[Page 223]

War Again

My wanderings essentially began from the first day of the war. As the enemy approached Lodz, a tumult arose in the city, and people began to flee toward Warsaw. We: my father, oldest brother, and myself tearfully parted from my mother and joined up with the masses fleeing on foot.

We pass towns and cities that were noted for their beauty. Now they had become fodder to feed the flames caused by the planes of the enemy. Remnants of houses still on fire, with horses running about in the streets that has gone astray. People keening out loud over the loss of their relatives.

We found no rest in Warsaw either. The days of terrifying siege began. The city fell on September 26, And once again there was no reason to stay there. After a month of purposeless wandering, we finally returned home. A terrible fright gnawed at us concerning the fate of our mother. To our good fortune, we found her alive and well, and it was wonderful that for a moment it seemed that nothing had transpired.

But very swiftly, depredations began to be directed at the Jews. Fines, confiscations and summary judgements. Every night, young Jewish boys are taken from their homes, nearly naked only in their undergarments: they are taken off to an unknown location.

At the end of October, news was spread through the city that there was a possibility to make transit to Soviet Russia. Every day, someone that we knew would disappear. Even two of my friends, Arik Mollor & Tadak Kuperman stood ready to depart. They proposed that I join them. One night, with the advice of our family it was decided: my oldest brother would stay at home with our parents; I was to travel at my own risk.

On November 12, I parted from my family with their blessings. My mother and brother stood dumbly. My father blessed me in a trembling voice:

– May God give that you succeed, my son!

– My heart tells me that we will not see each other again in this world. Apparently his heart did not prophesy in vain.

Midway through June 1941, when the school vacations started, I left with my fried Arik, who served as a teacher in Slonim, to visit Tadak, who lived in Kobrin, close to the German border. Our meeting was an emotional one: We hadn't seen one another for nearly a year. Tadak whispered his fear to us: they observed vast military troop movements on the other side of the border. We went to be full of suspicions. —

On June 22 at 4AM we were awakened from our sleep by the sound of explosions. Once again, we found ourselves in the crossfire of battle. We left on the road to Dereczin to present ourselves at our point of military mobilization. The railroad track was destroyed. On the roads, one could sense the movement of military transports. We reached Slonim only with great difficulty. In the city – mass confusion. Contingents of retreating Red Army units are moving eastward in a disorderly fashion. All the offices of the local authorities are closed. The military draft boards ceased to function. There was nothing to discuss concerning military conscription.

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The Russian soldiers told stories about the swiftness of the German army advance. According to their reports, the German army was getting close to Volkovysk. Battles were being fought at 80-100 kilometers from Slonim. I weighed the options in my mind, and concluded that it would be a good thing for me to head to the east as well. I believed in my heart that the Russians would quickly regroup and counterattack the enemy. Sadly, Arik was unable to join me. On the way from Kobrin, he was wounded in the leg, and was not fit for travel. It was in this fashion that I left the city by myself.

I made part of the trip in a military vehicle, but mostly – on foot. I reached the city of Minsk on the seventh day of the war. The cup of war had reached this capital city of Byelorussia. Almost the entire city was a vast island of upheaval. The streets were empty. The young people had fled to the east. Those who were left behind had hidden themselves in various places of refuge. The stench of burning is in the air: houses are going up in flames.

The planes do not stop bombing the city; descending practically to the rooftops. Occasional wandering people pass me by and tell me that the enemy has captured a huge army to the east, and very quickly the city will be entirely surrounded from all sides. There is no point to continue eastward. The Germans are everywhere, and even my feet, which are swollen from the arduous walking, cease giving me support.

In one of the outskirts of the city, I enter a small house that was somehow miraculously spared. All of the surrounding buildings were completely demolished. Inside this house there was no place to move. The neighbors, whose roof had collapsed on their heads were sleeping on the floor, along with other wanderers like me. The considerate woman of this house gave me assistance: in a matter of an hour, my feet had been bandaged. As I sat there, I fell asleep. The sounds of war reached me as if from behind the mask of some awful dream.

When the rhythm of the cannonade subsided, which lasted through the night, the light of the morning came.

Our hearts told us that this was the calm before the storm. We sit and wonder what is going to happen next, and lo:

– Cr-r-rash – a window pane is smashed to smithereens. At the window, steel helmets and guns appear.

Alle Raus^[1]!! – a German shouts in a loud baritone voice.

An almost irreversible depression took hold of me. Pursued and sick, I was from both a physical and emotional point of view a tempest-tossed mote in an unforgiving world. What was the point of living?

In the streets, German military vehicles were going back and forth. With thundering noise, tanks and cannon made their way through the streets. In open limousines, Nazi officers rode displaying excessive effusion. On the sides of the vehicles were scrawled : “To Moscow!”

And it appeared to me that there was not a force in the world comparable to them. Warsaw, Brisl, Paris, Minsk and many other European capitals – fell. In its victorious thrust, the German army had speedily penetrated to the east, to the capital of the Red Land.

Nach zwei wochen in Moskau!

Only two more weeks to Moscow, so trumpeted the Hitlerites, drunk with their victory.

On the day after the capture of the city, notices appeared in the streets of Minsk , which contained the outlines of the new order of things, calling on all men from age 15 to 50 to present themselves at specified gathering points. Noncompliance was punishable by death.

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I decide to sneak out of town and get to Dereczin. The woman of the house gave me a loaf of bread, and some provisions for the journey. With heartfelt blessings, I took leave of her, and at dawn, I went out on the road to leave.
As I neared the edge of the road, I silenced my footfall: one more kilometer, and I'll be outside the city line.

-- Halt!! – I heard the command barked in German.

The sun burned fiercely. Thirsty and hungry, we waited to see what our fate would be. People kept pouring in endlessly, and the overcrowding became greater. People had already been in the middle of this stifling condition, for several days. Once a day, a vehicle would come to the square carrying [drinking] water. Everyone would stream towards it. The pushing was terrible. Everyone sought to slake their thirst. At that time the Germans would shoot into the unruly mob, and the people would retreat. Rivulets of the water would be mixed with the blood of those killed.

After four days, the Germans transported all the people to the edge of the river where they set up a camp. With truncheons in their hands, they goaded the people along like cattle.

Hungry and exhausted from the recent weeks, I hovered like a shadow over the face of the camp. Only from time to time was I able to break my fast and satisfy my hunger; the Jews of the area would give me the privilege of sharing their meager rations still in their possession.

There were a high percentage of “prisoners” in the camp, we were [comprised of] sentenced offenders, detainees of the Soviet labor camps. All of the Christians understood quite well that the Jews stood outside the framework of the law, and they preyed on the camp like hyenas, tearing the clothes off the backs of the Jews, and grabbing their last morsel of bread out of their hands.
On day, the Germans announced over a loudspeaker that the Jews were immediately to be transferred to a ghetto. What a pleasant prospect! A ghetto inside of a concentration camp! Approximately six thousand Jews were confined on a rectangular plane within the general camp, surrounded by barbed wire, measuring 50 by 100 meters.

