Secret(The above document is located in the Documentation Center in Berlin, and is cited also in Dr. Yosef Kermish's article: Enemy Sources Tell of Jewish Heroism, in Issues 6-7 of Yad Vashem News, from January 1956.)
To the Supreme Commander of the S. S. and Commander of the Police in Ukraine S. S. Obergruppenführer and Police General PRUTZMANN.
The Headquarters of the Wehrmacht informs me that the region of Brisk-Gomel suffers increasingly from gang attacks, which bring into question the need for additional troops.
On the basis of the news, which has been reported to me, one must regard in the Ghetto of Pinsk the center for the movement of the gangs in the region of the Prifet marshes.
Therefore I order, in spite of economic considerations, the destruction and obliteration of the Ghetto of Pinsk. 1000 male workers may be spared, in the event that the operation allows for this, to be made available to the Wehrmacht, for the production of wooden prefabricated huts. These 1000 men must be kept in a well-guarded camp, and if security not be maintained, these 1000 are to be destroyed.
Signed, H. Himmler
Report of Conclusions from ExperienceAfter the order to set out immediately was changed, on October 27th, 1942 the company received the order to report on October 28th at nine o'clock in the evening to Kobrin. The company reached Kobrin by car as ordered, and from there was ordered to proceed to Pinsk, reaching the western approach to the city at 4:00 a.m. on October 29th, 1942.
Malkah (Manya) Finkel Shenberg tells us the following story:
Together with my eight-year old daughter, Renya, I lived in the ghetto near Lahishinska Street between Bolotna and Zavala streets. We set up a hiding place together with four other persons. We had succeeded in hiding ourselves for two weeks after the destruction of the ghetto but for lack of food and water we were forced to leave our hiding place. Towards evening, dressed in my late husband's warm coat, I went out into the street with my daughter.We passed through alleys and backyards and reached our house on 30 Karmelitska Street. We had had two houses there the one in the backyard was in ruins and empty, and we went there first. But my daughter, who only weighed ten kilograms and looked like a child of five, was exhausted, and therefore I decided, towards four p.m., to go to the second house at the back of the street where our Gentile neighbors lived. When I knocked at the door, the dogs in the house started to bark. Nina, the twelve-year-old daughter of our neighbor, Shura Dohmatska, looked out of one of the windows. When she saw us, she opened the door. 'What is the matter with you,' the mother said to us angrily, 'do you want to bring death on our house?' 'Don't be afraid,' I answered her, 'We'll stay here just for the day, and when it gets dark we will leave. Just give us some water and a piece of bread.' She gave us water and bread, and disappeared. When she came back after a few minutes, she told me that my brother-in-law, Marek Shenberg, had already been hiding in the cellar for several days. He had managed to hide and had escaped from the column of people who were led to their death on the day on which the ghetto was destroyed. She went down to tell him we had come. (Marek Shenberg was killed in a car accident in Europe in 1955).
“Both of us went down to the cellar and remained there. After the destruction of the small ghetto, Marek's friend, Sioma Yelinski, came to our hideout (he is currently living in Germany). He was taken there by Dohmatska, at the request of Alek, Sioma's Polish friend. From the month of January 1943 the four of us stayed there.
“So as to camouflage the cellar, the Gentile woman destroyed the part of the house above it and placed all the rubble over it. The part of the house that remained intact was divided into two parts: Dohmatska and her two daughters, Nina and three-year-old Lolya, lived in one room and the kitchen; and German officers occupied two other rooms, with a separate entrance. Dohmatska would take the clothes we had given her to keep for us and exchange them with the peasants for food. She supplied us with potatoes, bread and water. On holidays she would try to add something to the 'menu' from the leftovers from the German kitchen where she worked.
“Alek, Yelinski's friend, was a contact man for the partisans, and in September 1943 he brought two pistols to our hideout to enable the two men to join the partisans. Marek and Sioma also stole two grenades from the officers' quarters. One day two Gentiles came to lead them to the forest. When they were about to cross the river the two ordered them to strip naked. Marek and Sioma understood that these men intended to rob them of their clothes and arms and to kill them. After a fierce struggle with the men, Marek and Sioma fled and returned to our hiding place. Marek was badly wounded and I took care of him until he recovered.
