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[Page 453 - Yiddish] [Page 215 - Hebrew]

Chaim Hochman (Page 215)

Where were we moving and, most important, what were we waiting for? This apparently was the commander's secret.

Our woman officer, for whom I was the driver, told me the deepest secret; that we were waiting for an airplane coming here from Moscow with important people. They should have been here four days ago and no one knew why they were late.

What had happened? Did they meet with some misfortune? A few hours after the lady officer told me this story, our detachment began to move out. We traveled the entire night and by day; we remained in a large and thick forest containing deep mud. This was our provisional headquarters and residence.

We received the order to set up cabins and although it was already late autumn (a month after Sukkot 1943), we were not allowed to light a fire. An officer, husband of the lady officer, came to our wagon with their child and told us that the parachutists had finally arrived but that they had met with misfortune. Three of them died on their way to join the detachment. A peasant from the village of Tereblichi had betrayed them.

The forest in which our detachment now stood was near the large village of Karatzke-Valya. The population of the village were friendly to the partisans and headquarters gave permission to light fires during the day for cooking and baking.

That same day, there was an assembly and the commander of the detachment, Colonel Satanovski, gave the partisans and the refugees instructions concerning their behavior. The chief directive was that, with the exception of those partisans who were sent on terrorist actions against the Germans, no one was to leave the area. Whoever disobeyed the command would be shot on the spot, without a trial.

Before finishing these instructions, he turned to the assembly: “Comrades, whoever comes from or is familiar with the region of David-Horodok, Stolin and Turov, let him report to me in my headquarters after the assembly.”

I went into staff headquarters and reported to the commander that I knew David-Horodok well, as well as a little of the vicinity.

“Tell me comrade Hochman, do you know where the villages of Ozdanichi, Tereblichi and Korotichi are located?”

“Yes,” I answer. He asked me to stand aside and he interrogated the second partisan who entered headquarters right after me.

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“Where are you from, comrade?” “From the village of Bukcha,” answered the partisan. “It is far from David-Horodok, but we peasants often went there and that is why I know the region.”

“Why did you join our detachment?” continued the commander in his line of questioning.

“Because I want to fight the Germans,” was the partisan's answer. “Listen, comrade!” as the commander turned to the partisan, “perhaps there is a Jew in our detachment who knows you?” “Not in our detachment,” again replied the partisan, “but there are Jews in Fyodorov's detachment nearby who know me from home. Ask them about me.”

Contact was quickly made with Fyodorov's detachment and the answer returned that the partisan was a fine and upstanding man and that there was no danger of his being a traitor.

After a brief interval, there came 10 young men into the commander's headquarters. They were strong and jovial partisans. Later, German battle uniforms were brought in. All the partisans except for me took off their partisan clothes and donned the sparkling new German battle uniforms. They even had not forgotten to put crosses on their necks. One of the partisans put on the uniform of a German officer. He was one of the ten who had come from Moscow and had perfect command of the German language.

All the weapons – rifles, machine guns and grenades – with which these “Germans” were armed were German-made. Even the cigarettes were German. I dressed up in traditional Jewish clothes concealing a revolver and several hand grenades. The “German officer” gave me the following directions:

“In case we encounter Germans or police along the way, we will say that we caught you hiding out in the forest. After we beat you up (signs of the beating were immediately provided. They cut one of my fingers and smeared the blood on my face and hair), you are taking us to the place where many other Jews are hidden.”

The commander ordered us not to leave headquarters and not to show ourselves to anyone. Halfway through the night, we were ready for our journey. The “German officer” turned to us with the following words: “Comrade partisans! A short time ago we were boarding an airplane in Moscow to come and join your partisan detachment. Along with the pilot, we were thirteen men.

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Near the Pripyat River, not far from Mikashevitz, we were chased and shot at by German airplanes. When our plane was set on fire, we jumped out with our parachutes. Luckily, we all landed safely near the village of Tereblichi. After we searched and found each other, we went into a peasant's hut in the village and we asked him for the way to the hamlet of Mairlin. The peasant showed us the way assuring us that there were no Germans or police in the entire region. While we were checking the route with our map, it turned out that the peasant was at that moment informing on us. We started along the road, thanking and blessing the peasant and his family.

In half an hour, we were accosted by men who called out: 'Halt! Put your hands up' and they began shouting at us. Three of our comrades were killed on the spot. We immediately opened fire and heard the screaming and groaning from the wounded on their side.

With that, the clash in the small forest ended. Crawling on all fours, we tried to reach a different and larger forest. Along the way, we stumbled on a body that was choking with pain cause by one of our bullets. He was wounded on both feet. This wounded policeman irately cursed the peasant Karp who had awaked the police from sleep and chased after the partisans along with them. We choked the policeman to death,” continued the “German officer”, “and after several days of wandering through swamps and forests, we reached your detachment, exhausted. Now,” proposed the “officer”, “we are going to bring that peasant back here. We must take revenge against such a cowardly dog!

“In truth, there are more important targets for our partisans,” noted the “officer”. “Our entire energy must be concentrated against the accursed Germans but we are consumed with resentment and anger that one of our own peasants, flesh of our flesh, spilled the blood of his own brothers and betrayed his own people to the German murderers like a servile dog. We will bring him back here to the detachment. We will bring him back here dead or alive, that traitor-murderer, so that partisan blood will not be spilled wantonly.”

Following the words of our group leader, we set out on our way. We wandered through forests, swamps and fields for three nights until we arrived at the village of Korotichi.

After our “Germans” found out that there were only five policemen in the village, we all went into the police station. Our “officer” informed the policemen that his group was specially selected to

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effect the liquidation of the remaining Jews who were hiding in the forests. Pointing at me, the “officer” said that his captured Jew would show us the place where many Jews were hiding.

In order to undertake such a holy task, they would have to mobilize the police of Korotichi, Tereblichi and Ozdanichi.

After all the policemen of Korotichi had been mustered together, we all went to Tereblichi. In the Tereblichi police station, which was a private house, all the Tereblichi policemen were assembled, including the peasant Karp. Two policemen were dispatched by the “officer” to Ozdanichi with orders to return with that village's police.

The “officer” spoke Russian amongst the policemen and scolded them for their lack of vigilance. “It appears,” he roared with a thundering voice, “that within 10 kilometers or so from your posts there are so many Jews still hidden. How is it possible? No small thing – so many Jews!” he repeated.

Concluding his talk to the police he turned to his “German” comrades and talked to them in German.

The policemen began to reply saying that it was not their fault that there were still a few living Jews hidden here or there. Each one of them had done his utmost to exterminate the hated Jews. They hadn't rested day or night, searching very corner, catching women, children and men, murdering all without mercy.

They then described a litany of gruesome acts which each one had performed. Each story was more horrible and appalling than the preceding one. In such manner, listening to these vile tales of murder, we passed the time. The night was dark and cloudy but it was coming to an end.

We partisans shivered; the ground was burning under our feet. We were anxious to get back into the forest before they found out that we were partisans. Everyone held his weapon tightly in his hand. Everyone was restless and impatient.

Only the “officer”, the oldest of the group, was calm and in no hurry. He alone was smoking and he offered cigarettes, German cigarettes, to all the police. He listened patiently to all of their horror stories, kept company with them and, at the same time, he threw in “innocent” questions: “Well, and what have you been doing about partisans? You eat, drink and sleep and you don't catch partisans? Shame on you!”

Then the peasant Karp spoke. He told how approximately 10 days previously he delivered a group of partisans into the hands of the police. “Unfortunately,” he said, “there were not enough police and only three partisans were killed while the others managed to escape into the forest. Four policemen fell in this matter. As for myself,” boasted the peasant Karp, “I barely escaped with my life.

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I hid in a ditch and laid there until the partisans had left. For this deed of mine,” he explained, “I received a beautiful reward from the town commandant in David-Horodok: two milk-cows and much clothing from the dead Jews.”

