact with all of the telephone stations. There were no cut lines, and we waited for the ‘Attack!’ signal. At seven o'clock, we heard the sound of a ‘Hurrah’ on the gathering place – the Russian sign for an attack, and the attack began along the First Byelorussian front. The mass of attacking soldiers came from all sides, who ran with their arms in the direction of the neutral zone. The shooting became intense. the cry of ‘Hurrah,’ ‘Attack’ reached up to the heavens. The enemy met our soldiers with a strong resistance. Intense fighting broke out all over. All manner of our weaponry was fired in the direction of the enemy's bunkers and fortified points. My work at the telephone consisted of relaying the necessary orders and telegrams. Our cannons were firing without stopping.

On the battlefield, there were already many killed and wounded. The infantry fought stubbornly, in order to be able to break through the German support points. The communications functioned without interruption fora half day. Suddenly, the telephone stopped working. The commander ordered: ‘Quickly re-establish communications,’ and I ran out ahead, with my rifle in hand, and with great difficulty reached the ranks of the line. A hail of gunfire rained over our heads, The whistling of the bullets frightened me. Paying them no heed, I looked for the break in the cables. It was far from easy to find this, but I was able to locate the

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break pretty quickly, and to repair it. In this way, contact was renewed with the cannons, which were putting out the cannonade. I ran back to the bunker, to my work. We had the good fortune of being able to break through the German fortifications and our units were able to get into their trenches and bunkers. Tanks and other vehicles stretched along after the attackers.

Our attacking soldiers ran ahead with the cry, ‘За Родину, за Сталина’ (For the Motherland, for Stalin).

Following the order of my commander, I quickly packed up all the gear and ammunition onto a vehicle, and we rode off ahead with the attacking army. The Germans retreated as far as the small river Radomka, in the direction of the Polish city of Radom. In order to ford the river, the commander ordered us to unloaded ourselves as quickly as possible, and to again take up a position, and establish communication with the cannon positions. I did this quickly, dividing the work among all of the soldiers attached to my division. I dug myself a ‘Oatcake’ (an open small bunker) put the telephone there, and secured myself from possible gunfire. The place was a very bad one – a very smoothly plowed field. From the other side of the river, everything was as visible as if in one's hand. After a short while, the telephone was working and we had communication with all of the telephone stations.

The shooting had spread out. Individual units attempted to ford the river, but the Germans constantly enfiladed those attempting to cross. Again, a battle was joined. Mortars began to fall on all sides, and many tens of soldiers were wounded. The enemy attempted to reach our attacking soldiers by single cannon shots. Our howitzers responded with fire, and a counter-fire of shooting ensued anew. I remained in contact, my commander through a second line, got in contact with me, and immediately ordered me ‘quickly repair the break, and get in contact with out cannons.’ I sent one of my assistants out, in order to fulfill the order. No sooner had he Gorten to the pace where the break was, when he was met with a hail of bullets, and he was immediately killed. When a bit of time had gone by, and I heard nothing from him, I went out with one of my comrades, in the directions of the front line. A bit of time went by, and I still had no communications. Because of this, I was very scared. As soon as it got quieter towards evening, my comrade and I set out along the way to the forward front line, in the direction of the cable break. I ran and fell, got myself up, and again fell, and exerted myself so that the enemy would not see me. My comrade ran ahead of me, and I began to raise myself on my knees. I could not feel my feet for the cold, and also – not the hands. After crawling ‘on all four’ for fifty meters, I dragged myself over to a small ditch, and remained laying there. My comrade had gotten further than I as. The shooting again got closer to us. I snuggled up to the ground. As soon as the shooting moved off in a different direction, I stood up, and running for several meters, I found the break. Out of great happiness, and overcome with emotion, my hands were shaking, and there was nothing I could do.

