[Page 429]

[Page 430]

Toporov		409-421
Stanislavtchik		422-428

[Page 431]

With the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, the town of Stremiltsh [Stremil'che] came under Russian control. My family and I were well-off and respected in the community. In addition to our successful commercial business, we acquired a well-managed, profitable, and clean agricultural farm. It served as a model for many farmers, who learned their craft from their ancestors. I had a strong inclination to work in agriculture. In 1934, I sent my 14-year-old daughter to expand her farming knowledge at a farm in Jerusalem that was managed by Rachel Yanait [Israeli President Ben Zvi's wife]. For five years, I sent the tuition fee every month with reverence. However, fate was cruel to us. In 1939, before the Passover holiday, our daughter came to visit us and stayed with us for some time. Before she could return to Eretz Israel, the war broke out. Tragically, she was killed along with the rest of my family during the Holocaust. Only one of my sons and I survived.

The Russians became our “guardians” and landlords. However, the regime change did not lead to significant changes in the economic or social life of the Jewish town. Initially, we did not feel any difference. High-ranking officers stayed in my house; two among them were even Jewish, good Jews–not “Yevseks”^[1]–who showed no signs of alienation or desire to assimilate. Among the officers, there was a non-Jewish “enthusiastic communist” who harassed us frequently. When I suggested to him that I would be willing to give him a gift, one of our cows, along with some cash, things changed overnight, and the enthusiastic antisemitic communist became a true lover of Jews.

Our lives under Russian rule continued without significant interruptions. On Shavuot 1941, we gathered at the synagogue as usual. My brother-in-law, with his pleasant voice, delighted the worshipers with his beautiful renditions of the holiday's liturgical poems “Akdamut” and “Yatziv Pitgam.” These were our last happy moments before the Germans entered the town.

The Germans arrived in June 1941. They immediately pulled our seven member family and me out of our house. After being moved several times, we were taken to the home of Reb Israel the tailor,

[Page 432]

a miserable, impoverished man whose home consisted of a single room. We were forced to reside with him in the same room. Such overcrowding might have resulted in some misunderstandings from the homeowner. Fortunately, Reb Israel treated us with understanding, most likely because of what happened in the past.

The story goes like this. When the Russians ruled our town, Reb Israel came to our house and said, “Reb David, you have lived your whole life in wealth and comfort. Times have changed. Please give me something to survive; give me a cow from your cowshed.” I replied to Reb Israel, “Why would you want a cow? Where will you find hay to feed it, and who will take it to pasture? What you really need is milk. Let us make a deal. I will provide you with milk daily, free of charge if you agree to give up the idea of having a cow.” Reb Israel agreed, and he began receiving his daily portion of milk. Thanks to this agreement, we were able to live together in understanding, peace, and tranquility, even though we had neither a cow nor milk.

The main question was what to do to stay alive. We gradually realized that the Germans were plotting to murder all the Jews regardless of where they were. One morning, they captured Friedman, Reuven Pardes, and me. They took us to the back of the house I used to own, where trenches had been dug for people to jump into for protection from bombs. The Germans lined us up near one of the trenches and were about to execute us for no reason. At the last moment, the shoemaker, Luczak Zaluzhni, a gentile who had learned his trade by apprenticing with Shalom the shoemaker, appeared like a redeeming angel and a sincere advocate. He began to negotiate with the Germans and pleaded for mercy on our behalf, claiming that I had once saved him from a certain death during Russian rule. Somehow, he managed to persuade the German soldiers, who believed him. He saved us from a certain death just in time.

On Rosh Hashana [September 12] 1942, The Germans took my entire family to Belzec. I survived because I managed to stay in a field at a distance from the town. My son, Motali, jumped from the train and also survived. We reunited two weeks later in a miraculous way.

I needed to find a safe hiding place for us. I went to Vigoda, a farm owned by a Jewish man named Krantz. I knew I would find the Gentile Yatski Volozhin, [who worked there], who would likely be in the tavern. He struggled with alcohol addiction but understood that if he helped me hide, he would secure financial support, which would allow him to drink day and night. Because of this, he suggested that I hide with him, and that was just what I wanted. At his place, we arranged a proper bunker. Afterward, I set out to search for any other survivors from my family. At the same time, my son Motali, who had jumped from the train, was wandering the roads looking for me.

