[Columns 97-98]

[Columns 99-100]

[Column 100]

“It's started,” muttered Mietek, taking me aside where no one could hear.

I was stunned and unable to utter a sound; I thought he was referring to a pogrom. It was only two years since our town had been pillaged by an angry mob, murdering and robbing with no one to stop them. It was the mayor himself who had organized the pogrom and the police protected the mob.

I had forgotten – or perhaps never even knew – that such a cruel thing as a pogrom ever existed. The word “war” didn't have a particularly threatening sound to me. The history books told of countless incidents of heroism in war that fired my imagination. We, the children of the ghettos, who knew only pogroms, thought that the meaning of the word “war” was that it gave one the possibility of defending one's property and honor and life with arms.

During the next two years I saw with my own eyes how the Germans murdered hundreds of thousands of prisoners, how they destroyed to their very foundations Russian and Ukrainian villages, without any opposition. And I saw that in the end when there was at last some resistance it sprang only from there being no alternative. The object was not to stay alive but to exact revenge. Everyone was dead – parents, brothers, sisters, relatives and acquaintances. Someone had to take revenge for their spilled blood.

But, as I said, all that happened too late.

My friend Mietek sensed that I had misunderstood him and went on to explain, “I heard that the Germans have invaded Poland and have begun to bomb her cities.”

Mietek worked for my father and that same day was sent together with me to a place several kilometers from the Jewish village to supervise the loading of several wagons of produce. The porters were Christians. Seven notorious brothers known by all the local Jews as “Balachowczes.” And they were, indeed, survivors of General Balachovich's old army who had wreaked so much killing and destruction on Jewish villages and people towards the end of the First World War. They also took an active part in the pogrom of 1937.

[Column 102]

“What shall we do,” I asked Mietek. “If the Balachowczes find out they will start up again and we'll be the first ones to fall into their hands!”

“The only thing we can do is hope that they don't find out,” answered Mietek. “In any case, we haven't got any option. Let's get back to work as if nothing's happened and at lunch time we'll rush home.”

But before half-an-hour had gone past there wasn't a man who hadn't heard the news. To our great surprise one of the brothers approached us and said, “Right now we are all in the same boat [in trouble]; we have to forget the past.”

Since I was no longer scared of attracting the attention of the Balachowczes I hurried to phone my father. His shaking voice betrayed his emotions. “Hurry up and finish the loading of the wagons,” he said, “and get back home.”

All the way back we were silent but I knew that Mietek's heart was also becoming increasingly filled with fears. When we got back to the town, the signs of apprehension and fear were clearly on the faces of the villagers. All of a sudden there was the sound of a loud explosion. It was the first of the bombs. One fell near the filling station and two others close to the local county office building.

Since the bombs had missed their targets, cries of joy came from the Polish residents. It was the first failure of the enemy.

In the town square crowds listened excitedly to the speech of the county governor stating firmly and with assurance that the wonderful Polish armed forces will quickly conquer Berlin and overwhelm the Nazi government.

The mobilization procedure gathered momentum. From all the surrounding villages Polish reserve forces were rushed by train westwards to the front, accompanied by the fire-brigade's brass band and the wailing of the mothers, wives and children.

The streets in the Jewish area emptied. They knew from experience that any drastic change in our lives brought with it chaos – and pogroms. So the men began to build shelters, discovering stunning and unexpected qualities of improvisation and the women clutched their children to their breasts.

No one ever dreamed of the magnitude of the Holocaust which was to come.

[Column 103]

It was on a Saturday night, June 21, 1941. We had taken our annual exams and were having great fun on the city streets. Perhaps this was for no other reason than the feeling that that night was the final night given to us to enjoy ourselves along with our friends, and the last opportunity for us to walk with an upright stature in that town, on the roads upon which we were born, raised, and educated, on the alleys in which we spent our evenings in the “movements” – in the houses in which the Zionist idea and feelings were implanted within us.

At dawn on Sunday, we woke up to the sound of powerful bombing. We did not know the reason. We noticed Minmichitus airplanes shooting at the streets of the town with their guns. After a short time, we found out that Nazi Germany had opened a sudden attack along the entire border with the Soviet Union. It is difficult to describe the panic that broke out in the town, especially among the Jews. We knew only a little about the nature of the Nazi regime, but that was sufficient to instill fear and terror among the entire Jewish population. The government representatives left the town after three days of tumult and confusion. Survivors and refugees from the defeated Red Army began to move eastward toward the border.