By the end of the second week, many of us had died from the exhaustion of our energies. During the day, the sun beat down mercilessly on us, and at night we would be drenched by torrential downpours. Quite frequently, the Germans would amuse themselves at our expense, at night they would open fire on us with machine guns, and we would all fall to the ground. After “exercises” of this nature, tens of dead would have to be buried in the morning.

On the fifteenth day, an open limousine drives up to the ghetto gate within the detainment camp. From the car, officers alight crisply dressed, their ornaments glistening down to their feet, with the death's head symbol on their caps. These were the Gestapo officials. We understood that the critical moment had arrived. They began to organize a list of the people and to sort them by occupation. Moral improved.

Ho! Ho! – the optimists said – it appears they are going to release us, and send each of us to the designated place for us to work.

It was my perception that the Germans were

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particularly interested in the Jewish intelligentsia.

The following day, the Germans began to take the intellectuals out in cars. Soon thereafter, the sounds of machine gun fire reached our ears. From the non-Jewish section, we heard loud exclamations. – They are shooting the Jews – I heard one Russian say.

It was in this fashion that the Germans sealed the fate of the Jewish intelligentsia of Minsk in the third week, and the rest of us were taken to prison.

As a temporary visitor, I was commanded to return home to Dereczin. That is what I had put down as my place of residence.

So wie so wirst du erschossen!

July 1941

There were a few Jewish families that resided in Zaslov. The old Russian, who immediately recognized that I was a Jew, advised me to go to Baruch, who never permitted a passing guest to go through without providing him with at least a loaf of bread. I found his residence only with great difficulty. I knocked on his door with trepidation.

It had been several weeks since I had rested properly, and my feet ached to the point that they could no longer carry me. My body reeked by itself. How would this man receive me?

In the doorway of the house stood a tall old man, whose beard was streaked with gray. His blue eyes conveyed good-heartedness and understanding. He looked at me for a moment, saw that I had come a distance, that I was tired and exhausted, dirty and with torn clothing, mostly barefoot, with my toes sticking out of my shoes, and he only let me hear the words:

– Come in

– This is all I have – take advantage of it, Baruch. said.

– I am the young one – I protested to him – and I can sleep on the floor; you only have one bed.

– You are exhausted from travel – Baruch replied – and you are entitled to rest. I will go sleep at the neighbor's.

Tired and exhausted I climbed up on the bed. After many weeks of wandering, this was the first time I had slept on a bed under the beams of a roof, not hungry, and encouraged by the good words of the old man. With pleasure, I felt my aching legs under me.

I awoke in the night. A small flame sputtered on the table. The door to the adjacent room was ajar, and beyond the opening it appeared to me that I saw the outline of a man sleeping on the bare earthen floor. It was the elderly Baruch. He was asleep with his arm under his head, on a hard place.

After resting, and eating my fill, I left that morning to continue my journey. Baruch saw me to the outskirts of the town. We parted with a handshake. The old man blessed me.

– Go in peace – he said – and my God watch over you no matter where you go.

– Aha – said the commandant, – the leprous Jew didn't succeed in fleeing to Stalin.

It was difficult for me to continue on my way. In the villages, the Christian children would throw stones at me and sic their dogs on me. At infrequent intervals, homeowners would permit me to drink water, and I did not have the nerve to ask for a slice of bread.

– Dirty Jew! – is what I heard around me wherever I went.

The following day I got off at a small station near Slonim.

In a few hours I was with friendly and familiar faces. In the house, the mood was one of oppression. Three nights prior, the Germans had taken out about a thousand young Jewish men and marched them off to an unknown destination. Rumors abounded that they were shot to death in the nearby woods.

Hunger pervaded the town. The farmers stopped bringing their produce. It was forbidden for the Jews to go to the villages. Anyone who broke this law – his blood was on his own head. Despite this, a number of mothers risked their lives, and took from their valuables to go to the villages and exchange them for foodstuffs.

A day didn't go by with some tragedy for the residents. I decided to rest a bit, and then continue my journey. It was less than 30 kilometers to Dereczin.

Aug - Nov 1941

As soon as I arrived, I underwent the Ivnitz experience a second time. As soon as a policeman

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saw a “new face” he detained me and marched me off to the police station.

The police headquarters were in a very fine building that housed the 311^th Red Artillery Guard on its ground floor. In place of the Red Flag, on the pole that was in front, flew the flag with the swatstika. In the guardhouse in front of the gate, a single Hitlerite soldier sat, and on his cuff were written the words, Hilfs Polizei (Helping Police). His face manifested a haughtiness that conveyed his sense of importance regarding the position that had been accorded him.

The foyer was completely filled with people. Among the Jews present, I saw an individual who was known to me. In a whisper, he related to me what had transpired in the town prior to my arrival. When the news spread that the Germans were getting nearer, the young people fled to the east. A few days later, a brutal battle took place between the Russians and German paratroops. In the end, on the third day, the regular German army entered Dereczin. The Nazis put a new administration and police force in place. First priority was given to people who were on the list of suspects compiled by the Russians. Apart from these, people were attracted into this police work who were looking for an easy way to make a living.

A bitter fate awaited those who were successful during the Soviet era. The newly installed constabulary did not cease to pick at and uncover old misdeeds, and to arrange for mass arrests. The cells in the prison were rapidly filled to the point of no space being left, and they taunted the frightened prisoners. Many who had a grudge against someone that they knew were encouraged to inform on their political leanings. In so-and-so's house, one used to see visiting Soviet officials, in the house of another lovers of communism were seen; such a person said something once that was anti-German. The tiniest suspicion was sufficient: the suspect was imprisoned and all his assets were confiscated.

From time to time, the constabulary would empty out its prison, and hand over the inmates to the Gestapo that was headquartered in nearby Slonim. The Germans didn't waste much time with investigations and defense speeches. Prisoners were taken out for immediate execution. Terror roamed the streets of the town, and the air was thick with the screams of those who were innocent of any wrongdoing. The circumstances of the Jews was particularly bad.

A short while before the outbreak of the war, after I had left town to find my freedom, the Soviets arrested Lewandowski, the local newspaper editor, and removed him from the town. It was subsequently revealed that he had a secret radio station in his house. War broke out while he was on a train to Siberia. The train he was on was bombed by the Germans and the spy, who miraculously survived, returned home unharmed. In assessing his “credentials,” the Germans appointed him as the head of the town of Dereczin. This newspaper publisher, who had previously been a quiet and self-effacing man, now revealed his true countenance. He turned over many Jews to the Germans, with the representation that they were conspiring with the Bolsheviks.

In a short span of time, this head of the town managed to amass a large fortune. Those who understood his lust for valuables would redeem themselves at his hands with all that they possessed. Many families that had heretofore been wealthy, were left destitute in their quest to save the lives of a relative or dear one. There were times when even money was of no help, especially in situations where the heat of the town held a specific grudge against an individual.

As his deputy, Mr. Lewandowski picked a very compatible helpmeet for himself, a tanner named Limansky, who had at one time been a Polish policeman. He was an incredible drunkard without a conscience, who during two years had managed to hide himself from the Soviet regime. Now he had a high position: Head of the police constabulary.