During my search, I traveled all the way back to Radekhov. Many people I encountered scolded me for wandering around, warning that the Germans were swarming in every corner and that I was risking my life. I chose to ignore their warnings. In Radekhov, I discovered many bodies of victims lying in the streets,

[Page 433]

the result of an Aktsia that took place the night before, in which 65 Jews were killed in the city. Here in this spot, a Jewish man stood in the middle of the road beside one of the victims. He chanted “Kaddish” in the simplest, most customary way as if it were normal to be standing there reciting the prayer. I asked him: “What has happened here?” He replied, “This is my sister.” He added, “At least she will be given a proper Jewish burial, and what about me?” Tragically, the man, whom I knew well, was killed several days later.

While searching through the alleys, I encountered Simcha Winitzer (now in Australia). He asked me what my plans were. I replied that I was hiding with a gentile. Take me with you; I, too, want to live. I told him I agreed, but first I would have to ask “my” gentile. One guest is enough and he should not bring another guest along, but Simcha had a friend and he wanted to bring his friend with him. I asked the gentile and he agreed to take both of them, of course for a substantial fee.

In the meantime, my son Motali searched all over the area for me. People warned him not to wander around, as his life was at risk, but he ignored those warnings. On one of the roads, he encountered an eight-year-old Christian girl and asked her if she had seen any Jews nearby. The girl answered: “I will show you Jews,” and led my son to the house where my two friends and I were hiding. Our joy at seeing each other was immense–a deep joy in our souls and hearts–but it was mingled with pain and sorrow for those we had lost and would never see again. All four of us stayed with that gentile, Yatski Volozhin, for nine months.

I was far from being naïve, so I made sure to keep a few gold coins on me to save myself in times of trouble and distress. To my gentile landlord, Yatski, I claimed that I did not have the rent money stored in the bunker and that I received money every month from the partisans in the forest. That is why I would go out every first of the month as if I were heading to collect the money. I would wander around for a while before returning to pay him. With that story, I gained more respect from him as the local farmers feared retaliation from the partisans. Yatski even considered waiving the rent for a month after hearing from the neighbors that partisans had been spotted in the area. He was convinced that these partisans were the ones who delivered the money for my rent.

Life at that house and in the bunker was neither easy nor simple. The following story is just one of many. Yatski's wife was a kind and honest woman who treated us with understanding and respect. However, she endured great suffering because of her husband. He was an alcoholic in the cruelest sense, and when he drank, he completely lost his sense of humanity. He would squeeze the last penny from her, bringing promiscuous women into their home and lying with them in her bed in front of her. She would roll on the floor in grief, crying from jealousy and pain. Her hatred for him grew day by day. One day, in her distress, she came to me with a proposal–no more and no less–that together we kill her husband, load his body onto a cart, take it to one of the fields

[Page 434]

outside of the village, bury him there, and wash our hands of the whole situation–not seeing anything nor hearing anything. Her anger and hatred toward Yatski were so intense that I could not simply give her a negative response to get her off my back. Doing so would have only made her angry with me. I needed to diplomatically demonstrate that it was impossible to carry out her plan at that time for various reasons. This was how I managed to extricate myself from that troubling scheme. Later, I heard that Yatski was killed by the Banderovites. Perhaps his wife was involved in that.

After I learned that the local gentiles were aware of our presence at Yatski's, I realized that our lives were in danger and that we needed to find another place to hide. I approached another gentile named Nikolai. He initially hesitated but hinted that even if he were to help me, he would not want money; instead, he needed a horse. I promised to buy him a horse but advised him to sell some of the agriculture tools on his farm to avoid raising suspicion about the source of the money for the horse. We then moved to Nikolai's house, where we built a bunker. It was built outside, but the entrance was from the cowshed. We stayed there for eight months.

One day, Nikolai brought us “good news”: the Banderovites would be arriving the following day to conduct a search. We escaped as quickly as we could to the farm of the gentile named Wolinski. Arriving at his home without his knowledge, we opened the cowshed and found shelter for the night among the cows and the pigs. We survived that night thanks to the warm breath of the animals; otherwise, we would have frozen to death. In the morning, Wolinski's son entered the cowshed and became frightened when he saw us. He said his father would have had a heart attack if he had seen us. Nevertheless, we stayed with Wolinski for a week before returning to Nikolai. On the way back, I encountered a gentile acquaintance named Philip and asked him to sell me a loaf of bread. The gentile responded: “I will sell it to you, but why are you asking me if you are staying with Nikolai?” I tried to deny it, but Philip noticed my fear and sought to calm me down. He bent down, and whispered: “I, too, am hosting a Jew.” Curious, I went in to see who that Jew was and recognized Friedman, a resident of my town. He wore torn and tattered clothing, making him unrecognizable–a mere skeleton of a man. The suffering he had endured was evident in his very soul.