Outside, daylight appeared. The peasant woman was already up and her children were beginning to awaken. The peasant woman took a pot of soup out of the oven and she and the children began to eat. I stretched out my hand to the woman and begged her for a little soup. She poured a full bowl of warm soup and gave it to me. Just as I began to eat, the eldest of the group, the “German officer”, came over to me, pulled the bowl out of my hands and said: “Did the good woman give this to you? In that case, eat!” Having finished speaking, he poured the entire bowl of soup over my head. The “Germans” and policemen responded to this “heroic” act with shrills of laughter. There was indescribable joy and cheer. All were pleased with the “brilliant” occurrence.

Abruptly, we heard the sound of voices. The door swung open and the two messengers entered along with the eight policemen from Ozdanichi. The policemen greeted each other joyfully. They shook hands, chatted and eventually told the story of how the “German group leader” had poured the bowl of soup over my head.

I sat in a corner, covered from head to foot with the remains of the flour and potato soup. My face and hands were streaked with blood and I made myself cry …

Our group leader, the “officer” whispered secretive orders to the police commanders and the peasant Karp …

The peasants of the village on learning that we were going on such a holy mission to catch Jews, brought us considerable food such as eggs, butter, pork, bread and a considerable number of whiskey flasks. The “officer” ordered us to begin our journey.

Each man quickly packed a share of the food into his rucksack and began walking along the road which led to the right of the woods of the village of Kalk.

We went through thick forests of small trees. Along the way, the police asked me about the hidden Jews. They were interested to know if there were any rich ones and if there were any young women. They were greatly encouraged and pleased by my answers. I told them that they would find everything there: much money, gold, jewels and especially young and beautiful women …

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After having marched for three hours, our “officer” told us to stop. “We must,” he said, “have a rest and a bite to eat.” All the weapons were stacked together in piles of three. We sat down and began to feast. They ate and drank whiskey without end and “out of the goodness of their hearts”, they even gave me plenty to eat. Meanwhile, the “officer” took out a map and showed the already half-drunk policemen the place where they would find the Jews with their cabins. Naturally, this place was very, very near …

Encouraged that they were very close to their goal, and imagining the “juicy morsel” that awaited them, the policemen again renewed their drinking. At the end of the meal, the policemen laid down to rest on one side and all the “Germans” on the opposite side. Peasant Karp and a completely inebriated policeman were sent to guard me and the weapons … In a few minutes, all the police fell into a deep sleep.

The “Germans” quickly awoke from their “sleep”. They took up the loaded guns and in seconds all the policemen were shot to death. Only one person was “spared” – peasant Karp. He was to be brought back alive to the detachment in order to hand him over to the parachutists whose three companions had been killed through Karp's treachery.

On the tenth day we returned to our detachment. The same day that we returned, Karp was hung. On searching his belongings, we found a pocket watch with a Hebrew inscription. The inscription read: “In memory of the wedding of Dov Farber”. This watch was a wedding gift to Berl Farber from his father-in-law.

The detachment commander Satanovski was happy at our return. He received us joyfully and said that he had had a premonition that our mission would succeed.

He said that our group leader, the “officer”, was one of our best and cleverest sons of Russia. He knew ten languages including perfect German, he was an able diplomat and well-qualified for such missions.

“Yet,” said the commander Satanovski, “during the entire ten days that you were away, I was restless and could not sleep. Who knows – war is war and anything can happen!”

“Friends,” said our commander, “you are tired from the strain and from the journey. Each of you gets three days furlough. However, I am also giving you the following order: No one is to know where you have been and what you have done. For disobeying this order, you will receive the severest of war-time punishment.”

1. This article is equivalent to the article in the Hebrew section “Among the Partisans in the Vicinity of David-Horodok” on pages 215-217. Return

[Page 459 -Yiddish] [Page 222 - Hebrew]

The Polish partisan detachment “Kościuszko” which numbered some 300 Poles and 8 Jews, was in the vicinity of the large village of Molczyca (about eighty kilometers from Pinsk) in large and thick forests deep with swamps.

The detachment had under its protection a camp of relatives consisting of about one hundred Polish families who had fled the slaughters caused by the Ukrainians. There were also a number of Jewish souls in the camp, unfortunate remnants of the tens of thousands of Jews who were cruelly murdered by the Germans along with the Ukrainians and Byelorussians.

I was appointed by the staff to act as driver for the families of the partisan fighters. The detachment would not stay in one place for very long. We would often change locations in the forests.

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah 1943, a camp Jew came to the commander of the detachment with a request that they be allowed to hold communal services on the following day in a nearby barn in the forest. The commander was a young, healthy and handsome man who spoke and wrote Polish well and who had arrived by airplane from Moscow a month earlier with the ten other Polish parachutists.

The commander spoke little and was unusually stern. No one had yet seen a smile on his handsome face. His orders to the partisans as well as to the camp refugees were always brief and curt. He had traitors and informers shot without mercy. We Jews began to notice a good streak in his character as soon as he arrived at the detachment. That is, he ordered that his food and kitchen overseers should not abuse anyone by lessening their food rations so that the Jewish refugees would receive just as much as the Polish and Russian refugees.

On the morning of Rosh Hashanah, the commander sent for the Jews who had asked him permission on the previous day to pray together in congregation. He answered with a smile that had not been seen on his face since his arrival:

“If you think that your G-d will help you as a result of your prayers, then go entreat him. My god,” he said holding his weapon against his heart, “is my gun and my grenade. The German murderers understand that language better and it reaches them faster. Your pleas and prayers reach your G-d just about as much as they reach the Germans. But pray, and entreat your G-d as much as your hearts' desire. I have no right to hinder your religious feelings. Pray as much as you like, but let it be quiet.”

All the Jews, except for the Jewish partisans on duty, came to pray. There was only one tallis and one machzor which a Plotnitzer Jew had taken along with

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him when he fled from the slaughter. He wrapped himself in the tallis and prayed while the others, the remnant of tens of thousands of Jews who were murdered, slaughtered and buried alive, were choked with tears, pounding their heads against the walls and sobbing in violent spasms.

Human words are too poor to describe these heart-rending scenes, when close to thirty unfortunate Jews, men, women and children, desolate, lonely and orphaned, vented their tears and their rage over their great misfortune.

Many Polish refugees from the camp and partisans from the detachment gathered around the barn. Many of them cried along with the Jews. Who knows what was oppressing them? Perhaps they were regretting what role they may have had in helping the Germans kill the parents, husbands, wives and children of these Jews that were here and praying now.

When the cantor, a good singer with a hearty voice and a pained heart, began saying the Hineni heani prayer, the tears literally flooded the barn. At that moment, the detachment commander, Colonel Satanovski, came riding up quickly on his horse. He requested a short intermission in the prayers and, seated on his horse, he said the following:

“Comrades! Why are you crying? We are still alive, so what is there to cry about? The Germans are retreating thanks to the severe beatings rendered by the brave Red Army on all fronts. It won't be long now before Russian soldiers will be strolling the streets of Berlin, over the entire accursed German land and over the dead bodies of the German murderers. The day of vengeance is near! However, our partisan situation today is not better but somewhat worse than before. We must increase our vigilance. The Germans will be hard to displace. We and all the other courageous partisan detachments have destroyed all the bridges and railway lines. The Germans find themselves in a desperate situation. They know that the partisans are now their greatest danger. Therefore, they have dispatched special divisions to destroy us. Also from the west, from Germany, they have sent out German divisions to help. We are in the middle. However, all the roads are blocked. For the time being, they cannot get to us. Every night, large Russian partisan groups are dropped by airplane. They are mining the roads in the path of the retreating Germans. They are being torn to pieces in the fields and in the forests. As long as we don't fight them in open battle, the brave Russian Army is doing that with great success, we can avoid great casualties. Whether all of us who are here will survive is hard to know. Perhaps we can hope.”