The city of Kowel fell to the Germans without a battle on Friday night, the 28^th of June, after the retreat of the Soviet forces. We had no government for several days. During those days, all sorts of suspicious elements from the surrounding villages began to appear in our town. They took the “government” into their own hands, however, we regarded them as merely bands of pillagers, robbers, and murderers who were trying to assuage their hatred of the Soviet regime. A local council of Ukrainians, and a Ukrainian militia were set up in the town.

During that week, freedom was given to the village population of the area. At first, they took out their fury on the large government storehouses, and then they moved their field of activity to the Jewish houses. The wanton acts continued for a week. They pillaged and destroyed houses. People were beaten and women were raped by the murderers. One lad, Wlinicz from Lesser Glusha, and a women named Puah from Zastawia were killed by them.

When the Germans delayed in arriving, representatives of the committee traveled to Kowel and invited them to accept the authority. Their time of arrival was set for Sunday, July 6, 1941^[1]. Then the pillage stopped, and edicts were issued

[Column 104]

regarding the welcoming ceremony that was to take place. A place was also given to the representatives of the Jews to welcome the murderers with “bread and salt.”

At around 3:00 p.m. on Sunday, military vehicles appeared from the direction of Kowel, and immediately took over the entranceways to the town. A mass gathering took place in the middle of the square, at which the Germans gave over the authority in the city to the hands of the Ukrainian committee. Three Communists were taken to be killed in the middle of the square at the conclusion of the gathering. The Germans left the place, taking along one Jewish lad who in his time had been a member of Komsomol.

A Jewish committee was chosen, whose task was to maintain connection with the Christian committee and to fulfil its demands. Shmuel Werblia was chosen as its chairman. We went out to various jobs every morning.

On 7 Av 5701 [1941], the punishment brigade of the S.D. German Army arrived after two days of attacks and pillage. They summoned approximately thirty people, according to a list. Some of them were freed (by ransom money – in accordance with unconfirmed rumors). The rest – eight Jews – were taken out to be killed on Saturday morning, 9 Av. Their names are memorialized in the book.

The punishment brigade continued on its journey to Pinsk. Along they way, they destroyed many Jewish settlements, including: Lyubashov, Motla, Pneibna, Morochono, and others. After this, life in Kamin returned to its normal routine, which included: forced labor, payments of contributions, etc. The Jews slowly became accustomed to the life, with the hope that this would “pass.” However, the Ukrainian committee were not satisfied with this. They sent an invitation to an additional punishment brigade, which appeared in town on Friday 29 Av, 5701 [1941]. They closed the entranceways to the town. Overtaken by fright, and already having experience (i.e. with punishment brigades), the Jews began to escape and to hide, some in the town and some outside of it. Men between the ages of 17 to 70 who were found were arrested and detained in the store of Y. Perchik. That day, one hundred people were arrested. Once again, some were freed through payment of bribes, and the rest, more than seventy, were taken out to be killed on Saturday evening, 30 Av, 5701. They were burned in a communal grave outside the town. They announced officially that the people were taken to work in the east. However, we know the truth from witnesses. It is difficult to remember the names of all the victims. Many were young.

It is fitting to note Shmuel Werblia specially. He was given the opportunity to save himself. However, he decided to go along with the prisoners, and met his death with them. He displayed personal responsibility and morality

[Column 105]

in his job and was like a pillar of light in the night darkness that fell upon us. The local committee festively proclaimed that from this time, no evil would befall us if we were obedient Jews. The struggle for life forced us to focus only upon the present, in moment-to-moment existence. There were optimists who attempted to disseminate their faith that we would be able to maintain our situation and be saved through fulfilling the commands of the authorities. For some reason, we all believed that, especially during that period, before we figured out the essence of the Nazi rule.