My hands were frozen, but my entire body suddenly became warm. I quickly repaired the break, and immediately established contact with my commander. He was very pleased and he thanked me through the telephone: ‘Молодец^[2]’ he said, ‘for this you get a medal.’ Our cannons again began to fire. the commander ordered me to return to my bunker and leave the forward front line. I stood up and attempted to run to my comrade, in order that we both might return to our bunker. The shooting kept up for a long time. A half a day went by like this. Our soldiers lay occupied, and waited for new orders. The choking odor of burned dead bodies was carried to us on the air.

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I was pleased with the thought, that had occurred to me in a particularly difficult moment, that I had fulfilled my mission to re-establish communications. And suddenly, once again came the shout of ‘Hurrah.’ Our soldiers went off again on the attack, bullets whistling over their heads, and the whole sky was lit up as if it was in the middle of a clear day.

Running back to the bunker this way, the shooting was once again directed towards me. I once again fell to the ground and began to crawl on my stomach.

Projectiles began to land not far from me, and then exploded. My comrade was already much further along than I, and the shooting missed him. My heart gave me a premonition of no good. The enemy detected me, and shot continuously at my side. Suddenly, a projectile fell near me, and exploded, about eight meters from where I had dropped down. The report deafened me, and I lay senseless, and I felt nothing as I was wounded at that moment. When I gradually came around, I began to feel a burning in my stomach and a sort of pain all over my body. I listened to the cries of other wounded soldiers, who also lay on the field. They pleaded for help. I began to look for the place where I was wounded, and could not find it. I understood that I could not move, and that I am severely wounded.

I got very warm, and I felt that I was lying in a pool of blood. My hands became paralyzed and I could not move them. I sensed an acute pain in the left palm of my hand. I attempted to get up on my feet, but could not. The pain became unbearable. I lost my belief that I would stay alive. I began to shout, but immediately stopped, because my mouth was full of blood. Now I felt that I had been wounded under my left ear. With my last bit of strength I attempted to shout in the stillness: ‘______’ (Rescue , help!). The attacking Red Army soldiers were already far away from me. I could still hear solitary gunshots. Apart from the wounded and dead, one didn't see a living thing on the field. Many of those who were wounded lightly, went off on the road. A half hour went by, and no one came to help me. I felt, that I was running out of blood, and my reserves of strength were being sapped by the intense pain. ‘Here is my end,’ I thought.

And despite this, I, once again, began to think about being rescued, and I recalled my comrade, who had gone off to the unit. Perhaps he will call upon someone to help? Or, perhaps he too, had been wounded, or perhaps killed? Suddenly, I heard footfall. I was very happy. The man stopped beside me. Once again, I called for help: ‘Drug (friend) rescue me, I am passing out.’ I recognized my comrade, He became confused, seeing me wounded, and didn't know what to do with me. I said to him, that I am severely wounded in the stomach, and I am burning from the severe pain. He quickly took off my over garments, tore them up, and bandaged me. He ran back to the unit by himself, leaving me naked on the field. He covered me with his coat, and went off.

I began to shiver from the cold. My entire body was wracked by fever. ‘Who knows if I will be able to withstand this?’ – I thought to myself. The wounded, once again, began to ask for help. A medic appeared. He went up to me, and lifted me up carefully. He took everything off of me, and re-bandaged me. He left a note in my hand, on which was written: ‘this soldier was wounded on the battlefield.’ The medic went away. It was late at night, and very, very dark. I became very cold, and no longer felt any pain, I had become very weakened and didn't feel anything anymore. Doubtless, a good several hours went by, until an ambulance

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arrived. I was put on the gurney. There were many other wounded. Among the soldiers, who put me in the ambulance, I saw my comrade and my commander. ‘Fima,’ – he said – Ничего, молодец, Ты Попровшся Скоро и Будиш Здров.’ (It is nothing, young man, you are brave, you will recover quickly and be healthy). My comrade mourned me intensely and said: ‘Жалко Хорошогоо Боица’ (It's a shame to lose a good soldier). I was brought to the medical section of our division.