“The Germans have burnt down everything from Pinsk to Mozyr and Zhitomir. We have a directive from the highest command in Moscow to destroy, without mercy, all German followers and traitors. In my refugee camp, we uncovered an entire family of German spies. Over ten of my dear partisan lads were killed because of them. Tonight, the entire family of eight will be hung. Although only the daughter was actually guilty, the entire cowardly family knew about her treachery. Let us hope that we will endure all hardships. Long live the Red Army!”

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After finishing his speech, the commander turned to the cantor wrapped in his tallis, and said the following: “Listen now, continue your prayers. Say what you were saying before I came to the barn.”

The cantor covered his head with his old shredded tallis, leaned his thin and dried hands against the eastern wall of the barn and began to tearfully intone the words of Hineni heani.

The commander got off his horse, smoked a cigarette, leaned his left shoulder against his horse, looked the entire time in the direction of the forest and, with quiet attention, listened to the sad and tearful melody. I noticed that tears were in his eyes…

The war was over. I returned to my hometown and encountered destruction and a huge mass grave. All was lost. I was sent to Rovno where there was a job opportunity.

In the administrative office of the town commandant, I met a man dressed in a handsome black suit with carefully combed hair. He was conversing with the commandant. I could not take my eyes off him. I had seen this man somewhere before and I could not remember where. The man noticed that I was looking at him with special interest, and he abruptly asked me: “Don't you recognize me, comrade? Well, my friend,” he said, “if you don't remember, it doesn't matter. It is not necessary, my friend. Everything evil must belong to the past, to history.”

When he left the administrative office, the town commandant of Rovno asked me: “Comrade Hochman, were you in his Polish detachment called Kościuszko during the war?” I didn't let him go any further: “Yes, yes, that's right! He is the commander of my detachment, the Polish Colonel Satanovski!”

“No, no,” interrupted the Rovno town commandant, “No, not the Pole Satanovski but the courageous hero of the Soviet Union, organizer of all the Polish partisan units on Soviet soil who is now decorated with all the highest medals by comrade Stalin himself and who is now a frequent guest, along with all the other distinguished personalities in the Kremlin – a colonel and heroic partisan, the Jew Moshe Satanovski!”

1. This article is equivalent to the article in the Hebrew section “Colonel Satanovski” on pages 222-224. Return

[Page 462 - Yiddish] [Page 218 - Hebrew]

Uncaptioned: Miriam Bregman (Page 218)

The murderer, I. Maraiko, who stood at the head of the local authorities, fled to Pinsk with his cohorts. When they asked him why he abandoned the town without an organized management, he replied that he had fled because of shooting from the Jews and Russians. Sunday, the Germans returned, bringing the murderer and his henchmen with them.

They soon ordered the Jews to wear a blue Star of David on a white band on their sleeves. That same day, they took the men “to work” beyond the town. Several hours later, we heard shooting from the direction that the men had gone. Who and what? No one knew. We had hidden our father in the cellar and when the gentiles entered to look for men, we created an uproar to divert their attention.

That same night, in pouring rain, I suddenly heard crying. I saw through the window women and children with sacks on their backs. In reply to my question, they told me that all the Jews were being driven across the bridge and out of town. My father quickly put on women's clothes and we all stood together in the crowd: my mother, my father, my sister Feigele and I. Along the road, we encountered a gentile who was inspecting the crowd and he recognized my father. Words were of no avail. He returned with him to the town.

The rain poured. The women and children were brought to a manor alongside the river on the way to Stolin. They assured us that they would return us home just as soon as they had completed their search for weapons in our houses. Meanwhile, the gentiles from the vicinity arrived and they began to plunder and grab whatever came to hand. One of them struggled with me, threatening me with a knife if I would not give him my coat. However, I did not give it to him and he left.

At night, the murderer Maraiko came and took away Rivka, Yossel Yudovitz's wife; her two daughters, Malle and Yentl; Leah, Elya Bregman's daughter; and Malka, the pharmacist Yashe Yudovitz's wife. He also wanted to take my sister Feigele. “Why should she have to suffer here?” he said. But I refused to part with her under any conditions.

In the morning, Vanke and a band of cohorts drove us off the manor towards Stolin. They shot into the air, pushed and chased us. The older ones could not hold up and fell along the way. When we were not far from Stolin, they turned us back toward David-Horodok.

One kindly gentile, who had known my maternal grandfather, Hertzl

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Luria the timber merchant, took us away to his farm at the time that the others were returning to David-Horodok. I learned later that they were crammed into a ghetto in the town which they had surrounded with barbed wire.

According to his plan, Feigele and I would work in the field and my mother would stay in the house.

He treated us very well. However, two days later, when he went with us into the field, a neighbor from the village passed us. “Now that you've been seen, you can no longer remain with us,” said the gentile, “because my life is also now in jeopardy.” He brought us to some relatives on another farm and he went alone to Stolin to get yellow patches, which was his usual routine.

When he returned, he drove us in his wagon through the forests near Stolin, where he let us off. He took our belongings in his wagon and transported them to Stolin. We walked the rest of the way to Stolin. The gentile refused to take any gift or money from us.

In Stolin, we hid several days with Ester Blizhovsky, but our goal was Sarny. My aunt, my mother's sister, lived there. We walked to Dombrovitz and we drove from there to Sarny by wagon. We stayed in Sarny for five months until they established a ghetto in the Jewish quarter. It is noteworthy that certain Sarny gentiles did not want to leave the border region of the ghetto. Most of the Jews survived in the ghetto by selling their belongings and utensils. We did not want our aunt to have to support us so we moved to other lodgings which were provided by the communal committee.

There were several David-Horodokers with us in the ghetto: Golda Finkelstein and her mother Yentl, Zelda Finkelstein and her daughter Sara, and Chaike Finkelstein with her two daughters Mania and Rivka. Golda Finkelstein had her personal problem to add to the general woe. During the days of the Holocaust, she gave birth to a daughter on her twelfth wedding anniversary.

All the Jews were required to register on two separate occasions over a six-month period. At the second registration, they established a ghetto for recently arrived Jews from Dombrovitz and the surrounding region. Then, the killing began. Every day, five hundred men were transported to the trenches which had been prepared in the forest outside of town.

When our transport arrived at the spot, we all began running away from the trenches towards a hill over near Sarny – a splendid target for the German guns. My sister Feigele was wounded. While running, I heard a voice: “Run daughter!” To this day I don't know if that was my mother's voice. In any case, I never saw her again.

We came to a stream and I washed Feigele's foot.

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We spent the entire night alone in the forest, terrified by horrible visions. In the morning, we discovered a small house in the forest and we went inside. Feigele's foot had become swollen and so she lay down and quickly fell asleep. I went outside to look around and to try and find some Jews. When I returned to get Feigele, people in the house told that she had gone with the shepherds. I later learned from the village teacher that Feigele had been dragged into the woods and forced to lay on the ground while they drove back and forth over her with a bicycle until, with terrible pain and suffering, she gave up her pure and innocent soul.

I went off on the pathway crying bitterly until I finally dropped off into an exhausted sleep. A gentile woke me, brought me into the forest and succeeded in finding me a hiding place. Early next morning, I set off walking again until a wagon stopped and gave me a ride to a nearby farm. I went into a house and asked for a drink. I found two Jews there. After I ate and drank, the Jews showed me the road and warned me to hide from wagons. I went on, but suddenly I heard the sound of an approaching wagon. I quickly hid in the bushes. To my great terror, the wagon stopped near my hiding place. My soul nearly left my body before I realized that the wagon contained my friends from the farm. They drove me in their wagon to the family of a Jewish doctor who lived in the forest. I stayed with them for a month. At night, we would go to the gentile houses to beg for food, even a dry crust of bread. The trees served as hiding places during the night.