And I am [now] a prisoner. The hours go by. Finally the duty officer called my last name. A while later, I found myself in the office of the Head Constable.

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The room was furnished beautifully. On the wall – a large portrait of Hitler. Under the portrait, Limansky swung around in an armchair in a careless pose, manifesting his dominance. The probing questions started to come. I showed him the transit papers that I had in hand, given to me by the Germans to permit me to return to my home. I lied, and said that I had used this time to travel to Minsk where one of my family relations lived. I knew that my fate hung in the balance. If the slightest shred of suspicion entered the heart of the Head Constable, he would without hesitation turn me over to the Germans.

– I recognize these made up stories quite well – Limansky said to me persuasively. – You would be best off to immediately admit that you fled to the Bolsheviks.

– And now, where to go? – I asked myself.

I set my sites on the communal hall across the way. Now, the Judenrat is located there. In a tight and dirty little room, tens of people are milling around. At that hour, the head of the town had issued an order to the Jews to produce within the hour, beds, blankets and pillows. And these things in substantial quantities, and an enormous amount of money for the needs of the Germans who were delayed in their transit in the town. Incidents of this sort would be repeated with variations almost on a day-to-day basis. There was no end to these different demands. People would quarrel with one another. Everyone would exclaim that he had surrendered everything he had the day before, and that he had nothing left. Tens of people wailed that they had absolutely nothing left; the indigent who surrendered their pennies last, cursed those who were not forthcoming.

Hungry and tired, I sat on a bench. I was indifferent to everything around me, and did not try to catch the attention of people who were ignoring me. I saw that everyone was totally immersed in their own personal misfortune.

Standing next to me was an elderly woman who wept because they had come and arrested her daughter in the night. A Polish neighbor had informed on her that a Russian officer used to come and visit her. There was no money in the house, and it was not possible to obtain her release.

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At the side, two little girls slept. On their pale and tired faces were the signs of undried tears. The women clucked about the misfortune of these orphans. There was some sort of disagreement between their father and the Head of the town that reached the courts. The Head, Lewandowski, then made use of his position, and ordered him arrested as a communist sympathizer. Yesterday he had been taken out and sent to the Gestapo in Slonim. Nobody comes back from there.

In one house, the Germans smashed up all the movable possessions. In another house, the son was killed at his work. The depredations skipped no one.

From time to time, people who recognized me approached me and asked: where, when and how. I repeated to them all my tribulations. Someone gave me a slice of bread. A woman offered me a bowl of warm soup.

Some people came and offered me a place to sleep for the night. I preferred to spend the night on the bench in the Judenrat office, sunk in my own thoughts. In the evening, as the hall emptied out, I laid down to sleep. Despite my great exhaustion, I could not fall asleep for a long time. Those nearest to my heart were probably lost in faraway Lodz. My circumstances were difficult. I had no money. There was no possibility to earn money. There was little hope for any support to be had from those who knew me. And I was too proud to hold out my hand to beg for charity.

In my heart, the thought of committing suicide began to take shape.

Aloud, my heart told me that this was just a weakness of resolve. My suffering – was no different from that of the remainder of my people. I brought to mind the history of our people, which was laden with incidents of terror, oppression, that seemed to be our constant companion, but that our strength stood us in good stead and allowed us to overcome those who would bring us down. In the end I fell asleep.

The following day, early in the morning, I heard a knocking at the door. In front of me stood my friend, Paula Rosenzweig , the wife of the local doctor. The circumstances of fate brought her and her husband in the year 1939 from Warsaw to distant Dereczin. I recalled her to be a high-spirited person. It was said of her that she was prepared to render assistance to anyone in need, no matter what the problem. She would help the poor with whatever means she had at her disposal. In 1939, she especially looked after refugees, who would arrive hungry and exhausted seeking refuge from the Nazis. Without spending too much time discussing it, she took me, almost by force to her home.

Here she prepared a hot bath for me. Paula gave me clean underwear and a change of suit. I took off my old and dirty underwear and my suit that had been torn completely to shreds from the vicissitudes of my wanderings during the past few weeks. Clean and properly dressed, I felt like someone who belonged in the place. I sat down to eat breakfast. I felt like I had returned and found a family setting after many years of wandering. After noon, Paula's husband returned home from the local hospital where he worked. He also greeted me with a warm welcome.

– Stay with us – the two said to me. – The company is welcome in these trying times.

At that same time the rule was enacted to wear badges on which the Star of David was drawn. Very quickly, the badges were altered to be yellow, so that Jews could be identified at a distance. Night after night we would go to sleep, terrified of what the next day would bring.

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One day a rather luxurious limousine pulled into town in front of the police station. A commotion developed in the town:

– The Gestapo is coming!

After a while, the Gestapo officials got into their car with Lewandowski and drove off somewhere. The following day Lewandowski ordered the Judenrat leadership in to see him.

With lightning speed, the news of the Gestapo's new order sped through the town. In two week's time, it would be necessary to dig a huge pit in the nearby woods. Why do they need such a pit? And what's the rush? The optimists among us said that the Germans wanted to prepare a line of defense in the event of a counterattack. But their theory didn't make any sense. We were aware that at that time that the German army was engaged in battle near Moscow; the majority tended to agree with the pessimists, who saw the ominously approaching end in this new demand.

– We are digging our own grave – this was the prevailing opinion.

The depth of the pit that the Germans had ordered to be dug was five meters; it was fifty meters long and 20 meters wide. The job of digging in the hardened ground, full of roots, was filled with many difficulties. We worked by the sweat of our brows in driving rain; We became caked with the recalcitrant earth. And woe betide anyone who stopped his work to mop the perspiration from his forehead. The police would immediately fall upon him and beat him senseless. We worked tight-lipped. But in our minds the words that went back and forth were: you are digging your own grave...

At the end of October the pit was finished. On the last day we left that terrifying place. We were emotionally disturbed by this huge maw that stood ready to receive thousands into their final resting place. Shortly after the completion of the excavation, the limousine returned again to the police station. A terror spread through the town, like never before. People vanished into their hideouts; those who were on the streets looked from side to side in fright, sizing up in which direction to run away. The Judenrat officials were called to meet the Germans. In less than an hour, the members of the board ran distressed in to the streets.

– Jews, a calamity! They are demanding an enormous contribution. If we fail to respond – they will take us out to the pit and shoot us to death.

Towards nightfall, the Gestapo officials left.

– And with what will we redeem our lives tomorrow? – We would ask ourselves.

Nov 1941 - Feb 1942

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one could not expect any relief from the Germans. There was total despair among the masses. On everyone's lips was heard the sentiment: – let it be better – let it be , it can't get any worse than it is.

The Head of the town and the constabulary were not particularly happy with the arrival of the new regime. They recognized that this would diminish their own importance. Even the resident Polish citizenry was not happy when they heard this news. Everyone knew that the Germans also hated the Poles. Until now, the entire burden fell on the shoulders of the Jews: from now on the others will also have to shoulder the yoke.

The Head of the town ordered the Judenrat to clean up the house in honor of the conquerors. Tens of workers were drafted into this labor. The house was completely cleaned out, the walls were strengthened, and the floors swept. Quickly, this house was turned into a palace. Finally, the new owners arrived.