In the medical section of the division, the doctor personally attended me, and immediately changed my dressings. He confirmed that the wound was severe, and that they must immediately operate. At that same moment, a freight truck rode up, and I was taken away, accompanied by the doctor. After riding for about an hour, we came to a place, where the nurses with the doctor, carefully took me off the truck, put me on a gurney, and brought me into a zemlyanka, which was dimly lit by electric lights. This was the operating room. I was placed on the table, and immediately operated on. The operation lasted about four hours. My intestines were torn in two places. My left foot and spinal chord were also severely hit.

I first began to feel the frightening pain on the following morning, but I could not say a thing, and could not turn myself over on a side. I was treated only with injections of glucose. My entire body was swathed in large bandages. I would often faint from sheer weakness, the doctors recognizing that I had lost a great deal of blood, and they ordered the nurses to administer as many blood transfusions as possible. After the blood transfusions, I would feel better. I could not eat for two weeks, and I could not even take a bit of water in my mouth.

I found myself in a small field hospital, which was set up in the shtetl of Sobolyev. In this hospital, I underwent another operation during which they removed shrapnel from the wound that was under my ear. I began to come around, and began to feel better. I began to sat up a bit, and day by day things became easier for me. However, I did not yet entertain the possibility of getting out of bed. My weakness would exhaust me severely. After two months of lying in the hospital, I was sent over to Lublin. Because of my weakened state of health, I did not remain in this hospital for very long, and I was sent over deep into Russia, to the Ukrainian city of Dnepopetrovsk (formerly Yekaterinoslav), and here, in this hospital, I remained under special the care of a doctor. I immediately wrote a letter to my father and brother. They had no news from me at all. My health began to improve, and I began to hope that I would return to health. The lady doctor, who attended me, made strenuous efforts to cure me, and promised to get me on my feet. She would concoct a variety of things for me to do, in order to occupy me, and that I not be bored. I would also get books from her to read, which gave me great pleasure. The food was very good, and had a very good impact on my state of health. The wounds took a long time to heal. The only think that had not healed was my right foot. I was operated on it twice, but it did not help. The lady doctor had me set up for yet a third operation.

In the meantime, I began to get letters from home. They wrote me that almost all the surviving Jews of wester Byelorussia have traveled off to Poland, as Polish citizens, from where they arrive in the Land of Israel. This news moved me greatly, and I did not know what I should do. I had to go through an operation again, which would deprive me of a couple of months. It was already the first period of exodus from Byelorussia, and without me, they also did not want to leave. I wrote back home about this, and my brother came traveling to

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me immediately. My brother, Moshe, came quickly to the point, because otherwise, we were threatened with having to remain in Russia. The time to travel to Poland was a very short one. I went to my lady doctor and told her exactly what my situation was. I strongly pleaded for her to help me. She had no particular desire to let me go. Later on she did this, but on condition that I sign myself out, and that she is not responsible for my unhealed wound. I accepted this happily. she led me through all of the formalities, not demanding any signatures from me any longer, and I traveled home with my brother…

The trip to Belica took exactly one week. We traveled through Kharkov, in the direction of Minsk. On the way, we traveled to our father's older brother, Zelig who was residing in the small Russian town of Zlinka. Our uncle had saved himself from the murderous hands, and had remained the only survivor. He worked as a pharmacist in the shtetl. Our meeting moved my brother and I very strongly. He told us about everything he had been through during the war, being already of advanced age. We made a very fervent proposal that he should come with us and immediately travel to Poland, from where we would continue further. However, he did not want to do this because of his children, who had to remain in Russia, and would later have to put up with a great deal of unpleasantness. Remaining with our uncle for two days, we took our leave of him, and we traveled off and arrived in Lida. Our father was still living in Belica, and was almost the only Jew left in the entire shtetl.

After remaining for a couple of weeks in the destroyed house, we traveled off by special transport to Lodz.

To this day, the following remained living in the destruction of Belica: Yud'l Baranchik (Eizhik'eh's son) with his family, and Abraham'l Szereszewsky (grandson of Israel the dyer), who came back late from the Red Army, and no longer had the possibility of leaving for Poland.