One gentile woman treated me very kindly and invited me into her home once a week. There I would wash my hair. She gave me a cooking pot and some salt – a very scarce commodity. The pot had two advantages. One was that I could eat warm cooked food after having wandered for weeks through the cold forest. Most important was that potatoes, which were half-burnt when roasted over a fire, could now be eaten entirely without any waste.

Another gentile woman hid me in the forest when the Germans appeared once. Afterwards, she brought me back to my friends. One night, while we were warming ourselves by a fire that we lit in the forest, a man with a gun suddenly appeared and said, “I am a partisan. We have a wounded man.” By the light of the flames he examined each one of us until he came next to me and stared at me. Suddenly we heard a shot and a cry, “Get going!”

Everyone ran away, but one by one, they returned. The doctor called his daughters to come back, saying that they would “take care of him” if they did not return. Afterwards, they all searched for me, calling me by name again and again, but I lay the entire night hidden in the bushes. In the morning I returned to the group.

The doctor praised me and said: “You were smart not to come…”

That is how things were for several months until the outlaws, whose leader was Bandera and who called themselves Banderovtzes, began catching Jews. At that time, the partisans showed up. I begged them to take me with them,

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but they refused. Then I said to them: “Finish me off if you won't honor my wish.” They finally consented.

At the beginning, I worked for several months in the medicine section, accompanying the wounded in wagons and nursing them. Later, when I had proven myself courageous and bold, I was assigned to the information service. My job was to go to the villages, find out the number of German soldiers in each place, how many weapons they possessed and where their commander was located. When I brought back the accurate information, the partisans would attack each place and destroy it.

There was a landing strip built near Zhitomir where the Soviets landed airplanes of the Red Army, evacuating our severely wounded and providing us with supplies and weapons. The airplanes would come at night and we would light fires to guide them in their landing. Once an enemy airplane circled overhead. Thinking it was one of ours, we lit the fires. The airplane veered off and headed towards Kiev. A few hours later, it returned and gave us a “present” of bombs.

In one of our raids, we overran the village of Emilchino near Zhitomir. The retreating Germans were convinced that they were opposing soldiers of the Red Army. While we held the village, we ate and drank ceaselessly. We followed the system of “take from this one and give to the next one”. We would take from one person and then repay him with what we took from the next person.

One of my jobs was observation. Once, while I was sitting at my post, I didn't notice that our people had left the area and the Germans were coming up. However, I wasn't abandoned. A horse and rider were sent to retrieve me and we succeeded in escaping in the last minute before the Germans marched in.

This was but only one of the many miracles that happened to me.

After we had extricated ourselves from Emilchino, I was again assigned as an observer. About a kilometer away from me, deep in the forest, our people were stationed with a cannon. I was to warn them when the enemy approached. To lose a cannon was for us a far greater tragedy than to lose one of our own people, and I was no exception. I suddenly heard the sound of horse's hooves. “Halt,” I shouted. “Who's there?” and I whispered the password. My situation was intolerable. Whoever did not carry out his duty, even when guiltless, the penalty was death. With my luck, they were our men. In recognition, I was given a medal.

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One night, we were riding our horses near a train station. We watched over our horses as if they were our own eyes because they were our most important means of communication. We handled them properly, as best we could. When we saw that their strength was exhausted, we would confiscate fresher and stronger horses along the way.

At crossroads, we would separate and ride in various directions back and forth in order to confuse the enemy. At one time, we passed the train station and I became separated from my unit in order to change my horse. When I returned, no one was there. I had indeed acquired a fresh horse and I had a gun. But, I was alone. I wandered alone for a week without seeing a single soul. I was so weary that the gun became too much of a burden for me and I parted with it as a “friend”. On the eighth day, I came to a village. I entered a cabin and asked the residents if they had seen horses and riders in the vicinity. “Yes, yes! I saw them,” answered the man of the house. “Sit a while. Relax. I'll come right back.” I decided that he was a village official and I used the moment of his departure to get out of there. I left my horse and all my belongings.

I later went into several houses and ordered the residents to give me food and to do me no harm if they didn't want to deal with the partisans who were coming after me. At last, I went into a small house and again asked if they had seen horses and riders in the region. After I had promised a proper reward, the resident went with me to show the way. On the tenth day of my wanderings, I was reunited with my people.

Once, we were surrounded by the Germans and they shot at us from all sides. Our situation was hopeless and we began to say farewell to each other. A portion of us succeeded in breaking through the enemy line and escaped, leaving the wounded behind. We were soon given the order to turn back and rescue the wounded. Many fell in the renewed skirmish. Many of our people also died at Brody, especially a number of Jews from Dombrovitz.

The enemy had a widespread espionage network. Not infrequently, we would arrive at a certain place and come under attack by enemy planes. We would always withdraw in the direction taken by the enemy airplanes.

In Lemberg [Lvov], we came in contact with the Red Army. I was appointed head nurse for a transport of wounded and typhus victims to the rear area. A number of them were lying on the ground. I fulfilled this function for the Red Army for one week. That same week, we dug a grave for a partisan who had survived many battles, but died in an accident. I said a short eulogy over his grave. After that, I resolved to leave the partisans and do something for myself. At the time we captured Emilchino, I became a close friend

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of one of the village girls. Now that the region had been cleared of the enemy, I came to her house. We were joined by several wagoners and young people who were going the same way. My girlfriend's house had remained intact and her family unharmed. I was there scarcely a month when I began working in the office of a large sawmill. I had to change my residence, but I returned each Sunday to spend time with my companions.

So I spent several months until I heard the news that Pinsk had been liberated. I decided to return home. I procured a passport and traveled to Sarny. I wanted to continue on my way to David-Horodok but I met friends in Sarny who wouldn't let me go because “there is not even the memory of a Jew there.” I reluctantly remained in Sarny and took up the offer to work as a clerk for the commissar of the military stationed in Sarny. The NKVD also offered me a job, which I refused. A short time later, when I was ordered to the front with my military unit, I decided to remain with the NKVD.

I was awarded the rank of an officer and I was quartered next to the residence of the commissar. Before I started working, I was given the longest detailed questionnaire I had ever seen. I kept that job for several months. During that period, there were still marauding bands that pillaged and staged pogroms. The NKVD uniform protected me. I was also saved by the fact that I often appeared together with the commissar, just the two of us, and each such appearance had a powerful impression on everyone, especially those who planned to harm me.

My closeness to the public prosecutor also enabled me to arrest several gentiles who I recognized as murderers of Jews.

On a certain day, I decided to travel to Emilchino for a farewell visit. Since I could not afford to travel on my salary, I was forced to sell paper at a high price to cover my travel expenses. However, I was caught and arrested.

An NKVD employee, who was arrested for a similar crime, was punished by taking twenty-five percent of his wages until he had completed his obligation. I was freed after much effort and a report was sent concerning me to Sarny. When I returned to Sarny, I again enjoyed the commissar's trust and he never deducted a groschen from my wages.

The transports of supplies and troops all passed through Sarny which also served as a military camp. When a troop train would stop, I would put two or three bottles of whiskey in my rucksack and go to the station to trade with the soldiers for clothing, which was plentiful on the trains. Once, I came there and the railroad NKVD policemen surrounded the train and started a search.

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Before they searched me, I succeeded in getting rid of the whiskey. When they brought me to my commissar, I feigned ignorance, saying that I was there as an NKVD officer.

Half a month later, I requested a release from the NKVD and an emigration permit. My commissar reminded me of my arrest. Nevertheless, he sent me with a letter, whose contents I do not know to this day, to the commissar of Rovno.

The guards would not let me see him and they tried to get rid of me with various excuses. I would not be put off and I went in. He read the letter and sent me back with another sealed letter, whose contents were also unknown to me. I gave this letter to the commissar of Sarny and all the obstacles in my path were set aside.

I drove to freedom.