A district German governor (Gebeitskommissar) appeared on the intermediate days of Sukkot 5702 [1943] along with representatives of the civilian German government. They took the rule of three districts into their hands: Kamin Kashirsky, Lyubashov, and Morochono. Slowly, a German police unit (Gendarmeria) was also assembled. A Judenrat, that is the representation of the Jewish community to the German governor, was set up in accordance with the directive of the Gebeitskommissar. Its members were David Ber as chairman; Shamai Mistel (vice), Yehuda Malik, Yaakov Yitzchak Klorman, Aryeh Dekelbaum, Ben-Zion Karsch, Yaakov Kasher, and several other representatives. The tasks of the Judenrat included carrying out all edicts of the German and Ukrainian government such as: sending Jews to all types of work, paying contributions, and overseeing the order amongst the Jewish population. The Judenrat set up an office with a complete apparatus that included a Jewish police force, the members of which wore a special insignia on their sleeves. Much is spoken and written about the job that the Jewish police force filled in the ghettoes, so we will not dwell on this here.

With the beginning of the winter of the year 5702, Artels began to be formed at the initiative of the Judenrat. These were work units, the work of which was done in accordance with orders from the government, as well as a portion for the citizens. The workers received 40% of the profits, and the rest was transferred to the government coffers. The benefit of the Artels was that they provided the opportunity for contact between Jews and the neighboring villagers. This also gave life to barter (merchandise for food) with the farmers. Jews without a trade were sent to physical labor such as: loading and unloading railway cars, cleaning the streets, maintaining the services of the town hall, and, lastly, building bunks opposite the Jewish cemetery. The bunks were designated for prisoners.

The town council was in the hands of the local committee headed then by Kulia Lichoczewski, may his name be blotted out, who became known as an enemy of the Jews.

[Column 106]

One day followed the other, and rumors followed rumors. It was said that the Germans had conquered Moscow. It was said that the Russians overcame them. There was no actual news about what was happening at the front. The Germans only publicized news in a very incidental manner.

In the middle of the night, an announcement was issued to collect all the furs and felt boots that the Jews possessed, to give to the German army on the front. This was carried out without any unusual incidents.

At the end of the winter (seemingly in the month of Adar), the Judenrat was asked to provide 150 men for work near the front. Some of the Jews were supposed to be gathered from the villages of the area. They were gathered together into one building as they waited to be transferred to the front. However, the decree was annulled literally at the last moment, and the men were freed (of course, this cost a great deal of money). It then became clear that money (in dollars and gold) could annul many decrees that were in the hands of the Gebeitskommissar.

Approximately twenty-five men from the village of Lesser Glusza had been designated for that contingent. However, nobody presented themselves. The Gendarmerie then traveled to the village, and after pillaging for an entire day, they gathered about twenty-five women and children as hostages. The next day, they took them out to be killed in a mass grave. This was the first incident of mass murder of women and children in broad daylight. The cruelty of the matter! The victims were ordered to dig their graves with their own hands, and to descend into the grave on their own volition!

After this terrible murder, people began to “sober up.” They began to understand that the Germans might do anything, and that the rumors of mass murder were based on reality. From their side, the Germans announced that the village would be punished for failure to carry out the edicts, and if we were known as law-abiding people, such things would not happen to us.

Winter passed, and spring appeared in its full glory. The trees and flowers of the field blossomed, all as usual. With respect to us however, this was the first spring under German rule. This was the first Passover, the festival of our freedom, and we were so downtrodden, more oppressed than in the days of Pharaoh. With spring, various pieces of news began to arrive, one more dismal than the other, regarding the situation of Jews in various cities. A ghetto had been established in Kowel. They murdered all the Jews in another city, etc. It became clear to us that not only had the Germans failed to conquer Moscow, but they had also lost territory. This was a sign that the war would continue for a long time. Who knows how many of us would merit to see the moment of victory, something we could not even imagine at all.

In the interim, the situation constantly worsened. The bread rations continually shrank. News of an impending aktion began to hover in the air.

[Column 107]

Tension reached its pinnacle. A directive to establish the ghetto was issued at the end of May 1942. It encompassed a small portion of the town, in which all the Jews of Kamin and other villages of the area were to be concentrated. An additional ghetto was set up in Lyubashov. The external form was a gate of wooden planks two meters high, with a half meter of barbed wire on top. The pinnacle of torment was an edict to that the Jews themselves had to provide the building materials and workers to build the ghetto walls.