I suggested he join us at our bunker because I believed it was more appropriate. He listened to my advice. We expanded the bunker, and he stayed with me until the end.

During the last Passover before the liberation, new songs began to emerge. We were aware that the situation at the fronts was improving, and our freedom was drawing near. However, we still harbored many doubts. Who knew if the circumstances would take a turn for the worse? However, when we heard, almost for certain, that the Russians had arrived, we felt compelled to investigate further to confirm the news. We wanted to understand whether the Russian forces were strong enough for us to leave the bunker and breathe the fresh air outside freely. Our initial desire was to “seek revenge.” We completely disregarded the commandment, “You shall neither take revenge from nor bear a grudge...” [Leviticus 19:18]. We provided the Russians with a comprehensive list

[Page 435]

of the hostile gentiles who aided the Germans in the annihilation of the area's Jewish population, and the Russians punished them severely for their actions.

This served as a small retribution for the Jewish blood that had been shed like water and for those who were slaughtered in broad daylight for no reason.

I returned to Stremiltsh, the place where I had found a home, a wife, and children. In Stremiltsh, I also lost everything. Only my son Motali and I remained. We fled from the killing field –as far as possible.

The author of this article Mr. David Sitzer and his family

[Page 449]

The place called Stremiltsh [Stremil'che] was referred to as a town, perhaps thanks to the signs posted at its entrance and exit. However, it was actually a village, like many others. The designation of the place as a “town” may have stemmed from the 50 Jewish families who settled there before the First World War. At that time, the esteemed Rabbi Zusia Mazal ztz”l served as the rabbi of this community. There was also an ancient synagogue, which, according to tradition, was visited by the Baal Shem Tov for prayer. There were some respected individuals there such as Reb Velvish Lieberman, a wealthy merchant known for his exceptional hospitality, and Leibish Lifshitz, who helped Jews migrate from Russia to Austria during times of distress. Other notable figures included Hersch Stolyar, Ben Zion Heimlich, Asher Gruber, and others dedicated to charitable work and caring for their community. Whenever a new family moved to Stremiltsh, they welcomed them warmly. They viewed them not as competitors but as brothers and partners who would contribute to the growing number of Jewish families in the village.

In 1908, a local pioneer named Chaya Lieberman made Aliyah, becoming one of the first to help lay the foundation for the homeland, which later became the State of Israel. When the First World War broke out in 1914 and the Austrian army retreated from the town, the Jewish residents of Stremiltsh left town, fearing the Russians who were rushing in. The residents scattered to where the winds carried them. The town itself was destroyed. Initially, only seven families returned to Stremiltsh after the war to revive the Jewish presence and the Jewish community in town. They were the families of Ben Zion Heimlich, Moshe Kahane, Moti Apfelbaum, Leibish Lifshitz, Shmuel Friedman and Reuven Pardes, may their memory be blessed, and the family of David Sitzer, may he live long. These families received one Torah scroll back from Radekhov, and the second Torah scroll was found hidden beneath the burned synagogue. To ensure a minyan for the prayer, they would bring in a Jewish person from Berestechko or utilize any Jewish guest available. They initially prayed in the home of Leibish Lifshitz and later moved their services to the house of Ben Zion Heimlich. At the same time, they began to think about a permanent synagogue, an undertaking that would not be easy. However, the determination of Jewish residents who were committed to observing the customs of their ancestors could not be deterred. The foundation for the new synagogue was laid in 1925 in the presence of the rabbi of Stremiltsh who lived in Choliv [Vuzlove], and the rabbi and ritual slaughter of Shtervitz.

[Page 450]

When the four walls were completed, the roof was hurriedly covered in preparation for the Days of Awe. When the time for the Maariv prayer during the holiday arrived, Reb Ben Zion Heimlich passed in front of the Ark with his usual enthusiasm. A tremendous sense of joy enveloped the entire Jewish population, drawing even gentiles who came to witness the joyous occasion. I will never forget the elation that filled that prayer service. I particularly remember the heartfelt singing of the verses by Reb Shmuel Friedman, my father's z”l chanting of “Adon Olam,” and Moshe Kahane's recitation of the “Musaf” prayer.

With a sense of awe and trepidation, I reflect on those cherished days when our mothers recited the blessing over the candles and fathers chanted the “Kiddush” over the wine, to welcome a holiday or Shabbat. I also recall the flurry of preparations surrounding the Days of Awe, our mothers getting ready for Yom Kippur by preparing the memorial candles and reciting blessings over the heads of the children to protect them from harm. The joy of Simchat Torah, Purim and many other festive occasions also comes to mind.