On one day, several automobiles arrived at the police station, and ten gendarmes disembarked. The bark of command from the new arrivals was immediately heard. That evening, a new sign appeared on the side of the police station. Terrifying words looked out on us from it:

S.S. und Ortspolizei
(S.S and Local Police)

Now the winter had turned into a curse. In the houses – a penetrating cold. In the streets, large crowds of people were standing about, dressed in thin clothing, bedecked by the onslaught of nature. The head of the gendarmes, Poritz Pigass issued an order: it is forbidden for the streets to be covered in snow for even an hour. This brutal Prussian, dressed in warm winter clothing, would pass by in a winter sled, drawn by a brace of horses, meting whipping people left and right to cries of: Arbeiten, verfluchte Juden! (Work, you accursed Jews!).

Women, children, the elderly, battled the snow with all their might. Some piling it up into piles, others carting it off in wagons.

– Lord in Heaven! – God-fearing people would groan, – must the snow fall endlessly, all the time?

At that time Poritz also established a doctors cooperative. All the Jewish doctors and their families were moved into one house, and they had to be at every beck and call of the administration. I, who had lived all this time at the home of Dr. Rosenzweig, was appointed as a watchman for the house.

The owner of the house in which the doctors were moved to was an intelligent man, a Zionist and a venerable person by the name of Feldman. He was for many years the leader of the town in Dereczin. Seeing as he had the respect of the Jewish community, the Germans initially appointed him as head of the Judenrat. However, after a while, when Feldman saw that this [responsibility] was causing

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him great vexation and sorrow, he found an excuse to vacate his position, claiming that he could not keep up with the demands of the job by virtue of his advanced age. And indeed, he was too old for this kind of burden.

This was a man with very set ways, not knowing how to relax his standards. He took great care of his external appearance. Even in those difficult times, he was fastidious about his personal hygiene, and took care to arrange his clothing and tie properly. His wife Pessia would complain to him: What is the point of you dressing yourself up that way in times like these? And he would answer:

–Fool that you are, one must never submit to them!

Our custom in the house was communal in nature in all matters: we ate together in a large room, the women cooked, each woman in accordance with her particular skill. On the eve of the Sabbath, Feldman's wife Pessia would light the candles, and the spirit of the Sabbath could be felt throughout the house. Old man Feldman would shuttle back and forth between the rooms of the doctors, humming Sabbath melodies. As the Passover season drew close, one of the doctors bestirred himself, a Dr. Rosenthal – a man with a warm Jewish heart, intelligent and a Zionist – who turned to Feldman and all the other doctors with a proposal that they organize a communal Seder for all the residents in the house. The gentiles, who would come from the surrounding villages to our home to receive medical care from the doctors provided us with foodstuffs. It was in this fashion that matzoh was baked, in a primitive fashion. There was even sacramental wine over which to recite the ritual blessings. And Dr. Rosenthal gave an emotionally moving speech about our condition, which brought a number of us to tears.

I grew closest to the son of this Dr. Rosenthal. Seven years younger than I, he captured my heart. He looked younger than he actually was, somewhat pinched, short in height, a high forehead, a long nose and big black, deep eyes. By intellectual development and maturity, he was in every way already like an adult. He managed to educate himself, even in those trying times. During the daytime, he would come near me and help out with my keeping order in the house, and in the evenings we would go into one of the rooms that was used to receive patients during the day, and there the young lad would play the violin. With us also was a sixteen year-old girl named Bella, the daughter of Dr. Hirschenson the dentist, who during the war had been blown into Dereczin from Grodno.

It might appear somewhat surprising that I kept company with people significantly younger than I. But, the other residents in that house were significantly older than I was, and naturally I was attracted to the young. Our fate, our closeness to one another, and the presence of a young woman, all contributed to flavoring our talks.

In the middle of the winter, the farmers, who came to us in stealth, began to tell of miraculous feats performed by Pavel Bulak^[2] a resident of the nearby village of Ostrovo, who in his time was the head of a Kolkhoz.^[3] He was a stout-hearted man, who concealed himself from the Germans in the forest. Woe betide any of the Nazis that fell into his hands! He would shuttle between the villages, and call for the farmers to rise up against the Germans and go into the forests. There hidden in the forests, there apparently were also a small number of Russian soldiers, who remained there after the fall of the Red Army. It was in this way that a new word was added

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to our vocabulary in our area: partisan. The thick, heavy obscuring forest was already serving as a staging area for Jewish youth.

In those days, at the beginning of 1942, news reached the forests concerning the [initial] victories of the Russians in the heartland; these offered a little comfort to the people, and helped to keep their hopes alive.

Ah, but woe unto us! The coming spring brought with it evil tidings: in our midst, in the midst of the Jews, there was no outlook any better than the blackest of the black.

Mar - Apr 1942

– There is nothing that can save us – was the prevailing opinion. Bitter tidings reached us from nearby Slonim, where the headquarters of the Gebeits-kommissariat was located, the district command. The head of the section that dealt with 'Jewish issues' was a young Nazi named Heik. The 18 year-old Prussian who had the face of an innocent child, was nothing less than a bloodthirsty wild beast. He always carried out decrees on the residents with extra zeal; this is how he advanced.

A short while passed after the census was completed. And here came one day when the Jewish quarter was surrounded by drunken S.S. troops, with the support of Ukranian soldiers and local Byelorussian and Polish police. The Jews were evicted from their homes, and taken to the outskirts of the city. There, they were thrown down into the pits that were prepared in advance, and they were shot to death. These trampling executioners were occupied for two days in the murder of [these] people. Only the people with yellow cards remained alive. They were herded into a small area surrounded by barbed wire, and that is how the Slonim ghetto came into being.

In abject terror, we listened to the stories told to us by those few escapees that managed to reach Dereczin clandestinely. But even here, circumstances did not bode well at all. By us, the gendarmerie began its preparations. The Byelorussians moved into a specific section of the town. Not far from the police station, formerly the poor section of town, the Germans set aside a section, not very large, in which there were several tens of buildings, largely run down. This section was designated to serve as a ghetto in the future. With deliberate speed, workers began sinking posts around the buildings and connecting them with barbed wire. That is how the cage for the human birds was begun.

The transfer to the ghetto was accomplished in several stages. We, who were living in the doctors' house, were moved as part of the last stage. At first, people without work cards were driven into the ghetto. It was in this fashion that one family was taken from our house. It was the family of Feldman, the homeowner and his wife.

Early in the morning, a representative of the Judenrat came to us, and read the names of these two people from the list in his hand. Feldman, for whom no decree had caused him to leave beyond his gate, was shaken to his roots. His upright stance collapsed immediately. His wife stood and wept, as he silently began to assemble their belongings, to pack them for transport, and even in this instance, went about it with crisp discipline. He gathered up his books, religious texts, and arranged them in a precise order; he packed up the clothes in a suitcase,

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folding one shirt on top of another, so they should not –God forbid– get creased. We, the other residents of the house spread out, each to his own task. Afterwards, we discovered that in the middle of organizing and packing, Feldman had suddenly disappeared. A search began to find him. After a little while, we heard screams of alarm from Feldman's wife:

– At the sound of the screams, people came running; in the year of the woodshed, the seventy year-old man was found hanging by a rope.