“In March 1944 the Germans discovered a partisan camp in the woods near Pinsk. My address, which had been given to the partisans by our contact man, was found among the papers in the camp. The Germans came to Dohmatska's house to look for us. Nina, her daughter, who was alone at home, started to cry and said that there were no Jews in their home, that she hated them and that, if they were to come, she would immediately hand them over to the Germans. The Germans of course searched the house. Luckily Nina was clever and placed the dog and her puppies so that they were above the cellar entrance, and our hideout was not discovered. We were determined to use the pistols and grenades we had, were we discovered by the Germans. After a few quiet days, we returned to the cellar where we remained for about another four months. Before their retreat, the Germans set fire to many houses in the town and among these was the house on 30 Karmelitska Street. Somehow we managed to get out of the cellar of the burning house and hide in the backyard. Three days later the Russians arrived.
Chaim TamirTamar (Tema Kobrinchuk nee Garbuz, Ramat Gan, gives the following account:
On the night of the 27th of October 1942, I woke up to the sound of shooting and together with all the inhabitants of the ghetto I went outside. Holding the hand of my four-year-old son, I ran in panic, trying to find a place to hide. Suddenly I heard the voice of my mother Chanah calling me. I went to her. 'Go into the cellar, and I shall remain and, if necessary, give up my life for yours', she said to me. She pushed aside the cupboard that covered the entrance to the cellar and we went down. I heard the cupboard being replaced. In the cellar there were many people. We lay down, prepared for the worst to come. After a short while, we heard the Nazis shout: 'Everyone out!' I heard one come in and ask my mother 'Where are they, all of them?' and she answered: 'They have already left.' He told her to come outside with him and everything became quiet again. We hid in the cellar for three days. On the fourth day we again heard the Germans approaching our hiding place. When they discovered us, they started to take the boards out of the floor and pulled some of the members of our group out. I, my son, and my sister-in-law, Fira Silverman (of the Tantzman family, now living in Ramat Gan), and her 14-year old son Lolek, pushed with all our might and succeeded in crawling under the furnace installations. The Nazis continued to threaten that they would throw grenades into the cellar if we did not come out. I whispered to my sister-in-law: 'Better to be shattered to pieces by a grenade than to fall into their hands'. And so we remained where we were. The Nazis went away with their victims and their loot, and for the next weeks we lay under the furnace. We ate some rotten vegetables that had been left in the cellar and often went out at night to search for breadcrumbs near the house. We gave to the children whatever we found.
“One day, about two weeks later, we heard a Jew praying in the house above us. 'I think it is your father', I said to my sister-in-law. She went up cautiously and indeed it was her father, David Tantzman. Apparently he had been hiding in the firewood shed all the time, and had fed himself on sugar. He had lost his mind from so much suffering. We took him into the cellar by force, but he insisted on going back to the house the next day, and laying down on his bed. We heard the voice of one of the men who came to search the house and who handed Tantzman over to the Nazis. They took him outside and shot him. The next day we heard the local Gentile people under the supervision of the Nazis, going through the house and emptying it of all its contents. We heard them say: 'I never imagined that the Jews would leave so much behind. We'll come back and search the cellar tomorrow; they have probably hidden all their valuables there.'