Two weeks before Rosh Hashana, we arrived in Lodz. The external appearance of the life of the Jewish community there made a goos impression. We had, for a long time, not seen such a concentration of Jews in one place. Many Zionist movements were already active among the various groups. An ‘escape’ committee was formed, which organized the removal of Jews, especially the youth, from Poland, with the objective of bringing them to the Land of Israel. The ‘escape’ committee consisted of a group of idealists, who not only once, would put their own lives at risk, in leading groups of Jews over the borders.

We did not want to stay in Lodz for very long, and after six weeks, we, and a group of Jews traveled to Cracow. We waited for our visa for two weeks in Cracow, and after that we were sent to Katowice. A lady worker for the ‘escape’ committee waited for us at the train station – a young girl. She received us and put us up in a hotel, where we spent the night. The same young girl returned to us on the following morning, and put together a group of six people. She gave us instructions on how to behave as we went further on our way. We became Greek Jews, who are traveling back to the camps, to our homes. Our group leader had obtained

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a special document and we were to speak only Hebrew, feigning ignorance of any other language. She merely said to us, that we were traveling to Bratislava (Slovakia) and upon our arrival there, we will receive further instructions. From the train station in Katowice, we rode to the Polish-Czech border. By dawn, we arrived at the border station of Zebrzydowice.

The station employees knew the ‘customers’ quite well by now, and they didn't speak with us for very long, but sent us off to the border guard. In the guard house, we were searched, and immediately taken over the borderline. There, we waited for the Czech train, which was supposed to take us to Bratislava. We must have looked very pathetic while we stood there with our packs, in the rain, and every passing soldier laughed and made fun of us. The train arrived at nightfall. We boarded it, and seated ourselves, and waited for departure. Prior to departure, we went through another check by the Czech guards. We spoke among ourselves only in Hebrew and presented ourselves as Greek Jews. We had a phrase: ‘Ani Greco.’ After a 24-hour cycle, we arrived in Bratislava, and according to the address we were given, we went to the Hotel ‘Yellin.’ There we encountered many Jews, who were waiting to be able to travel further on. The hotel had the proper Jewish appearance…

We celebrated the last days of Sukkot in Bratislava, and immediately after the holiday, we were sent off to Hungary in a transport. After riding for two days, we came to the small border town of Komarno. We walked on foot from the station to the border point. It was at night, and in the heavy darkness, the driver of transport set us into a long column, and we walked one behind the other. Tired and broken from wandering, 500 people, among them women and children, dragged themselves over the small, dark forest paths. This image reminded us of the past terrifying times. We were forbidden to utter a word. The small children cried from exhaustion, from sleeplessness, and from not eating. The older people and the women, dragged themselves along with the last of their strength. The only thing that kept everyone going, was the hope of achieving the objective. Late at night, we arrived at the point. Here we remained and slept. Very early the following morning, our leader came to us, and told us to be ready to cross the border. At eleven o'clock, we came to the Czech-Hungarian border, by the Danube River.

The Czech soldiers searched everyone. After this inspection, we again fell into a column, and went over the bridge. We came to the Hungarian border guard. The group leader spoke a good Hungarian, and he conversed with them, and he told us to wait until the commissar would arrive. All of us lay down on the ground, and waited for the commissar. At about midday, he arrived. After a long conversation with him, he did not permit us to enter Hungary, and demanded, that we turn around and return to where we came from. The Czech guards did not want to let us back in, and we remained standing in the ‘neutral zone.’ The group leader used hand signals (viz: smoke and mirrors) to indicate that we were Hungarian Jews that were returning ‘home.’ They went into his office, and as it seems, they arrived at an understanding… [because] immediately afterwards, we crossed the borderline, and found ourselves on Hungarian soil. We went off to the train station, and there we boarded freight cars, and traveled to Budapest. This is how we illegally crossed the borders from one country to another. But this was just the beginning of a further journey of wandering, before we could attain our goal.