Later, several more Jewish families returned to Stremiltsh. They included Israel Kahane, Shlomo Orenstein, Hersch Stolyar and Zusia Werbner. It is worth noting that all of these families were engaged in productive work: carpentry, tailoring, farming and even fishing. They brought teachers from Brody and Leshnev to teach the Jewish children Torah and mitzvot. The pulse of Jewish life was felt in every corner.

The youth was engaged in Zionism. Menachem Kahane made Aliyah in 1932. The youth purchased Zionist Shekels^[1], which allowed them to vote for delegates to the 18^th Zionist Congress. The election took place in Berestechko, with supporters voting for all Zionist parties.

Life continued along its usual path, and assuming we would persist that way seemed logical. However, fate had other plans. The Nazi beast–may its name be blotted out–set its sights on everything dear to us. With the assistance of the Polish and Ukrainian thugs, they wreaked havoc upon us. Only a few survived, thanks to a small number of Righteous Among the Nations who came to our aid in our time of distress.

Translator's footnote:

1. The Zionist Shekel was the Zionist movement's annual membership fee. Those who owned them and were over the age of 18 were allowed to participate in the election of delegates to the Zionist Congress. Return

[Page 455]

I left you in the year 1930, to immigrate to Eretz Israel, but I haven't forgotten you to this day, for this was the town where I was born and spent my childhood years. Indeed, I moved to nearby Berestechko when I was close to 11 years old and I walked between the two towns every day for my studies. However, I still remember you with your approximately 50 families from before the First World War.

In the year 1915, I was a boy of three when we went to Radekhov because of fearfulness of the war, and still today I hold in my heart memories of our journey by foot with all our possessions in hand. We spent about two years in Radekhov and then returned to Stremiltsh. We found several other families and together with the Pardes and Friedman families we spent about a year in an underground hiding place. Horrors of hunger and suffering during the First World War were etched in my memory. Then we learned that the war had ended. This was on Friday, the eve of Shabbat Nachamu [the Sabbath following Tisha B'Av] in the year 1918. We then decided to go out into the open. We decided to stay with Stotzky -- and there in the morning, the Russians began shooting. We all exited crawling, but mother couldn't do this because she was holding my eight-month-old brother – and she was killed. We were left as five orphans.

My town Stremiltsh – many sad memories remain with me to this day. The greatest sorrow is for the fate of the dear Jews and the families that were murdered at the hands of the Nazi enemy and the Ukrainians. There is neither comfort nor condolences.

With trembling and holiness, we the survivors of the town Stremiltsh, weep and recite kaddish for the memory of our parents, our brothers, our sisters, our children and all the martyrs of the town. These people I recall, and for them I weep, beloved and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not separated. They were martyrs from Stremiltsh, who gave their lives in sanctification of the Divine Name and were killed and slaughtered by the Nazis and their collaborators the Ukrainians, may their names be blotted out, whose fate was like that of the martyrs of all generations, and their graves are unknown.

May their holy and pure souls be magnified and sanctified.

[Page 458]

Gila Steiner née Kremnitzer z”l

She had strong moral integrity in both her inner and outer character. This trait stood out and became even more pronounced after she again became an orphan at the end of World War I with the passing of her father and stepmother. They died in the typhus epidemic that raged in the area. The family home was destroyed, and the burden of caring for herself as well as for her little sister fell on her soft shoulders. Her devotion to her sister, who, with her resourcefulness and the help of family members, was accepted into a boarding school in Rovne, Volhynia, was heartwarming.

In 1936 she and her husband were privileged to be able to immigrate from Austria to Israel, where they established a lovely home. They had two talented sons who were steadfastly devoted to their parents. She excelled in her diverse talents, her kindness, and her positive influence on those around her. She was greatly loved by her neighbors and was considered by them as one of the family. The eulogy from the neighbor's son, Mr. Aryeh Simis, which was received by the editorial committee [of this book], to attest to the greatness of her character made an indelible impression, but for technical reasons was not printed in this book.

In recent years, she suffered greatly from various afflictions, but knew how to bear the suffering and anguish with dignity. She passed away on the 23^rd of Cheshvan, 5733 (October 31,1972).

Her memory is held in our hearts with admiration.

  Radekhiv, Ukraine     Yizkor Book Project     JewishGen Home Page

Copyright © 1999-2025 by JewishGen, Inc.
Updated 7 Jul 2025 by LA