“We knew that this time we would be discovered and we decided to leave our hideout. I thought of trying to reach the Christian Medianovski, who had been the supervisor of my job in the harbor during the ghetto-period, and whom I knew to be a decent and honest man. With the faint hope that he would agree to hide us, we left the cellar early in the evening. We groped around in the dark, stumbling over corpses and objects strewn all over the street. All of a sudden we heard people talking. These were Poles and Nazis. We hurried back to the cellar. The next evening it was a Saturday; we ventured out again. We were lost, not knowing where to turn. My four-year-old son saw our confusion and said: 'Mother, I'll show you how to get out.' He took us to the fence of the ghetto. Here was a low tunnel, which the children had made when they had played in the ghetto. We crawled through the tunnel and found ourselves in the old cemetery. From there we went out into Zavalna Street. On the way we decided that, if Medianovski was not at home, we would shut ourselves in the privy in the backyard and wait for him there. But when we came to Krayevska Street, where he lived in a two-story house, we saw a light in his apartment on the second floor. We climbed the stairs and I knocked on the door. Medianovski himself opened the door. Upon seeing us, he began to tremble with fear. He let us in and bolted the door. A few minutes passed before he calmed down and started to question us: Where had we been until now and what had happened to us? While he was talking to us he prepared something to eat. We fell upon the food and devoured it. 'Now', he said to us, 'climb up to the attic and sleep but tomorrow evening you will have to leave the house. Any Christian who hides a Jew in his home is liable to be tortured and shot. 'This week for example', he continued, 'a Christian was caught hiding Jews. The Nazis dragged him out to the marketplace and tore him to pieces.'The next day Medianovski had visitors who had come to discuss the trading of Jewish property, and he was unable to contact us. The following day he went to work and when he returned in the evening, he came up to us and told us that we must leave because our staying there was a death sentence for him. I answered him: 'If you throw us out, I'll go and tell them that we hid with you for two weeks.'The man started to march up and down the room, smoking one cigarette after another. Finally he decided: 'In the meantime you can stay here, but at the first opportunity I'll take you somewhere else.'He never got that opportunity and we remained in that attic for about twenty months. These were months of everlasting suffering, because of hunger, cold and dirt. Our main food consisted of potatoes, one every two days. Worst of all was the feeling of insecurity, the fear for our lives and the fear that Medianovski himself might lock us up or kill us. My son, who was then four and a half, cried of hunger and this endangered us all. I would grab him and try to shut his mouth. Quite often I scratched his face till the blood started to flow. Three times Medianovski tried to grab the crying child and strangle him, and with the little strength I had left, I warded him off and saved the child. The day we saw armed soldiers marching down the street, we did not dare to believe that they were really Russian soldiers. Another half a day went by before I gathered the courage to go into the street. I met two soldiers and stood in front of them perplexed. I saw that they too were startled, and they asked me, amazed, 'Who are you?' 'A Jewess', I answered. One of them said: 'Now the whole world is open to you'.
My father was the manager of the tailor-workshop in the ghetto. On the 22 nd of December 1942, the day before the destruction of the small ghetto, the Germans took back the clothes they had given us to sew, and which were not yet ready. This was a sign that our end was imminent. When darkness fell my father took me out of the ghetto to Albrekhtovska Street, where Bronislav Niemotko waited for me and took me to his house in Unitska Street. Niemotko had come to Pinsk from a village near Bialystok in the days of the Russians, to study at the auto mechanics' school, and he remained there when the Germans came. He was the son of a peasant and the Germans put him in charge of three plots on which vegetables were grown for the army. He lived with a Gentile family and next to their house stood the abandoned house of Feldman with a vegetable garden in the yard. One of the Jewish women working in the garden had set up a hiding place in that house but she lost her life in the last action while on her way to the hideout. Niemotko put me in there and gave me a daily ration of food. In February 1943, my brother came to our hiding place. Not long before the destruction of the small ghetto he had tried to reach the partisans, but was attacked and robbed on his way to the forest and had to return to town where he hid for some time in the old bathhouse on Brovarna Street. From there he came to me. He stayed with me for two months. The house we lived in had been marked for demolition. My brother tried to reach the partisans again and we lost track of him. I went to live in Niemotko's room, no longer in hiding. Together with Bronek I intended to join the partisans, but I wanted an Aryan identity card. I cut my picture out of a photograph to prepare the desired identity card. Unfortunately the photographer had been a student at the same high school and recognized me. He informed the police but we were warned in time and I hid with a Polish woman for a week. During this time Niemotko rented a new apartment with a separate entrance and I moved in there. I sat in the room without every going out and read books that Niemotko borrowed from a Polish lawyer (who was quite surprised by the number of books he read). Finally I received an identity card from the peasants in the name of Helena Sholomitska, for identity cards of the peasants had no photographs.
“One day a Polish policeman came to the room by chance and found me but he did not hand me over to the Germans. He advised me to move to a village and we went to the peasant who had furnished me with the identity card. This peasant was associated with the partisans but he refused to take us to the woods to join them. He even tried to take the identity card away from me but he failed. We returned to town in May 1944 and rented an apartment in a distant neighborhood beyond the railroad track. It was dangerous to be in the town and after two weeks we moved to the village of Lubel, to the home of a charwoman who had once worked for us. There we heard the news of the liberation.