A letter to Detroit

Michael Nosanchuk of Rubiel describes the horrible events in a letter to his brother Berl Nosanchuk of Windsor. The letter writer escaped from Rubiel, joined the anti-Nazi partisans and later joined the Red Army. The letter was published in The Forward by Yaakov Nosanchuk of Detroit.

The letter writer is the only one of his family that was saved and one of the few survivors of Rubiel, David-Horodok and Stolin. He escaped in the midst of the slaughter as if by a miracle and joined the ranks of the partisans. Later, he joined the Red Army.

Mr. Yaakov Nosanchuk gave us two letters to publish. The first letter gives us a general overview of the conditions that the Red Army soldier endured and the second letter describes the details of the horrible slaughter.

He writes in the first letter:

Today is the happiest day of my life. That is how I feel as I read a letter written in my brother's hand. How many days and nights did I think

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of only one thing, that you should only know of the dark fate that had overtaken us. Escaping from the dark ghetto, from the murderous hands of the Germans, wandering around in the mud, swamps, woods and marshes alone and forlorn, worse off than a dog. I had only one thought – how can I let my brother and sister know? Will someone in my family even know of my death, of what I endured? More than once I wanted to end my life, but remembering you, I encouraged myself. I kept up my hope and, with all my strength, I endured everything. My only aspiration was to get hold of a gun and take revenge. It was not easy for me to decide to join a partisan detachment. From the detachment, I went on to join the Red Army. I was in Lithuania, Latvia, later on the front lines outside of Warsaw, and I ended in the darkness of Berlin. I took revenge for our innocent spilt blood. But the great wound will not heal.

In the second letter, written five days later (January 15, 1946), the writer gives the following details of the bloody slaughter:

In 1941, around the 16^th of Av (I remember it was a Sunday), the horrible slaughter occurred in David-Horodok. With the pretext that they were being sent to work, everyone was gathered outside of Horodok and shot to death.

I was in Rubiel at the time, unaware of anything. I had a passion for fishing and so I went out to the river. Yaakov, our Golda's husband, sat at home around the table with his fellow Hassidim. I called for him to come with me. But he only joked that he would come later with a wagon to get the fish. I went alone.

At around five o'clock in the afternoon, I heard guns shooting, one after another. I settled deeper in the bushes and waited until someone came from the village. The first to announce the bitter news was the shameless Marko.

Just two hours earlier, everything was peaceful. Everyone sat at his work, whether at the forge or at sewing. Suddenly everyone was dead! Including Yaakov. A short time ago he was telling jokes and now he lays dead. Why? Fifty-three martyrs were murdered with Chanale's father and Gittel's husband among them.

Before he died, Yaakov said a few words. They had taken them out, bound together in groups of three, into barns and there they shot them. Soon came the realization that all were gone in Horodok as well.

I managed to get away unnoticed to Avdeus in Horisha [Hotomel]. The murderers soon realized that I was not amongst the bodies and they began searching for me. However, Avdeus knew how to hide me. In Stolin, the black SS were not yet active. They had seized only David-Horodok. In Rubiel, the perpetrators were local gentiles. I received a message from our Moshe Chaim, may he rest in peace, that I should come to Stolin. I went there. The unfortunate women of Horodok and Rubiel had been driven out of the villages of Horisha [Hotomel] and they were robbed of their belongings before their eyes. The gentile Nikolai Pusiks pulled Yaakov's boots off Chaya's feet (our Golda's daughter). (I later saw him while with the partisans, and we killed him.) The unfortunates then wandered through the Brezno forest. Nowhere would anyone let them in.

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They created a communal organization in Stolin and with much money and sacrifice; they worked to allow the unfortunates to enter Stolin.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I sat with our brother Moshe Chaim. Suddenly two thugs burst into the house and took Moshele away forever. Three days later, we learned that they had tortured him to death. They had stuck him with prods and tore pieces off him. On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, 1941, at 12 midnight, he gave up his holy soul in a Stolin jail. I found his body six months later and I buried him wrapped in his tallis near Aunt Golda's grave.

Lyova, covered in tears, said the graveside Kaddish. Zelig Fishman was with me. He helped me. The face of our holy brother was already decomposed but I recognized him anyway. Frumke, Genya, Chaya and Rachel also came running to help. We made the funeral without the knowledge of the Germans.

After Moshele's death, I began a different life. I became a part of a family of orphans and widows. I would look at the children, especially Avivale, and my heart would nearly break. Aunt Golda held out well but then the light began to go out. At Chanukah, she breathed her last in our house. All the Rubiel widows wept for her. We made a quiet funeral because the Germans forbade funerals.

But we didn't have much time to think of the dead. The great burden of all the orphans and widows fell on me. I turned in every direction trying to keep them from starving. We had a minyan in our house. Father, may he rest in peace, would say Kaddish with Lyova. The first Kaddish was for the Rubiel martyrs, next for our brother and then for Aunt Golda. Father would say little, just bite his lips and keep silent. Often, he would scold the women when they began to cry and then he would begin to shed tears too. I was forced to play the role of a hero, but at the same time shed my own tears.

One could not appear on the street after seven o'clock in the evening. We would sit behind closed shutters. Often Genya and her children would come through the garden and we would sit together. Not infrequently, we would talk about you, whether you knew what was happening here and what you would think when you found out?

Thus we sat in the house the entire winter.

On the eve of Passover, they drove Genya out of her house and then us as well. At that time Zelig Fishman, may he rest in peace, gave us considerable aid. There then began rumors that they would make a ghetto in Stolin. How many trials could we endure? How many tribulations? They were flaying our skins. By the eve of Shavuot, they had completed encircling the ghetto with a fence of 15 wires, one post every two or three meters.

We received the order to move to the ghetto. It is impossible to describe the picture. Everyone carried what they could – one must live. Father, may he rest in peace, took his cane and went into the ghetto. We were assigned a small room: me, Golda's Shia, cousin Yaakov's

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five-year old son Michalke and our parents. Not far from us was Genya with her children and Frumke.

In the ghetto it was forbidden to take anything in or out. The death rate reached twelve a day. People became swollen. I would look at mother's feet and I would shudder. We talked of nothing but eating. We found ways of smuggling food into the ghetto. Then came the terrible knowledge that they were shooting all the Jews. We couldn't believe it. What does it mean? How could they? Small children? Old people? It cannot be.

Until the black day came, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah 1942, there had been 7,000 souls in Stolin and all were killed. The graves were prepared. They were first stripped naked and then forced to lie down in the graves, then shot in rows.

I will never forget the last night in the ghetto. I stayed with mother until 3 o'clock. We kissed and kissed, cried and cried with your photographs pressed to our hearts, we said our farewell to you. Father recited the confessional prayer. Mother bathed and put on clean clothes, preparing for her death. She then drove me out of the house: “Go away from us! You will survive. Hide yourself. Don't stay with us! Perhaps you will be able to avenge us and tell of our fate.”

At that moment I didn't believe mother's words. How can I survive when we are surrounded on all sides? I went away with the idea that our parents last minutes would be easier if they thought I had survived.

So I left the dearest and most treasured, forever! A thousand times I cursed that moment when I left. I often wished that I had lain down with them and embraced them as all the martyrs did before they died.

I stayed in a cellar with Valyen Molochnik for 18 days after the slaughter in the ghetto. I thought of everything, looking for ways to get out. My heart told me that if I could only get out of the ghetto I would know how to get along. I tried to get Valyen to go along with me. However, at that time, his wife was also alive and in hiding. Others who were still alive included: Beila Molochnik, Nissel, their daughter Bashale, Shalom Durchin with his wife and child. Their family was still intact and I was already an orphan. I would meet them at night and try to convince them to try to find a way to escape with me. They decided to wait for a miracle and they remained there.