– They are taking the smartest Jew in this town to be buried!

Here is what happened in the town of Ivatsvich: one night in February, Heik arrived suddenly with his band. A strong icy wind was blowing. The residents were driven from their homes, and half-dressed marched on foot to Slonim. On the way, all the children froze to death; old people and women fell by the way. Woe betide anyone who wanted to stop and rub their frozen feet. They would be set upon as if by beasts of prey, and beaten severely enough to cause death. Those that survived envied the dead laying by the wayside. Those that reached Slonim were sent into the ghetto.

Our hearts told us that this bitter cup was soon to pass before us. No one took off their clothes to go to sleep at night. Feverishly, we busied ourselves with the digging of bunkers, and in the event we were to have an unexpected visitor look into our windows in the middle of the night, he would be astonished at the level of activity there. On the other side of the glass pane pale and frightened faces peered out; they were the upright but tired, standing watch to make sure that no death-battalion was coming near.

The news of Russian victories in the interior did not gladden our hearts. In the Jewish interior, the Germans were reaping one victory after another.

In the month of April, the Germans disseminated an order to all Russian soldiers who were in the conquered zone, and who had moved into the villages after the defeat of the Red Army, to present themselves to the authorities. Most of those summoned in this fashion fled to the forests. They trusted the farmers not to reveal where they were hiding.

From time to time, word would reach us concerning the partisans. The farmers, who had a tendency to exaggerate, would tell us secretly that a full division of Red soldiers was circulating in the forest, equipped with the latest weapons, and ready to wage war. We had no remaining capacity to believe such stories, because we were not disappointed in this regard only once. For example, there was a period during this winter, where we had hopes of seeing a day when the Germans would flee before the Russians. Instead, Heik and his band initiated their depredations. Consequently, we were used to having good news not materialize, while bad news always did. If an extermination campaign was rumored for example in a Polish or xxx Aleman town, it always turned out that it was really the case. But if it was told that after the capture of Minsk that the Red Army was nearing Baranovich, in the end it turned out that the battle was being fought at Stalingrad. It

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was in this fashion that people came to see everything for its worst, and believed that only evil would transpire.

Nevertheless, we began to see hints, evidence, that something was really going on in our area.

A day did not pass that the police did not come to Dereczin from neighboring area police stations, worn out and upset, with tales of partisan attacks on their tongues. The Germans were of the opinion that these were nothing more than bands of robbers and thieves, intimidating the smaller constabularies, so as to be able to pillage the local farmers without fear of serious retribution. The Germans would yell at the police and order them back to their stations, but the threats, shouting, and even severe blows did not serve to influence the frightened Byelorussian policemen.

– We fear for our lives – they would argue stubbornly, – We are ultimately going to be killed by the partisan army.

At that time, a new spirit began to course through the hearts of the Jewish youth. Longingly, they raised their eyes to the forests, as a place where people lived who refused to submit their necks to a yoke of oppression. The concept of revenge, that had been sown in their hearts already, germinated and began to bear fruit. A period of dreaming began – about freedom, and of exacting retribution from the enemy.

After the days work, we would gather in a tiny group to assess our chances for escape. One thing was clear: If someone 'disappeared' then his entire family would pay with their lives. It was difficult for a person to undertake an act that would doom his own parents and younger brothers and sisters to death. And the idea of an entire family trying to escape was enmeshed in a variety of constraints and pitfalls that could not be overcome, since nearly every family had someone who was underage or old, who simply did not have the personal resources to bear the burdens of an arduous trek full of unknowns and danger.

There was no way to resolve this issue.

We decided at one point to begin accumulating weaponry. This task fell to those who were at work with the Germans in overseeing the weaponry that had been left behind after the defeat of the Russians in 1941.

It was a difficult assignment. If even a single bullet was found in the possession of a Jew, the sentence was certain death for the head of household and all the members of his family. But how wondrous were those moments, when we became proficient in stealth, in caches, in hiding places that we reached, and then afterwards transferring this to secure hiding places. With painstaking attention to detail, we would put together the parts of rifles and revolvers and clean and polish the rusty bullets. At night on our beds, we would see in our dreams how we would take our revenge on the enemy from whom we had stolen our arms. And indeed, those very rifles that we hid at that time, more than once were responsible for killing many Nazis.

For me, a new life started. My circumstances were better than that of my companions. The Germans did not know that I was connected to the family of Dr. Rosenzweig. They thought that I was alone and unattached, and if I left town, they would be inclined to think that I had returned to my family in some faraway place. My idea was to get out into the forest at the earliest opportunity.

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To the Forest

May - Jul 1942

The more the Germans suspected trouble, the greater the satisfaction grew in the Jewish quarter. Even the greatest of the pessimists began to believe that the partisans would effect a liberation. In addition, we had “political commentators” who constructed proofs out of various indicators that the Russians had dropped many paratroopers to surround the Germans.

In the meetings of our secret organization, we would prepare, in great detail, the plan for an uprising that we would initiate, upon an appropriate signal from the forest.

As usual, after a period of flowering hope, the disappointment was not late in coming. At the end of the winter, the gendarmerie send about sixty young Jewish boys to a labor camp near the village of Puzovitsa. For a number of months, they worked on paving the road from Slonim to Kozlovshchina. From their secret letters sent back to us, we learned of the terrible tortures to which these exiles were subjected. They were assaulted with murderous brutality. The Polish police would steal more than half the inadequate food portions that were allotted to them. They would work from the first appearance of the sun until late into the night. For their evening sleep, they were escorted under armed guard to a barracks surrounded by barbed wire.

And suddenly, a few days after the police station in Halinka was attacked, these young people who had been forcibly taken away, began to return to Dereczin by stealth. From them we learned that on one of the nights, the partisans burst into their labor camp, arrested the command, and ordered the workers to return to their homes. According to the words of the those who told of this, the partisans were wearing Soviet insignias, and their movements were shrouded in secrecy.

We gulped down every word that they uttered. We waited with bated breath: when finally, would the partisans “pay a visit” to Dereczin.

Clearly a piece of news of this import could not be kept a secret for very long. The head of the gendarmes finally felt that the ground under him was giving way, and he began to roam about like a beast of prey. He devised a diabolical plan whose sole purpose was to demonstrate that the Germans were still in control. One night, all the families of the workers in Puzovitsa were taken as prisoners. At dawn, the Germans led the prisoners, about 160 people, the elderly, women and children, to a nearby village. Near a grove of trees, these unfortunates were ordered to dig a pit for themselves: afterwards, they were put into the pit, and began to shoot them with machine guns.
That night, a woman returned to the Dereczin ghetto who had miraculously escaped. The Germans thought she was dead. She was however, only heavily wounded. The woman got up, and crawled out from under the corpses. Her tale measured up in terror to everything that we had heard up to then. The Germans tortured the people without mercy before killing them. Poritz with his own hands smashed the skulls of little children against the trees of that grove. The suffering was so great that each and every person prayed in his heart for a swift death.