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In Austria

At about midday, our transport arrived at the main station in Budapest. Representatives of the ‘Joint’ and ‘Braykha^[3],’ were already waiting for us. In especially prepared tramways, we rode off to the point where we had to remain for a few days, just to rest up. After a few days, we came around a bit. The leader of the ‘Braykha’ gathered the entire transport together in a large hall, and instructed us on how were to behave. We were Polish Jews there, who are returning there from the Austrian concentration camps. On the third day, we traveled to Vienna as if we were Jews returning from a camp. We boarded a Soviet military train, and together with the Red Army soldiers, we arrived at the Ost-Banhof in Vienna. The leader with the transport took everyone down from the train, and stood us out in a column. It was before dawn and, in the early light of day, we went off through the Vienna streets in the direction of the familiar ‘Rothschild Hospital.’ We walked for several hours. The women and children barely were able to drag themselves along. They were tired out from walking, and from not sleeping. My father, too, was proceeding on the last of his energy. When it became very light, we arrived at our destination. The hospital building was heavily damaged by bombs. Inside, it was dirty. People wandered about in the yards, in the corridors, and under the stairs. It was late fall, and people were sleeping on the cold ground. Everyone was anticipating the next leg of the journey. We were in Vienna for one day and in the evening, we were again ready to travel on further. Everyone of us obtained a document from the Red Cross as an Austrian Jew from the American Zone. At eight o'clock in the evening, our transport went to the ‘West-Banhof’ (French Zone). At the station, train cars were ready to take us on our journey.

In the middle of the night, we traveled in the direction of the American Zone. We rode for several hours, until we came to the border of the Soviet-American zones, The Dunai was the border and the posts stood on both sides of the bridge. The Soviet guard quickly went through the train and let our transport through. The train moved, and we rode off in the direction of the city of Wels, where there was a Jewish camp. At Wels, the camp commandant did not receive us, because of a lack of space, and we rode off to a second camp (Lambach). Debarking from the train, our Braykha leader again arranged us in a column and took us off to the camp on foot.

We dragged ourselves along for several kilometers through a field and forest, until, with the last of our strength we arrived at the camp. We immediately lay down on the ground, in order to rest. Our Braykha leader went into the camp and negotiated with the camp commandant about us, to permit us to be taken into his camp. After a 10-minute discussion, he came back, and we entered the camp. It was immediately noted, that this had been a concentration camp. The camp was still surrounded by barbed wire. Along with the Jews, there were also to be found criminals of a variety of nationalities, confined for their criminal activity on behalf of the Nazi regime. A permanent guard stood at the gate, which also maintained order in the camp. Access to leave, and go into the city, was only possible by a special pass from the camp commandant.

The conditions were difficult ones, and oppressive. After eating, it was required to stand in line together with all of the criminals, who previously had beaten us, and suddenly had become refugees equal to us. They would laugh at the Jews and continue to make sport of them.

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We encountered people we knew here, who helped us to settle down. We did not lose our hope and began to accustom ourselves to the new circumstances. Jewish-American soldiers would often come by and visit with us.

It was September, and the cold was intense. First and foremost, we did not have clothing to wear. It was very cold to have to sleep at night on the boards in the barracks. A special American commission came riding into the camp on one day, and contemplated the conditions under which we were living. They promised us that this would not last very long, and we will be taken out of there. Among the committee people was Rabbi Bonen. He told us that ‘Truman had ordered to accommodate the few Jewish refugees in the best manner possible.’ After several weeks, we were sent off to the new camp at ‘Bad-Gastein.’

We were in the Lambach camp for three weeks, during which an order arrived from the senior command at American HQ, to mover us to Bad-Gastein.

On October 13, 1945, American soldiers came and took us away in military buses to Bad-Gastein – the world-famous Austrian sanatorium. We were brought into a Garden of Eden. Each individual was settled in a comfortable hotel facility that had previously been used by foreign guests of the sanatorium. The rooms – finely appointed with furniture, roomy and heated. This was our true rest from all of the suffering and exhaustion. Every one of us settled themselves in well. Several other families from Belica were in this camp. Later on, we became aware of additional Belica families, who were living in the camps, not far from us.

Almost all the surviving Belica Jews were concentrated here. One was not far from the other. Several of the families found themselves in the camps in Germany.