Zofia Fiodorchenko, a pious Christian woman, about 70 years old, had worked in our home for many years. When the Germans came we had to discontinue all contact with her because any contact between Gentiles and Jews was strictly forbidden. The woman went to work at the bakery shop and, in spite of the prohibition, helped us in exchange for money or valuables, so as to avail herself of liquor of which she was very fond. The day we moved into the ghetto she pinned the yellow patch on her clothes and helped us move our belongings and some firewood. While we were in the ghetto I worked at the polyclinic. On these occasions I would drop in at Fiodorchenko's house on Marshalka Fosha Street and eat to my heart's content. We came to an agreement that, when the time came, we would hide in her home, my mother, the late Zlate (who died in Ramat Gan in 1962) and I.
“Four days before the destruction, a friend, the wife of the baker Cooper, told us of the pits in Dobrovole and of their hideout in the house of a Gentile who, when the time had come, refused to keep his promise. We asked Fiodorchenko to agree to hide the four members of the Cooper family in addition to the two of us. Cooper bribed her with liquor and cigarettes and she agreed to our request. We divided the cellar in Fiodorchenko's house into two parts, and hid ourselves (six persons) in the concealed part. A friend of Fiodorchenko's, Elshbieta Baranovska, also lived in the old woman's room. We gave her some valuables too (a watch and a ring), and the two of them looked after us. We were given hunger rations twice a day: a little soup and a piece of bread.
I had a very difficult time,Fiodorchenko writes in her account in the newspaper,
I cooked and baked bread for myself and for the six people in the cellar. I had the additional job of washing underwear for the Germans to prove to my neighbors and acquaintances that I lived only on my earnings. Once there was a knock on the door at 3 o'clock in the morning. 'Those are policemen,' I said to Baranovska. And I was right. First of all a big dog burst into the room. All of a sudden something unexpected happened. Our cat, who had just had a litter of kittens, jumped out of the wicker-basket in the corner of the room and scratched the dog's eyes. The policemen had great difficulty in chasing her away from the dog. Without paying attention to what was going on in the room, they took their dog and left.
A few months later the Gentile women started to ask us to change our faith, saying that they could not agree to hide Jews but only Christians. They kept pestering us with their demands until the 9th of August 1943. On that day their priest calmed them down and told them to take care of us even as we were, and he would bear the responsibility for the 'sin'.
“We went into a high cornfield, but we could not go on hiding there so we went back to the stable in the backyard of Fiodorchenko's house where we remained another four and a half months. At the end of December 1943 we returned to the cellar. The old woman, Baranovska, could not keep from telling her son, the policeman and his family about us and our hideout. To our surprise they did not inform the Germans. Our situation improved somewhat when they started to bring us some knitting to do: this was a source of income for us. With the money we earned we were able to pay for the food and the medicine needed for the frequent illnesses we suffered as a result of our terrible living conditions.
“About a month before the liberation, an intensive search for partisans was made in the town. The policeman, Baranovski, warned us in time and we succeeded in fortifying the hideout and concealing it more adequately. After the liberation we kept in touch with the two women. The Cooper family took care of Fiodorchenko, and my mother and I helped Baranovska. Until the day she died we sent her parcels and after her death we paid for the tombstone on her grave.
Now that I had a pistol and bullets I felt more secure. I knew the Germans would have to pay dearly if they caught me and that I would not fall into their hands alive.
When I was looking for a shelter I remembered two old Christian women of about seventy who had helped some Jews in the first days of the massacre in August 1941, Antonina Skrabchevska and Stanislava Tshegotska who lived on Vodoprovodna Street. In the evening I knocked on their door and entered. Amazed to see me, they asked me about the members of my family and how I had managed to survive. They shared my sorrow. I told them that it was already late and that I couldn't walk on the streets. And anyway I had nowhere to go. But if they would hide me, I would provide them with the means to obtain food from the clothes and things I had hidden which would be enough both for them and me. When I had assured them that no one had seen me coming to their house, they agreed to let me sleep there.
“I had given many valuables to the Gentile Kosakevich for safekeeping. He had formerly been a clerk at the municipality. Under the German occupation he was in charge of the leather factory where I had worked. Luckily the man lived nearby and I had no difficulty in reaching his house in the evening. He became agitated when he saw me and told me that the Germans had been looking for me after they had realized that I had escaped. His brother-in-law started to shout that I would bring disaster on them, and that I had to leave the house immediately. I took out my pistol and said that I was not alone, that they had better give me my things and that I intended to fetch them at intervals, not all at once. (I was afraid to hand over everything for fear my protectors would deliver me to the Germans when I was no longer of any use to them). My words had their effect. I was given some of my valuables and I took them to my hideout. The next day one of the sisters exchanged them for large quantities of goods, including a piece of butter, which was something extremely rare at the time. I promised them that they would lack nothing if I remained with them.