A few days later, these evildoers got their comeuppance. Together with police personnel, the

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Germans went out on a sortie against the partisans, who according to reports were at that hour to be found in one of the villages at the edge of the forest on the opposite bank of the Shchara River. However, after a couple of hours, the Germans were seen to have taken to their heels in disarray, retreating as if running from death itself. It appears that the partisans were ready for this attack, and anticipated it by meeting it with rifle fire from ambush.

Poritz was severely wounded, and that night his hand was amputated, the very hand that was responsible for the murders of tens of Jewish children only days before.

I decided to wait no longer, to flee, and find my way to the partisans.

The Escape

July 5, 1942

Two other members of our combat group were supposed to leave with me : Herschel Zuckerman, age 29, and Anka Kaplan age 24; they too, were refugees like myself. We had decided not to take any weapons with us. The Germans, who feared a partisan attack, set up strengthened guard patrols around the town, and consequently patrols were circulating along the roads. The police, who were on duty at the edge of the river at the town line kept the ghetto under tight surveillance. If they found us with weapons in our hands, then scores of Jews would pay for it with their lives. We felt that the partisans did not lack for weaponry, and it would not prove difficult for them to arm us. At the final meeting of our clandestine organization, a decision was agreed to that it was up to us to be the official representatives of the organized Jewish youth in Dereczin to the partisan command. It would be necessary to convey the state of the morale of the Jews to the Russians, who were ready to fight, and to persuade the partisans to attack the occupying forces in Dereczin. In the event of an attack on the town, they could rely with complete confidence on the help of the organized forces from within.

That day, all the members of the organization were occupied with the details of our escape. Lookouts were dispatched to determine those points where the surveillance was most intense.

The day began to wane and grow dark. The people had already returned to their homes from work. Silence pervaded the ghetto.

The critical moment drew near. We stood by the barbed wire and looked longingly at the adjacent fields. From time to time, the silence was broken by the shouts of the police. Finally, the lookouts returned, and were received the needed findings from them orally. We hugged our comrades with intensity. Farewell!

In a little while, we found ourselves outside the barbed wire perimeter. With deliberate speed we forded the small rivulet, which was narrow and shallow. On the nearby hillock, we spied the outline of several figures. It was a German lookout point. With quick steps, we directed ourselves to the nearby field of rye grain.

At each and every minute there was the possibility that the erect watch would detect us. But the hour was with us, though tired and sweaty, we hid in the end in the tall growth. We paused momentarily to catch our breath. I looked over at the ghetto one last time. I am free! There, in that accursed trap, there were pursued people who had no certainty in what tomorrow might bring.

Exhausted, we parted a path for ourselves through the mature sheaves of grain. We sped up our pace. Now we stood in front of a great difficulty: we had to skirt the Polish neighborhood, the settlement of Kamienka.

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In the lead was Herschel who was thoroughly familiar with the area. Night fell. Suddenly, dogs began to bark. From nearby, we heard the voices of people.

– Maybe they detected us – as Anka whispered.

I checked my watch. It was 10:30PM. Herschel strode forward with confidence, and we followed in his footsteps. We proceeded according to plan, that we had worked out from the beginning in all its details. In the end, the silhouette of the hospital was behind us. We crossed the Dereczin-Zelva road with conviction. We completed the first part of our dangerous journey successfully.

We headed toward the edge of the forest opposite the town of Ostrovo. It was known to us that partisans frequented this locale. Bulak, the leader of the partisans, whose name had become well known already at that time, was born in Ostrovo.

Exhausted from the forced pace we kept all night, we finally found ourselves in a village. The dogs who detected us as strangers, began to bark. Until now, we were fairly confident, because we knew that at night, the Germans were not likely to leave their quarters. But now, dawn was breaking. Through the melting darkness, we could see the tower of the church in Dereczin. In a little while, we anticipated the arrival of the 'night visitors' that we awaited with such eagerness. And here, the village awoke from its slumber. Once again, we could not tarry, and set our sights to the adjacent forests at the opposite side.

Quickly we entered Boralom (this was the name of this particular forest). It was a hot July morning. The forest gave off a fresh aroma. Everything was covered in dew. Around us sprouted greenery. We gulped the fresh air into our bodies, after continuous months of suffocating existence in the confining and stinking ghetto. A giddiness possessed us. Herschel answered the birds with his own whistling. Anka suddenly started to laugh hysterically, as she pointed to the large lurid yellow badges that stood out against the fabric of our clothing. With heartfelt zeal we tore off these badges of slavery from our clothing. We started a new life.

However, our elation didn't last very long. In this huge forest, unknown to us, there was no sign or trace of human life. We walked in depressions, attempting to utilize the tracks that were in them, but all our searching was in vain.

On the third day our provisions gave out. We were wary of entering a village. We had no arms. Despite the freedom we had obtained, our prospects looked dismal.

Finally, we approached an old man, who seemed to be gathering branches from which to make broomsticks. Nearby we heard the voices of children, and of dogs barking. The old man told us that we were near Dovorovka on the banks of the Shchara River. To obtain clarification, we then asked the old farmer:

– Tell us, grandpa. Where are the partisans to be found? The old man looked at us with a blank stare and answered:

– I don't know, my dear sirs. As God is my witness, I don't know.

Rain began to fall. Discouraged, hungry and tired, we decided to enter the village. Only very few of the houses offered us a piece of bread.

– These are Jews that have escaped from the ghetto, – the news would go before us as we approached each little hut. We also picked up bits and snatches

of the women's talk:

– These are spies, sent by the Germans. We recognized that the farmers understood how cunning the Germans were, and simply didn't believe wandering strangers who were not known to them. It was clear that this was not the way to reach our intended goal.

– But maybe the partisans are not known here, maybe its just a story? – we asked ourselves.

After many hours of wandering, we finally reached the small village of Slizhi, opposite the Kazibar forest. We were standing at the outskirts of the village. And suddenly my attention is caught by a young, blond man, tall and blue-eyed, who was tramping through the grass and singing the song, Katyusha in a loud voice. There was nothing surprising in his appearance, except for the pistol that was sticking out of his belt. I immediately called the attention of my companions to this unusual farmer.

– From what we can see, this can only be a partisan, – Herschel Zuckerman whispered.

– Are you a partisan? –

– Yes, I am a Red partisan – the young man proudly replied.

July 1942

– My name is Mishka Dubokov, and my origin is from the line of Kuban. Before the war, I was drafted into the army. My unit was literally on the German border. In June 1941, after the defeat suffered by our army at the hands of the Germans, I was separated from my mates, and was swept up by chance to this particular village. Older farmers took me in, and for some time I was able to live here quietly, doing farm work. Recently, this past spring, the Germans issued an order that all men who at the time were in the Red Army but remained behind in Byelorussia, were to report to them. At that instigation, we dug up the weapons we had hidden, and fled to the forests. A small detachment of us is located in the Kazibar, consisting of 21 people. Bulak and his division of 40 people are located in Boralom. Units slightly larger than this are decamped across the river from Dereczin. The Germans think that we number in the thousands. And the farmers deliberately spread exaggerated tales about the partisans in order to deter the occupation forces from coming into the villages. I am currently here in Slizhi as a forward lookout on behalf of my unit. At night I will have returned to the forest, to our camp. Tomorrow, I will report your presence to the head officer of the camp, Vanya Zaitsov. He is in the habit of receiving all manner of people graciously. For the entire winter, he blundered about alone in the snow-covered forests in order not to surrender into German hands. In the spring, he organized our unit, and from that time on, the Germans have known no peace in Dereczin. He will most certainly welcome you into his unit.