On June 1, an edict as issued to concentrate all Jews into the ghetto. Indeed, we were allowed to bring all our moveable belongings to the ghetto, but the living place designated for each family (approximately 10-12 people per room) was so cramped, that we were forced to forego them and leave them ownerless in the houses. Approximately 2,500-3,000 Jews were imprisoned in the ghetto, including Jews from the villages. This caused filth, and the danger of an epidemic in the ghetto existed. The entrance and exit from the ghetto was through a single gate that was constantly guarded by a Ukrainian policeman. In the morning, people would go out to work. They would be arranged in threes. They would return to the ghetto in the evening for a sleepless night of horrors, for at times, when the rulers were merry with wine, thy would appear in the ghetto and rampage around a bit. In most cases, the situation ended with several victims. The men would sleep outside the ghetto or hide in bunkers most nights.

Exiting the ghetto for work made contact with the population around the workplaces possible. Thus, the barter business continued. This was the only source for providing food for the ghetto in addition to the miniscule daily ration of one hundred grams of bread.

Along the way back to the ghetto, there were attempts to utilize all types of means and tricks to steal that which we had obtained during the day for the starving women and children who were waiting expectantly. In general, we succeeded in passing through the gate in peace by paying a bribe to the guard. However, there were cases where the matter was fraught with literal mortal danger. The necessity of life overcame all dangers, and the situation continued on through the time.

Then, rumor arrived about slaughter and murder, about the total murder in the ghettos. The events took place literally “under our noses.” Even Kowel, the “fortress” city, bent down and fell. Approximately 10,000 Jews were murdered in three days and buried in a mass grave close to the city.

We knew and felt that fate would not pass over us, and that the day of disaster was drawing near. However, we are a nation of believers… We believed that a miracle would take place because we wanted it to take place. We tried to convince ourselves that we were “productive people” who were required for the war effort – therefore no evil would befall us, for we were “good Jews,” as per the previous words

[Column 108]

of the Germans. On the other hand, each of us sought a place of refuge to which we could escape with our families in the time of tribulation. Jews began to utilize their full talent and effort to build hidden bunkers. For some reason, we thought that these bunkers would enable us to survive and to continue to exist even through the harshness of the decree. On the other hand, another group assured themselves of a place of refuge with gentiles in exchange for all their money and property, which they gave over to them while they were still alive. Afterward, when the time of difficulty came, it became clear that the matter was misleading, for after receiving their money, the gentiles wanted to free themselves from the owners. On more than one instance, they turned them over to the Germans.

At the beginning of the month of August 1942, rumors spread about an aktion in the ghetto. Its extent was perhaps known only to the members of the Judenrat. Rumors told of lists that were prepared in secrecy, which decreed “who for life and who for death.” On the other hand, the Judenrat denied these rumors from time to time.

On Sunday, 25 Av 5702 [1942], tension was felt in the ghetto. Death was hovering in the air… Rumor followed rumor. The people in the ghetto were like mice in a trap. It was known that something was about to happen, and the community took leave of their senses. People packed their belongings, and every took their valuables with them – legacies from many generations. They did not go out to work. The days passed with this tension.

The night, who can describe? The darkness between the walls of the prison, surrounded by enemies who wanted to take your life. It became clear at dawn that the ghetto was surrounded by armed Germans and Ukrainians. You felt that your end was approaching, and you had no power to do anything. Having no recourse, you stand with a bent stature opposite the enemy and death.

At 8:00, a proclamation was made for all the residents to leave the ghetto and transfer to a place outside the town, to the bunkers that we had built with our own hands the previous winter.

The masses heeded this. A march toward the unknown began – toward death. The masses marched on their final journey, a “death march,” along the entire Kowel Road until the Jewish cemetery (where the bunkers were).

A section of this journey stands before my eyes even today. Wide-branched families , rich and poor, scholars and ordinary folk all walked together, with a knapsack in the hand or over the shoulder. They moved at a slow pace with the stream to the unknown… The caravan ended with wagons laden with the elderly and the sick, who were unable to walk in the rows. The Germans and Ukrainians guarded both edges so that nobody would leave the rows. In addition, there were the Christian children of the road,

[Column 109]

and our Ukrainian and Polish neighbors whose feelings of satisfaction and enjoyment literally moved them out of their minds… The Jewish property that remained in the ghetto had already enchanted them. Here was such a chance!