I began to search for a way out by myself. On the 18^th night after the slaughter, I groped around in the dark ghetto – doors, windows, all were broken. All the houses were vacant and I thought I had stumbled over the dead body of a martyr – my hair shuddered. I had only one thought – life, life! How to get out of there?

At that moment, I encountered another living person. I quickly went over to him. I thought that he was another unfortunate like me, trying to find a way out. How shocked was I to see

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a tall gentile standing before me – the biggest thief in Stolin (he now sits in jail) and he led me out of the ghetto.

Valyen, Beila, Nissel, and Shalom were found and shot to death several days after my escape.

I then began to live my golden days. A lone survivor in the world, wandering about. I owe gratitude to Avdeus and Chvedar Siroshik, Levan Malak Mamanovich – they helped me out until I could fend for myself. That is to say, I joined a partisan detachment. I will not describe my further experiences. They are not important. I believe that what I have written will give you more-or-less a clear picture of what happened to us.

We have with us here from Rubiel, Avraham Shulman, the Levite's two sons. They are longing for their aunt Eydel Shulman in New York and they do not have her address. If you can, dear brother, find out her address from the Rubiel people and let her know about the two boys. Let her write to them to my address.

[Page 475 - Yiddish] [Page 231 - Hebrew]

May, 1946. The transport that drove the repatriates (Polish citizens who spent World War II in the Red Army), including me, to the Polish People's Republic stopped at Kielce, a small town in lower Silesia. There, we all had to begin to build a new life.

Should I anchor myself here or search for a more central town? Was it more important to be here or in a large city? Naturally, I was lonesome and forlorn, without a relative, a helper or a friend. I decided to settle where fate had led me and I stayed in that town.

I had in my possession the list of names of the David-Horodoker murderers which I had succeeded in acquiring while riding in the transport. From time to time, I took out the list and read through the names of the murderers who had killed the Jews of David-Horodok. There was the name of the father of sinners, the most to blame and chief murderer, the medic Ivan Maraiko, may his name be blotted out, and after him, his trusted accomplices: the lawyer, Ivgeny Yavplov and his wife Marusya; Kasarev and his three sons; Siamyon; Kulaga and his son Grigory; Damyon Maraiko; Straiko; Hantshl; Krim Levkovski; Polukoshka; Kazalovski; Gritzkavitch and a lot more – may their names and memories be blotted out.

They are probably even now going about – these murderers – free as can be in the Polish People's Republic and they are comfortably enjoying themselves with the robbed possessions of the Jews. That thought would not leave me alone. I resolved that I must find and unmask them at any cost. Jewish blood must not be spilled wantonly! I must be the blood-avenger for my David-Horodoker brothers and sisters.

A few weeks after my arrival in Poland, the Kielce pogrom broke out.

Turmoil seized the survivors and the Jews began a mass exodus from the country whose soil had absorbed the blood of millions of guiltless Jewish victims and was still not sated.

It was natural for me to be carried along by the great stream of survivors. My friends tried to convince me to go. However, a hidden power would not let me leave the place. I stayed to search for the murderers despite the fact that many of my friends thought it was madness.

* * *

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I decided to get a job in the district ministry where they had offered me a responsible post. In a short time, I had won the trust of the director himself.

The ministry director was a middle-aged man with an authentic Polish moustache and whiskers. He was easy-going and direct. Every word that came from his mouth was first considered, weighed and measured. His relations with people as well as his general appearance was sympathetic. The man was highly honorable, a devout communist and an outspoken idealist. His pure Aryan outward appearance, his authentic Polish family name, his wonderful Polish literate speech and his pure Polish accent all indicated that here was a Pole of many generations. It is interesting to note that later, and under different circumstances with this “authentic Pole”, I found out that he was a good-hearted Jew.

One morning, the director invited me into his office and requested that I travel with an expert to Breslau [in Polish: Wrocław ] to purchase a taxi for the ministry. He added discreetly: “I know that you are a Jew and I am sure that you will carry out this mission successfully.”

I thanked him for his confidence and I willingly accepted the mission, hoping without any foundation for it that I might find traces of the David-Horodoker murderers in that large city.

* * *

I carried out my mission in Breslau, purchasing the taxi and its necessary accessories and I had to wait another three days so that I could take everything together back to Kielce. I decided to utilize those three days to search for traces of the murderers.

Wandering through the streets of Breslau, I chanced to run into my friend Avraham Moshe Greenberg, a Jew from Lomzhe who was now the community leader in our new town. He told me that his object was to purchase poultry in Breslau for the kaporos ceremony for the Jews of Kielce. He suggested that I come along with him and help him buy the poultry. I took up his proposition with pleasure thus becoming a partner in a good deed.

We went to the marketplace which was filled with thousands of people and hundreds of kiosks with their proprietors. I recalled the time when there were millions of Jews in Poland and I imagined that same marketplace filled with Jewish merchants and peddlers, without whom it would have been impossible to conceive of such a market day. Who have believed, I thought, that this all had disappeared so quickly?

Walking along side Greenberg and absorbed in my thoughts, the unbelievable suddenly occurred: a gentile, who was selling herring at his

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stand, began to stare at me. Instinctively our eyes met. Abruptly, he asked me in Russian: “Are you a compatriot?” A few seconds later he added: “Are you Moravchik?”

I was startled as if by an electric shock when I unexpectedly heard my family name spoken in the Russian language in a foreign city amongst strangers. I thought I was dreaming or that I was hearing a voice from another world.

Fortunately, I did not lose my presence of mind and I quickly reasoned that this person might have something to do with David-Horodok and perhaps he was one of those that I was seeking. “And who are you?” I asked him in Russian.

Instead of a reply, the unknown person began to draw back and stammer: “Excuse me. Perhaps I made a mistake. I didn't mean you.” “Say who you are!” I began to shout nervously: “Just now you called me by my name. You certainly know me from before.” A crowd of people gathered. My agitation grew from moment to moment as I continued to demand that he tell me who he was.

The unknown man remained silent. He bowed his head as if he were searching for something on the ground. He realized that he had given himself away. “Militia, militia,” I began shouting in a shrill voice which I myself did not recognize.

In a few minutes, two militia men arrived. I explained to them that I suspected this person of collaborating with the German occupation forces during the war and participation in the extermination of the Jews of David-Horodok. The militia men ordered the gentile to lock his stall and they took us both to the police station. After inspecting his documents, it became apparent that he was one of the David-Horodoker citizens whose name figured in the murderous regime.

At the time of the first inquest, which was made on the spot in my presence, the murderer turned to me and said: “Moravchik, who are you arresting? I had an unimportant position with the Germans. Why don't you arrest Ivan Maraiko who was mayor of David-Horodok under the Germans? He was responsible for the killing of all the David-Horodoker Jews and despite that, he is now a free man in Warsaw.”

Thus, I was set on the trail of the chief murderer Maraiko and I understood that this beginning would eventually lead to the arrest of all the remaining murderers who were on Polish soil. I do not exaggerate when I say that this day was the happiest day of my life since the beginning of the war in 1939.

I had lived to see the fruition of my dedicated work. I was proud of my achievement

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even though I knew that the vengeance would not return my dear David-Horodoker brothers and sisters to life. At the same time, I took stock of the situation and realized that the basic groundwork would have to be done first and that it would not be easy.

My resolution to carry out the holy work to the end became even firmer and the beginning gave me the courage, strength and enduring vigor to continue my efforts to find the remaining murderers.

The medic Ivan Maraiko, who had many Jewish clientele, had immediately put himself in the service of the Germans and was appointed town mayor by them. From the first day, a terror campaign was waged against the Jewish inhabitants. One of the most valuable men in town, the dentist Yitzchak Edel, was shot with his son Gedalyahu on that day.

Aharon Slomiansky, a respected Hassidic Jew, was thrown from the bridge into the Horyn River. Simcha Mishalov and Motel Kvetny hid themselves with their “good friend” Ivan Maraiko, who took plenty of gold and silver for his services. A few days later, Ivan Maraiko drove them out of hiding, ordering the citizenry to kill them. Simcha Mishalov was killed before his own house in front of his wife and children.