– And now lads, let's go to eat.

He brought us into a small house set apart that was outside of the village. As he opened the door, we saw the woman of the house: a fleshy farmer's wife of great girth, who filled the entire room with her presence, in contrast to the farmer, who was a shrunken man of small stature. Both of them do not look us in the face. Mishka turned to them and said:

– Is there something here for them to eat.

– Sit down and make yourselves at home.

Misha's face that had previously been full of good-heartedness and affection, turned stern. He pushed his hat back with a violent move, hit the table angrily and proclaimed:

– Since when are you in the habit of eating cold rye pancakes?

– In the name of God, the young men were here and they ate everything.

– Well, we shall see.

– Marusya, bring what we have in the case. Now the door of the oven was opened, and from a hidden place, good warm pancakes were hauled up, and the table was quickly covered with goodies that we hadn't seen in a long time: sour cream, cheese, wheat bread, eggs.

– And now, give them provisions for their travel, for a few days.

Mishka accompanied us to the nearby thick underbrush where we were supposed to conceal ourselves to await the command.

We waited for two consecutive days for Vanya to show up, lying among the reeds. It rained the whole time, and we shuttled around in the underbrush, gathering field strawberries. We spoke about what we had heard from Dubokov. Now, we realized, the situation was quite different from that which we had conceived. In place of a huge partisan army, there are only small units which are instilling fear in the German occupation forces in Dereczin.

Finally, on the third day, we heard an elongated whistle. In response to this signal, we emerged from the reeds. Before us stood Mishka, and another partisan whom we did not know.

– I am Vanka - the stranger introduced himself, while extending his hand.

We saw before us a short, scrawny young man, wearing a short officer's jacket, whose appearance was very much like that of a Jew: dark hair and dark eyes. A slightly protruding nose. He had a couple of false teeth, sharp cheekbones, and a sharp facial appearance.

Vanka pointed to the felled tree trunks and said:

– And now lads, we must go back.

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Turning to Misha Dubokov, he asked:

– Do you have newspaper?

Mishka took a folded newspaper from his pocket and gave it to the leader. Instead of spreading it out for reading, Vanya used his nails to tear a long sliver from the paper, and handed it to me, without saying anything. I did the same, taking a piece of the paper and handing it to Herschel. Then Vanya stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a plug of tobacco, 'ersatz,' and extended this hospitality to me and my companions. He also offered this to Mishka, and then took some for himself.

Now his request for the newspaper became clear.

– I see – said Vanya, blowing out smoke from his hand-rolled cigarette – that you are enterprising. You succeeded in escaping from the Germans and reaching us. But I must caution you at the outset, that our lives are not easy, and there is no way to know what the future will bring, or the ultimate outcome of all this. I would like to see good partisans in you.

The leader then took his leave of us, and ordered us to fortify ourselves with patience. The following day Mishka arrived with two rifles.

– Now lads, – he called out gleefully, you are real partisans!

– The rifle – he said – is like the soldier's wife: he must never be separated from her, she will sleep with him and rise with him.

(From the Book, “The Battalion of Dr. Atlas”)

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Those sunny and happy years that I spent under the aegis of my parents – the first sixteen years of my life in tiny, warm Dereczin – come back into my memory like a distant, sweet dream. Along with myself, my two brothers, Moshe & Abraham and my sister Beileh were raised by my parents, Israel & Devorah.

The bloody years from September 1939 on, when a black cloud covered our skies, are etched into my memory like an angry and desolate dream. The Germans attacked Poland, and the bombing drew closer to Dereczin. The entry of the Soviets saved us from German occupation, but for barely less than two years. I am attending a Russian school, but there no longer is any normal sort of life. The tranquil way of life in Dereczin has already been disrupted.

My father, a fabric dyer traveled to distant Siberia – he volunteered to work on painting tanks in a large factory. In the spring of 1941 he returned, and our family was filled with elation. But what a short elation indeed! A couple of months later, the murderous Germans arrived. Burning, shootings, hunger and forced labor – we live day-to-day in terror. Decrees follow one on top of the other.

We, the children, became old overnight, we know and understand everything that is going on around us, and what is waiting for us. We do everything we can to achieve rescue, but we are not in a position to help.

As a fabric dyer, my father is counted among the ‘necessary Jews,’ and we are moved to live in a house on the other side of the ghetto, on Deutsche Gasse, near the Kamienkas. A number of other families are situated together with us in this house. We are the envy of the ghetto, where we are called ‘the living Jews,’ but we don't feel at all like we are alive.

Late at night after the fast of Tisha B'Av, our mother wakes us up: “Get up, children, I see a great deal of military around the ghetto and everywhere. It is a slaughter! Let us flee…”

We cannot flee. Because a watch has been posted in our courtyard. A little while later, the watch is transferred from our courtyard to the Schulhof, and we make ourselves seen long enough to crawl into a hideaway. We lie there, and can see everything that transpires outside.

Night falls, and we flee this town of slaughter. Our entire family flees into the forest. Our mother weeps, she has lost her mother, five brothers and sisters and their children. She is certain that we have saved ourselves, but her closest kin have all been wiped out. But the forest exudes the smell of death.

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Our family lived in Dereczin for many, many generations. My grandparents were born there, my parents were born there, and I was also born there.

We were six children, five boys and a girl. My father died as a young man, and left my mother with six young children, of whom the eldest son was 12 years old, and the youngest, age 2. I was six years old at the time.

My mother did everything possible to raise the children in Dereczin. We received an upbringing highly appropriate for Jewish children. This is how life went on until the outbreak of the war.

As I recall it, it was in the year 1941 on a pretty summer day after Shavuot, when airplanes suddenly appeared over the town. People became disoriented and ran to hide.

It didn't take long before the Germans entered the town. Immediately on the first day, they assembled all the residents near the church. Amidst great shouts, they separated the Jews and Christians. After that, they took out Feivel Meshels and his wife, and a couple of others from amongst the Jews, and we never saw them alive again.

One German gave a speech and shouted that the Jews are responsible for the war. He heaped fire and brimstone on the Jews.

Afterwards, we heard gunfire, and they ordered us to run. We ran to wherever our eyes pointed. I ran behind the grave mounds, and hid myself in the bushes, I ran this way with my little two year-old daughter, and I was then eight months pregnant. We laid this way in the field, and from a distance were able to see that from a number of the streets of Dereczin, high flames began to shoot up skyward.

I decided that regardless of the consequences, that I must return home. At that time, I lived in the Cantor's house. My mother was looking for me everywhere, and later, she too ran home. The Germans were constantly driving the Jews towards the streets that were engulfed in flames from the conflagration.