“I built a temporary hiding place behind their clothes closet and later went down into the cellar. I built a double wall of boards where I could lie in case of a search, or any other danger. From time to time I would go to Kosakevich and fetch some of my things. One night there was a knock on the door. I quickly ran down to the cellar. After the visit, one of the sisters came down into the cellar and told me that the visitor was her nephew, Kolya, who was being pursued by the Germans. He was leaving for the village of Ochowa where he hoped to meet the partisans. Probably, she added, he would soon return. I begged her to let me meet him when he returned. When I talked to him, he promised to find out if the partisans would agree to take a Jew with them, and that he would give me their answer within a short while. His surname was Vlihovich.
“On his next visit he brought me a positive answer. He dressed me in peasant's clothes and we drove to the village in his cart. For two days I waited at his uncle's till the partisans came and took me to their commander. I was questioned extensively. They began to trust me only when it transpired that one of the commissars whom I happened to mention was a member of that partisan group. 'We shall take advantage of the fact that you know German and that you are an old inhabitant of Pinsk', their commander said.
“The first task they gave me was to take a radio battery to Pinsk to be recharged. I tried to explain that I was well known there and that this might endanger the mission but they would not listen to me. With Kolya and another man, I drove out in a cart with the radio battery in a peasant's basket. I arrived at the house of the old sisters. I brought them meat and other food, and that same evening I got in touch with the member of the Underground Movement to whom the commander had directed me. He was a factory worker who was to refill the battery at his place of work, 'I can only do that at night,' he explained to me, 'and therefore it will take a week.' I did not tell him where I was staying. On the day in question I sent Kolya's mother to fetch the battery. She also told Kolya, who came to fetch me in his cart the next day. Kolya told me the commander had ordered me to remain in Pinsk until I received new orders, and that I was to translate Goebbels' articles appearing in the German newspapers and to give him news of the movements of the German army. I obtained newspapers and information about the German battalion in the town with the aid of my landlady. The messenger who came from the partisans would receive the completed material from me.
“At that time one of Vlasov's companies was stationed in the town, and for fear of discovery I was quickly removed to the village. Three weeks later I was taken back to town. In June 1944, about a month before the liberation, I was saved at the last minute when I jumped, just in time, into my hiding place in the cellar, when four Germans came to live in the house. They remained there only three days and during those days I never left the cellar.
“That same month there was a house-to-house search for partisans. In the house next to ours, the Germans caught two peasants from the vicinity who had come to sell food. All their attention was directed towards that house. The landlady tried to persuade me to move from the cellar to the stable in the backyard. But I refused for the Germans were outside with their dogs. Again I was saved.
“A short time later the Day of Liberation came. The Polish family with whom I had hidden moved to Poland too, and I helped them there. When my landlady died, I saw to it that a tombstone was put up on her grave.
A Christian girl called Dunya lived on Vodoprovodna Street. She was the girlfriend of one of the boys and agreed to help us only after he promised to marry her after the war. We stayed in this place until May 1943 when we joined the partisans.
On the evening of December 22nd 1942, my husband Aryeh and I decided not to return to the ghetto from our place of work at the Polish printing house on Kosciusko Street (formerly Gleiberman). At the end of the day we marched back in line, as usual, under the supervision of the Polish escort. At a certain spot we left the column and hid ourselves. The Polish medical practitioner ( feldsher ), Martiniak, agreed to let us spend the night in his storeroom on the corner of Bernardinska and Albrekhtovska Streets. When we returned to the printing house early the next morning, we heard that the small ghetto had been destroyed during the night. As we had no other place in which to hide, we decided to go up to the attic of the stone building of the printing house. Once there had been a Jewish carpentry shop there, but everything had been destroyed, the windows shattered, and we had no protection against the cold and the snow. The ground floor of the building housed the Polish Courthouse. There the Gentile woman, Barbara Makheyska worked as cleaning help and caretaker. We had no choice but to go down and tell her our secret and thus put our lives in her hands. This simple woman, who was a pious Christian, did not disappoint us. For six weeks she shared her bread, so expensive at the time, with us. Every night she led us down to the heated rooms of the courthouse and gave us boiled soup, prepared from beans or pearl barley which I can still taste today. Then she would bolt the door from the outside and take the keys home with her. We slept in relative safety until daybreak. Her son and daughter knew nothing of our existence, for she did not trust them.