The Finkelstein family, who were valued by the citizenry, especially the Christian shoemakers, were murdered along with all the other Jews despite their having paid a huge ransom and despite the pleas of the Christian shoemakers to the authorities to let them live as good Jews.

Rabbi Moshele demonstrated unusual courage and selflessness on behalf of his community. Every day he would come to intercede with the murderer Ivan Maraiko and try to affect the repeal of the decrees against the Jews. Finally, he was driven to the slaughter along with all the other men. Wrapped in his tallis and tefillin, he gave a sermon to the doomed Jews before he was killed with them.

Baruch-Yosef Katzman and his sons managed to avoid the execution by hiding in a barn. They had provided themselves with food for two weeks and they hoped that they could escape into the forest.

Two weeks later, when the food had run out, they came out of hiding. Afraid to go to the local gentiles for help, they went straight to German headquarters which was in Yudovitz's house. They explained to the Germans how they had managed to hide and they pleaded with the Germans to spare their lives.

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To their great surprise, they received the following reply from the Germans which was characteristic of German precision:

“We received the command to kill the Jews on August 10. Since that deadline has passed and we have no further orders, we will do you no harm and you are free.” As soon as Katzman and his sons went out of the German headquarters, they ran into the drunkard and murderer Elia Stavro (Stadnik) on the street. He took an iron bar and murdered them on the spot! It is interesting that, the same night of the murder, he went berserk, set his own house on fire and was burnt alive.

Ezra Solomonik also hid from the slaughter. A couple of days later, his neighbor Yasip Dubok (Matusiavitch) discovered him and murdered him.

The “most important” work of the murderer Maraiko was his provocations against the David-Horodoker Jews, that is, against his patients from whom he had earned a living all of his life.

He and his accomplices had hidden iron bars, axes and several revolvers in the large synagogue and he then reported to the German headquarters in Luninets that they had uncovered a weapons arsenal in the synagogue with which the Jews were planning an uprising against the Germans. On the basis of the provocation, the Germans ordered that all the Jewish men of David-Horodok be killed.

Over 3,000 Jews, all the men over the age of 14, were murdered on August 10. They were buried in large mass graves which had been prepared ahead of time along the road between Chinovsk and Olshan.

In the last moment before the horrible slaughter, Maraiko pretended to intercede, letting it be known that he was working on the Germans to allow the Jews to ransom their lives with money or valuables. Many of the unfortunate victims believed him and they led the murderers to where they had hidden gold, silver and other valuables.

After several crates were filled with Jewish belongings, the Jews were led back to the place of execution where they were killed along with all the others. Maraiko personally took part in the killing, shooting the Jews with a revolver.

It is said that the cries of the unfortunate victims were heard many kilometers away. The covered mass graves were seen to move for three days because many of the Jews had been buried while still alive.

The women and children remaining in town were driven out of town by the murderers on the night after the mass murder. They were not allowed to take anything with them. There were cases where women were driven out of their homes in their nightgowns.

[Page 480]

After driving the women and children out, the local citizens and peasants from surrounding villages plundered all the Jewish belongings left behind.

The arrested David-Horodoker citizen did not know the current Warsaw address of Ivan Maraiko. Finding him would not be an easy task. I traveled to Warsaw several times to search for him. Unfortunately, my efforts were not crowned with success. I had almost given up the idea of finding him. However, as luck would have it, on one of my trips to Warsaw, I met a Jewish secret agent (Yehuda Spivak-Zinger, now in Israel) on a train. On learning of my mission, he took upon himself the task of finding Maraiko.

After long efforts and searching, he finally found him in a small town near Warsaw where he was working as a doctor using a falsified diploma. Maraiko had grown a beard so as not to be recognized. I was overwhelmed with joy when I received the telegram from Spivak-Zinger with the happy news of Maraiko's arrest. A short time later, his wife Darya came to me in Kielce (to this day I am puzzled as to how she got my address) to beg for mercy, forgiveness and pardon.

My encounter with her was rich with dramatic moments: “Get out of my house, murderess. I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear about your husband,” I said to her and spat in her face. “I will not take offence because I was expecting such a reception,” she replied, adding at the same time that it was worth it if only I would listen to what she had to say.

At that moment the idea occurred to me that maybe it really was worthwhile to restrain myself despite my aversion and for the sake of the benefit which I might derive from listening to the murderess. Perhaps that way I could get her to give me the addresses of the other murderers. I told her to go down and wait for me in the street. I did not want to have that defiled person in my home.

Her entire conversation was an attempt to whitewash her husband of all sins, and thereby to convince me to drop my charges against him. Among other things, she told me that her son Misha had returned to Poland from England after the war (he was an officer on the Polish ship Pilsudski during the Polish-German war which had been sunk in battle), and he brought back with him a very charming Jewish woman who he had married in England and whom Darya loved like her own daughter. Later, I established that the information was unfortunately correct and that a Jewish woman had married the son of the murderer of the David-Horodoker Jews.

[Page 481]

She contended that her husband unfortunately had had no choice and was forced to take the post of David-Horodoker town mayor by the Germans. Acting as mayor naturally he had tried to find ways and means of revoking the decrees against the Jews. In general he, Ivan Maraiko, was completely innocent though he was forced to carry out the orders of Ivgeny Yavplov who was appointed district commissioner by the Germans.

My patient listening encouraged Darya and, in the course of the conversation, she let me know that she understood that I was in difficult material circumstances and that, as old friends, they were prepared to help me.

Her impertinent proposal so upset me that I began to shout and I spat in her face again as I started to go back into my residence. She began to run after me with apologies, pleading with me that I should listen to her again. In the meantime, I reminded myself that I had not yet accomplished my purpose in this conversation. I did not have a single address of the remaining murderers and so I remained listening to her again.

The conversation lasted six hours. They were six painful hours for me because I did not forget for a single moment that I was conversing with a beast in human form whose hands had dipped in the blood of thousands of my dear brothers and sisters, including my beloved wife and my four dear little children.

Yet, the entire effort had been worthwhile because I came away from the conversation knowing the place of residence of Ivgeny Yavplov and his sadistic criminal wife Marusya.

Before the outbreak of the Soviet-German war, the murderer Ivgeny Yavplov was arrested by the Soviet authorities for his White Guard past and put into prison in Brisk.

When the war between Germany and Russia broke out, the Russians evacuated the prisoners in special transports deep into Russia. He and Lazer Ronkin escaped the transport. A few days later, after their arrival in David-Horodok, Lazer Ronkin was killed by the local citizens by order of his prison mate, the same Yavplov.

Arriving in David-Horodok, Yavplov immediately placed himself in the service of the Germans who appointed him district commissioner. In revenge for his arrest by an NKVD officer who happened to be Jewish, he was determined to kill all the Jews in town. His wife, the sadistic murderess Marusya, right after her husband's arrest, threatened, in my presence, that “there will come a day when I'll take revenge on the Jews because a Jew arrested my husband.”

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Both Yavplov and his wife Marusya fulfilled their pledges.

In a letter sent to me in Poland by Milke Stollman-Russman and her daughter Nina from Detroit, there is a precise description of the ruthless acts of Ivan Maraiko, Ivgeny Yavplov and his wife Marusya.

Marusya particularly stood out because of her sadism. She murdered Yaakov Gertzulin by herself when she found him hiding. She threw living Jewish children into the Horyn River.

The arrest of the Yavplovs was accomplished with great difficulty. Sensing that the ground was burning under their feet, they fled the town of Zielona Góra where they had lived and, for weeks, they hid as fishermen in a small and secluded village.

Secret agents watched their house in Zielona Góra and at long last they were arrested.