Winter drew close. I suffered a great deal from the wound in my foot. But since it was not possible to operate on me during the winter. I did not want to lose the free time and taught myself sheep farming. As soon as it got warmer, I ent off to the hospital, in order to get the wound healed and to be rid of it.

In between, the aliyah from Italy got started. Many people traveled there, with the objective of being able to get to the Land of Israel. I exerted myself to have the operation more quickly, in order to make aliyah together with my father and brother. In several months I returned to complete good health.

On August 15, 1946, an aliyah took place from Belgium, and my brother Moshe went along on it. We figured that it would not take very long, and we too, would make aliyah. My father and I remained where we were. The situation in Bad-Gastein got worse in all respects. I was compelled to look for work in order to earn something. I became secretary of the hotel committee, Out of my earnings, I was able to cover the expenses for our day-in and day-out needs. Before this, my brother, from Belgium, went on Aliyah Bet with the ship ‘Theodore Herzl’ and arrived in Cyprus. We also began to contemplate making aliyah. Rumors also spread about the liquidation of the camp at Bad-Gastein, and we decided to travel away.

Nobody saw any other alternative available. Together with us, many people also made the trip to the aliyah

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-camp: Solfelden. It was precisely from this place, near the French Zone border, we were supposed to travel to Italy. A couple of weeks later, a transport was allocated to us, with which we traveled up to the French Zone. At the border, we were inspected by the French and it was established that our documentation was false. Because of this, we had to debark from the train cars, and ride back to where we had come from. Our transport was in contest with the guards for the entire night, and did not debark from the cars. Before dawn, guard soldiers occupied our cars, locked the doors, in order that we not flee, and sent us back. On debarking at Solfelden, the American police arrested us again. After extensive negotiations with the commandant of the camp, we were let go. On that very same night, we gain rode off using the same train, to Innsbruck (French Zone). That was the point from which we were supposed to begin the next step in our journey. This time, it worked, and before dawn, we arrived at the destination. Two of the ‘cadre’ from Braykha were waiting for our transport with a special vehicle, which immediately took us to the point of departure.

The so-called assembly-point, Gnadenwald' was a small hamlet, about 30 km from Innsbruck. From this point, on a daily basis, transports would depart, crossing the border illegally into Italy. We had to wait three whole weeks for our column to proceed further. The conditions at this location were very difficult. The overcrowding was great, and the arriving people would simply loll around on the ground, in the corridors, and on the street. In the first contingent to travel, were families with small children and pregnant women.

On a certain day, as soon as it had gotten dark, the Braykha leader ordered an assembly of our transport. He gave us specific instructions on how to act during our trip. We were about 40 people per vehicle, and we rode in the direction of the borderline, and the distance to that line was about 70 km. We rode for four hours. The women and the weaker men fared badly during this trip. At one moment, the auto came to a stop in a very large and thick forest. It was dark all around. We all descended from the auto and arrayed ourselves in a column, and went on our way for a long time. This lasted about an hour, until we came close to the region of the border guards. The leader of the Braykha ordered us to sit on the grass, and not to speak.

The mothers, carrying small children were very tired, and the little children began to cry. After a few minutes of rest, we arose, and began the illegal crossing of the border. Having gone forward for a bit, we approached a tall hill. It took us a long time to negotiate the hill, and then entered into a swamp. Here, again, we remained sitting, very tired, and with no strength left to go on any further. We were already on Italian territory. I led my father under his arm, and what little possessions we had, I held in my second hand. I, myself, was already tired from walking. Behind me, and elderly woman was walking with the last of her strength. she was unable to proceed any further, and remained sitting, exhausted. I let my father go on ahead of me, and gave the woman a bit of water. This revived her somewhat, and we continued onward. I pursued the group. the woman barely was able to drag herself along. ‘This is how I am being exhausted in my old age, and I probably am not going to make it anyway’ – she cried out in the forest.