“After six weeks, in the month of February, we started to fear the frozen river would thaw, and we decided to cross the river right then and there and find a way of joining the partisans. Only on parting did Makheyska ask us our names. She brought us a loaf of bread and gave us the address of her new apartment saying If anything bad happens to you, come back to me. She accompanied us to the river and watched from a distance to make sure we were not followed. After the Liberation we returned to the ruins of Pinsk, as liberating partisans. We found Makheyska and were overjoyed to see each other. Unfortunately we could not pay her back all she had done for us but we kept in touch with her from Israel, writing her letters and sending her parcels regularly small recompense for that simple woman of such noble and superior character.
When we heard the first shots at two o'clock in the morning before the destruction of the ghetto, I tried to get to the small church on Albrekhtovska Street to hide there. When I approached the church I saw that a projector [spotlight] had been placed on the bell tower and that the Germans were already sitting beside it. Then I tried to get to the District Hospital on Bernardinska Street but in vain. Next to the building of the Judenrat, I crawled through the fence and tried to reach Albrekhtrovska Street. The German guards caught me and to my surprise they did not shoot me but took me back to the ghetto. I returned to my father but he sent me away again. Holding an axe in his hand he said it would be better if everyone were to look after himself. I went out again and reached the backyard of the Judenrat where hundreds of Jews had gathered. When I saw the crowd of people in the yard, I crawled through the fence to the nearest house, that of the dentist Gottlieb. I jumped into the cellar and shut the trapdoor over myself. All day long I could hear the action in the ghetto.
“When it was dark I went out and, through Brovarna Street, reached the backyard of our house near the riverbank. I climbed into the attic of one of the stables in the yard and hid there. In the morning Jan Shpinak, the coachman, came in as usual to feed the horses. He was in charge of the sewage department of the municipality and the horses were his responsibility. I went down and asked him for food. He promised to help me but he only brought me something to eat in the evening. He told me how the second day of the action in the ghetto had passed and added that he had heard that my father had killed a German with his axe when they came to take him.
“For about a week Shpinak took care of me, but when the small ghetto was established, he suggested I move there. I refused. I tried instead to get in touch with Engineer Mechnikovski, who was a friend of mine from the days of the Russians. I went to him in the evening although he lived near the Police Chief Sologub. I was given a warm meal but I could not stay there, for his wife was pregnant. I returned to the stable.
“During the next four weeks I also visited Dr. Dametski, the prison doctor. I knew him as I had worked with his sister. I had left some of my things with him while I was still in the ghetto. Dr. Dametski lived on Krayevska Street and I would get there by way of the railroad track that is to say I circled the whole city to get there.
“I had also entrusted a few things to Zielinski who was in charge of the Sanitation Department of the municipality. I worked in his department as a street sweeper and I worked as a cleaning woman in his house in exchange for a few potatoes. Zielinski and his wife were in no hurry to return my things to me: 'Why take them back? You'll be killed anyway '
“Zelent, the supervisor of health education, a graduate of the Polish High School in Pinsk, had worked with me when I was a temporary teacher at the Jewish High School in the days of the Russians. When he found out my whereabouts, he brought me money and took my shoes to be repaired.
“At the end of November, however, Shpinak told me to leave the stable because his relatives, among them his German son-in-law, the policeman, Mikhal Wagner, suspected him of hiding me. I asked him to make skis for me from a board of wood so that I could cross the thin ice on the frozen river. Unfortunately the ice melted that day and I returned to the stable. Shpinak insisted that I leave; the next day, the day of the fair, and luckily a cold and windy day too, I left. I crossed the bridge and safely reached the other side of the river. I went to the village of Perechristye, to join the partisans in the Zawiszcze Forest as Engineer Mechnikovski, who was their contact man, had directed me. I had a Polish identity card under the name of Helena Shchbatsevitch, which I had prepared while still in the ghetto.
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