Upon arriving home, we immediately went down into the cellar to hide. At the time, we didn't think we would ever emerge from the cellar alive.

My husband, Shmuel had worked for the Soviets, and it was a great risk for him to show himself in public. He sat for long days in the cellar, emerging to get a breath of fresh air only when it got dark outside.

A couple of months later, my husband screwed up his courage and went out during the day to bring us back some water and food. A local gentile by the name of Hatcheh apprehended my husband, and dragged him off to the police station. I had a woman gentile acquaintance, whose husband, a certain Rublevsky, was a policeman. So I went to her to ask her help in seeing that my husband would be released and allowed to return home.

When I came to the police station, I met with Rublevsky. He told me that in a few days they will take a large number of Jews to Slonim, my husband among them, and my husband will be hanged there. He promised me, however, that he will see to it that my husband would be turned over to the Slonim Judenrat. Indeed, this is what actually happened.

My brother, Chaim, lived in Slonim. I sent him a letter through Velvel Hanch who transported the Germans to Slonim. I told my brother that my husband was under arrest, and that he should try to do everything possible for him. Indeed, my brother was able to effect a rescue of him.

The Jews of Dereczin suffered from the German decrees. From their depredations. From hunger and

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oppression. In the confining ghetto, it became more and more crowded with each passing day. When the day arrives – one prays for the night, when night comes – one prays for the coming day.

Weeks and months flew by in this manner. My little newborn was already four months old, and my mother didn't even know when our child was born.

We had a gentile acquaintance in Dereczin, Petrusza Rushetsky. Once, he secretly brought in some flour and grits to us in the ghetto. I begged this gentile, falling to his feet, that he should help me to leave Dereczin and bring me to Slonim, to my husband and brother, and I promised him all my worldly possessions. My assets consisted of my bedding and 20 yards of material. The gentile promised me that in two days, his brother would come and take me to Slonim.

And he kept his word. On the second day, his brother came at five o'clock in the morning, when it was still dark outside, and indicated that his wagon was on the hillock, and he brought two suits of peasant's clothing, for me and my mother. Quickly we changed clothing and left the ghetto. I myself don't completely know how it was that we succeeded, but we reached the wagon safely. The gentile told us to bury ourselves into the hay. He did not go through Slonim Gasse, but rather by way of Zelva Gasse, using the Zelva highway to ride around the woods, and thereby reach and come out onto the Slonim highway.

Having traveled 12-15 verst from Halinka, we heard a shout: Halt! Stehen Bleiben! – A darkness looms before my eyes. I am sitting in this manner on the wagon, holding one child, with my mother and the second child. I look, and see that Moteleh Sinyiss is driving the German, Poritz to Slonim.

The German asks the gentile: Whom are you driving? The gentile replies: I am taking my ailing mother to the doctor in Slonim. And of me, he said: This is my sister.

As the children cried, Moteleh Sinyess said to the German: The children fear us, let us continue with our trip. The German mutters, Donnerwetter, and they ride away.

It was as if a boulder rolled away from beneath my heart. Plodding along this way, we arrived in Slonim, entering the small ghetto. There we met up with my brother, Chaim.

Three weeks after we arrived in the Slonim ghetto, the first slaughter took place there. Those who remained alive were transferred to another ghetto.

There, in the new ghetto, I met up with my brother Itcheh. He had fled from Dereczin to Minsk, though for what purpose, I don't know. From Minsk, he returned to Slonim. My second brother, Meirkeh fled with him, but he was killed on the way to Minsk.

In the ghetto to which we came there was a terrible overcrowding. There were natives of Slonim, as well as displaced refugees from Poland. We were 40 families in one house.

At night, hideaways were constructed inside the ghetto. They were constructed in the cellars, under which, even deeper cellars were dug.

Several weeks later, the opportunity arose for my mother and I to move over to a less crowded house. We remained there until the slaughter of the children was upon us. On that terrifying day, I lost both of my children. There is no ink that is suitable to record the feelings of a mother, who loses her children all on the same day.

My husband went out of the house one day to search for a bit of food, and I never saw him again after that.

Everything around us was closed and locked up, nobody heard the groans of the Jews. As soon as the Germans occupied a place, the Jews were immediately sentenced [to death].

In the last house where I was with my mother, we lay for 14 days without food or water. A number of Jews from Lodz were together with us. On of the Jews proposed that we get out of there, and my mother and crawled out like frogs.

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About a week later, the Germans arrived with transports to collect the Jews. The took my mother and I as well. As we were riding, my mother said to me: Jump out, my child, save yourself!

I don't know where I got the strength, but I jumped out. At that point, the Germans let the Jews out, and we returned to the ghetto.

A few weeks later, they once again collected the Jews. This time, they were being taken to their death. The pits had already been dug.

They shot, and people fell into the pit. My mother fell on top of me.

When the Germans left, I had the opportunity to crawl out from under my mother's body. I did not know where I was, I was so disoriented.

I implore: Help me! But I do not see a living person around me.

Suddenly, I see that a man is lifting himself up from the midst of the mountain of corpses. I see that one of his hands is halfway severed. He extends his other hand to me, helps me stand up on my feet, and pulls me out of the pit.

Terrified and covered with blood, I began to wander. It was getting dark. Dragging myself in this way, I crawled to the outskirts of the city. In the distance I see a house, it was a farm house. As I approach, I see a gentile woman milking a cow in the barn. She looks at me and says nothing. I say to her: Have mercy, please let me in. She takes me by the hand and leads me behind a shed, and says to me that I should stand there and wait until her husband returns from the fields. The gentile woman went away, and I thought – perhaps they will call the Germans and turn me over to them? That is what I think as I stand and wait.

I observed from a distance how her husband came in, and how she gave him food. She then brings me a bath pan and two pails of water, and tells me to wash myself. Then she brought me a dress of hers, and told me to take off my bloodied garments. She gave me a place to sit, and gave me something to eat, and said that I could spend the night there.

Very early in the morning, she came to me and said to me that I must go away from this place. She did not want to risk her life for a Jewish person. She demanded that I leave immediately, since she and her husband had to go work in the fields.

I began to weep and begged her not to drive me away, but to let me stay here. She said: Very well, then. Spend the day here, but you must leave this night.

And she added: Go back to the ghetto, and your fate will be the same as that of the other Jews.

Where should I go? To whom shall I go? The enemy lies in ambush all around. I have no one left in Slonim any longer.

The gentile woman permits me to take the dress that she had given me yesterday to wear. I leave my own blood-stained clothes with her. She comes with me part of the way. I go back to the ghetto.

On the way, I see a horse and cattle grazing. They are free, eating with gusto, and I am on the run like a poisoned mouse through this horrible world, without purpose, having emerged from the grave.

In the ghetto, I acquired a pair of shoes and another dress, and a couple of days later, on a Sunday, when the Germans and other gentiles were good and drunk, I left the ghetto.

We had agreed to meet near the cemetery. We went by way of the Nevsk. Somewhat further along, Germans spotted us at a distance, and began to shoot at us. We dropped to the ground and proceeded by crawling.

We wandered this way for a long time, crawling through mud, streams and fields, until we reached the forests of Valtchenar.

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