The Braykha leaders got angry. They asked us to keep quiet, because this is the worst location through which we have to pass. We forded a small brook. It became wet and cold in the feet. This did not stop us, and we pressed on further. Suddenly I heard a few shots over our heads. We were ordered to stop. Immediately a few other shots rang out. We were surrounded on all sides, and illuminated with electric lamps. the light from the lams cut through the darkness of the night. Each of us began to tremble with great fear.

The little children began to cry. Italian border guards approached us. They arrested us, and took us to their

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station. The soldiers treated us very well, taking the young children in their own hands, and carried them to the destination to which they were taking us. Our leaders assured us that we need not be frightened, because they were used to this already. We came to the station post. There, we were all registered, and we remained under their oversight, as arrested persons. We had to wait until the arrival of the guard commissar, who has to make the decision as to what to do with us. Dead-tired, from the hard journey, people immediately fell asleep on the bare ground.

The Three Meckel Sisters

A member of the Braykha was already waiting for us there, and took over the leadership of the group.

In the deep silence of the night, every step of ours risked awakening the light sleep in the little town. But even before we had arrived at our point, dawn began to break, and it became light enough to see. The man from Braykha led the largest part of the people into a stable, where they were supposed to spend the daylight hours, and to continue the journey at night. My father and I fell into a small old hut, where we were taken along with our group. In the evening, two of the Braykha men came to us, and gave us further instructions. We received money from them, to be able to take the train to Merano. In the middle of the night, exactly at twelve o'clock, we went out on foot to the train station.

We went 13 km. As soon as it became daylight, we left on the train, and at 8 o'clock we had already arrived at our destination. Another Braykha man awaited us on the station. He gave us the address of a location, and showed us the way we had to go. It took a couple of hours to make the trip, dead-tired, we fell into the Braykha house. We were immediately given food. Right after that, everyone fell asleep. We spent that day in Merano, and on the same evening, we traveled off in a Pullman-car, to Milan. The trip lasted an entire night. Before dawn, we were able to see the beautiful Italian landscape. People live there, and have no knowledge of our troubles, who is to know if we will yet live long enough and be like other people again? – that was the thought that raced through my mind.

At ten o'clock in the morning, we rode up, in a special auto, to the famous gathering place of the daring, those who came from Austria: – ‘Via Uniona 5.’ Our entire transport was registered. We received ration cards. Tired, and aching from wandering and lack of sleep, each one of us desperately wanted to sleep, but

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there was not enough space. Also, here one could see very strongly, the frightful tragedy of our unfortunate people: hundreds of people pushed one into another, in an overcrowded courtyard. the corridors, all the places under the stairs of the buildings, all the rooms, and all the space in the yard, were chock-full of people. There was not even any place to stand. Children wandered about on the bare earth. The filth was great. People lived for months under these conditions.

During the first two days, we underwent medical examinations, and also carried out all of the formalities… already in the first days, I had made contact with our landsman Zerakh Kremen, who had arrived here previously, and was settled in a kibbutz. He immediately cam riding to us, and took us to him. He helped us get settled. Thanks to him we were able to come around.

The kibbutz was located in a small town, Castro-Lombo, not far from Milan, in a very beautiful villa. This proved to be our real resting place, after the long and arduous journey. We spent six weeks in the kibbutz. Later, when Zerakh was transferred to a special post in Rome, we, my father and I, not wanting to be separated from Zerakh, also moved to Rome.

In Rome, we lived in a kibbutz by the name of Mordechai Anielewicz^[4]. At the same time I studied to be a radio technician in an Italian trade school. After completing the course, we readied ourselves to make aliyah to the Land of Israel.

At the end of 1948, we finally arrived in the Land for which we longed: in the Jewish country that had been liberated with blood in battle.

Translator's footnotes:

1. The ‘Execution’ Brigade previously referenced on page 250 Return
2. Molodets (Young Man) Return
3. The Hebrew word for ‘escape,’ referring to the ‘Escape’ committee. Return
4. Mordechaj (Mordecai) Anielewicz (1919 – May 8, 1943) was the commander of the Żydowska Organizacja Bojowa (English: Jewish Fighting Organization), also known as ŻOB, during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising from January to May 1943. Return

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