At the time of the inquiry, a hoard of gold, silver and valuables was found and confiscated from them. Of course, this was all stolen from the David-Horodoker Jews. Amongst other things in their possessions, there was a photograph of my two children, Sarale and Yitzchakl, with a Polish inscription. This was written by my little girl in her childish handwriting to their daughter Zoaye who had been her girlfriend before the war. In the seven-year period before the outbreak of World War II, Yavplov and I had worked together in a bureau for pleas, translations and other office work.

The murderess Marusya wanted to use this photograph to show me what dear friends we had been, indicated by her having kept the picture with her the entire time without destroying it, and she tried to work on me to cancel their arrest.

She also told me that she knew that the Christian Alexandra Agradzinska had hidden a Jewish girl and that she had not informed on her to the authorities.

However, when I took out the material in my possession which detailed her and her husband's “fine activities”, the murderess said not a word.

And I? I began looking at the photograph and I could not take my eyes away from my children. I realized that I had lost my entire family, my wife, my four children, my parents, brothers and sisters, the entire Jewish community of my hometown, all those who had been and had died so tragically. I looked and cried and looked. A torrent of tears flowed unceasingly from my eyes.

After a while, I found out that the murderess Marusya was trying to fool the investigating judge by pretending that she was gravely ill, hoping to get a medical release.

[Page 483]

I immediately traveled to Zielona Góra and showed the prosecutor the letter of Mrs. Milke Stollman-Russman and her daughter Nina which detailed the sadistic activities of the murderess Marusya Yavplov.

The prosecutor was so overcome and moved that in my presence he ordered the arrest of the “invalid”, declaring that there was no place on free soil in the Polish People's Republic for such contemptible people.

In the course of the investigation, the Yavplovs revealed the residence of the murderer Levkovski from the village of Syamihostsichy.

When I arrived at Zgazshaletz and turned to the secret police to secure Levkovski's arrest, the commandant, who happened to be a Jew, was on furlough. When he was informed by telephone of my mission, he canceled his furlough and returned to personally expedite and assist me in my task. In such a manner, one murderer implicated the next and, in a short time, they arrested Krim, Damyon Maraiko, Babka and others.

Understandably, each arrest was a story in itself, filled with dramatic moments, enormous efforts, with searching and traveling and even with personal danger.

It is interesting to note that the Polish security police warned me to be careful because my life was in danger. They told me not to go out alone at night, not to open my door until I was certain who was on the other side, not to go among strangers, etc. I paid no attention to their warnings as I energetically carried out my holy work.

The Polish security police appropriately valued my achievements and, in gratitude, they sent me a letter of appreciation which gave me a certain moral satisfaction for my untiring holy work. Understandably, my greatest satisfaction came from the arrest of the murderers.

From unofficial sources, I learnt that Maraiko's daughter Ella was later arrested. She had worked with the Germans as an interpreter. Also arrested were his two sons-in-law, Vaitavitch and Vialavaiski, who were officers in the pre-war Polish army and his son Misha with his Jewish wife from England. Misha had taken a high position in the Polish security ministry.

My turn had come to immigrate to Israel. Unfortunately, I could no longer delay my departure. With pain in my heart, I was forced to tear myself away from my personal involvement and leave the finishing work to the Polish security organization.

Before I left Poland, I visited the secret police in Warsaw where I knew that all the arrested murderers were detained and were awaiting extradition to David-Horodok (which was now in the Soviet Union) where they were to be prosecuted at the site of their crimes.

[Page 484]

A telegram from Zinger to Aharon Moravchik informing him of the arrest of the murderer Maraiko (Page 234)

At the same trip to Warsaw, I paid a visit to the Soviet Embassy and they promised me their full support in handling the case.

I would like to take the opportunity to stress the unusual interest taken in the case by the Central Committee of Polish Jews in Warsaw, who provided legal (they supplied two lawyers to assist) and financial support.

I would also like to bring into the open a fact that shines a ray of light in the vast darkness that encompassed David-Horodok. A Christian with a noble spirit, Alexandra Agradzinska, was the only one in town to hide (at risk of her own life), a Jewish girl named Golda Kuzniatz (now in Haifa) through the entire time of the German occupation.

This fact is particularly noteworthy because all of the other Christians

[Page 485]

of David-Horodok, without exception, were crueler than the Germans towards the Jews. Alexandra Agradzinska was the only bright spot in the vast black blot that was the tragic David-Horodoker reality of those times.

I would like to take this opportunity to express our sincere appreciation and thanks to Mrs. Agradzinska who still lives in Poland. In gratitude, I have sent her the gift of a crate of oranges from Israel.

After my arrival in Israel, I proceeded with the case. I got in touch with the Polish Embassy in Tel Aviv and I received verbal and written clarifications from them. At my request, the Warsaw prosecutor sent a number of affidavit forms to a court in Tel Aviv in order to get the testimony of witnesses that were now living in Israel. In 1953, the testimony

A letter from the Polish embassy in Tel Aviv to Aharon Moravchik, informing him of the accused who were arrested in Poland (Page 236)

In August 1954, I revisited the Polish embassy. I feel it necessary to relate to my countrymen their answers to my questions.

[Page 486]

I was told: “All of the arrested criminals are confined. How many murderers were arrested, where they are confined and whether they have stood trial yet – we cannot give you answers to these questions, yet.”

As compensation for these evasive answers, I received the following promise: “Patience, dear sir; a day will come when you will know everything.”

Unfortunately, at the time of this writing, that promise has not yet been fulfilled.

Uncaptioned: Aharon Moravchik (Page 231)

A letter from the commander of the U. B. [Ministry of Public Security] in Warsaw, Major Piontkovski, expressing recognition to Aharon Moravchik for his deeds (Page 235)

Sarale and Izi [Yitzhak] Moravchik, children of Aharon Moravchik. The photo was taken by Archik [Aharon] Moravchik from the murderess Marusya Yavplov. (Page 237)

1. The article beginning on page 231 in the Hebrew section and on page 475 in the Yiddish section are equivalent, except for a difference in the number of illustrations. Photos of the author (page 231) and of two of his four children (page 237) only appear in the Hebrew section. Also, the Hebrew section has one additional document on page 236. Return

At the Shiva

In 1923, I, together with interested parents and ardent Zionist leaders, took part in the founding (later the establishment) of the Tarbut School in David-Horodok.

I remember exactly when, during student registration, there was a large group of young women. Were they themselves candidates for the school or did they come to register someone younger than they? Bashfully, she supplied the required details – Tzivia Ziporin, 11 years old.

At first, the teaching staff believed her height (which surpassed all other students) caused her bashfulness. However, already in the first days of school, we felt that this was her positive and natural quality.

This asset and many others with which Tzivia was blessed, helped her to quickly hold an important position in school life. She was loved by her classmates. Schoolmates and teachers always saw her as studious, tidy, punctual, correct and dependable and it was not difficult for her to please others and for them to have a warm memory of her.

Due to the unsatisfactory economic situation at home, it was, sadly, not always easy for her to study in peace. She had much heartache. However, her positive character traits remained unshakable. On the contrary, they became stronger and became, with age, even better.

Later, when she had the position, in the same school, of teacher's aide in the kindergarten, her concern for the children bound them to her. The parents were grateful and the administration was appreciative.

Years later, when I met Tzivia in the Land of Israel – she was Mrs. Kraus by then – I, happily, was able to see again the previous quiet admiration of the infinite tenderness, caring and love which she gave to her husband and frail parents. She never forgot anyone. She always remembered every good deed done to her.

Tzivia did not like a job half done. She believed in doing it well. She helped with love and warmth.

Who knows if these properties, valued by everyone, did not affect her health? This was so to the bitter end which came – for us all – so suddenly.

The bright light was snuffed forever from the dark eyes.

May her soul be bound with the bond of life.

Haifa 7.2.57

Remarks: Since the Hebrew section of the book had already been closed, these final words were written in Yiddish.

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