After a walk of an hour and a half, the journey reached its end – at the yard of the bunkers opposite the cemetery. The yard was surrounded by a high wooden fence. Armed guards stood atop the fence. While we were in the yard, we noticed that opposite the route, in the area of the Jewish cemetery, they were digging a gigantic pit. Explanations were unnecessary… The crowd was scurrying about the area without known from where salvation might come, or what their fate would be.

The grave of the martyrs

Behold, before me is the image of Reb Yaakov Yitzchak Klorman, who remained with four of his grandchildren. He said, “Now I see that the sons of Lemel were correct.” I will never forget these words. I always wanted to give them over to Lemel, but he too fell in the defense of the Negev.

[Column 110]

Approximately six hundred people of the 3,000 succeeded in obtaining the Schein, and were imprisoned in the bunkers. The rest remained in the yard. Through the cracks in the walls of the bunkers, we learned that they too were imprisoned in the bunker on the other side of the yard. We did not hear the shooting or the screams because of the weeping and wailing. But when they took us out after about four hours, we found the yard empty and abandoned, with only piles of clothing heaped up in the yard.

After a brief time, about fifty people whom the Gebeitskommissar himself had taken out of the rows of death were transferred to us. We heard about the great tragedy from their mouths:

The people who remained in the field were crowded into the bunkers. From there, they were taken out in groups of fifty. They were beaten, and were ordered to strip naked along the way. Naked as on the day of their birth, beaten cruelly, they were forced to walk between the two rows of guards. They walked a distance of about two hundred meters until the cemetery – to the large grave that had been prepared while it was yet day. There, they were killed or thrown into the grave alive – all of them together into the mass grave. Jews of the villages who had been brought from the villages to bury them were also buried there.

We were permitted to return to the ghetto after remaining in the yard for two days. The ghetto had been shrunk by a third. We returned bereaved and orphaned, broken and shaken up, naked, lacking everything. In the ghetto, we found several families who had succeeded in hiding during the time of the aktion. These were the lone families that remained intact, and they contained the only children left to us.

We had to go on living – and the command of the Gebeitskommissar brought us out to work the next day. The wounds were fresh. The murderers were before our eyes, and we had to remain silent. Added to our tasks was the job of clearing out the other side of the ghetto and the sale of property to the Christian population.

The masses camped at the gates of the ghetto and grabbed everything that came into their hands, starting from clothing and food, and ending in furniture. Brazenly and murderously, they attacked every Jewish salesperson who was working at selling property. There is no wonder that they had collaborated with the Germans the entire time, for they did not want any survivor to remain as a witness to these deeds.

Then, news began to arrive about the final liquidation of all the ghettos in western Ukraine. We felt that the ring of death was moving away from our area. We knew that our days were numbered, but we did not see any reality right in front of us. Once again, there was a spark of hope.

At night, when the work was finished, everyone entered the ghetto and told each other about the news that they had gathered during the day in the

[Column 111]

workplaces. Related to this, they decided whether the “end” was approaching or was still being pushed off. Groups went out and hung around. There were nights of alarm, when we slept in our clothing and stood guard around the gates of the ghetto. For some reason, there was not one person who took the initiative into his hands and attempted to organize any type of activity.

Then, news spread about the presence of partisans in the forests. Nobody saw them, but it was a fact. A battle between them and the Germans had already taken place. Suddenly, it became clear that there was a possibility of going to partisans. Weapons were required for that, and it was difficult to obtain weapons for several reasons.

1. The seller would demand a high price in gold and dollars. Only few had such.
2. It was forbidden to conduct business transactions regarding the purchase of weapons with anyone, lest the matter become known to the Germans who would then accelerate the liquidation of the ghetto.

Autumn approached. It was as if the warm sun was bestowing its final favor to the people of the ghetto. The approach of winter made the preparations for escape to the forests more difficult. On November 1 (this was a Sunday), a rumor quickly spread that the ghetto was to be liquidated completely the following day. The sign for this was that Gestapo men from outside had arrived.

In the ghetto – panic and confusion. Everyone went around all dressed, prepared to escape from the ghetto. The nervousness increased from moment to moment. Then the “scouts” announced: The Gebeitskommissar has arrived in the ghetto. Within a moment, everyone had disappeared from the yards and the houses, and followed his tracks with worry. They intended to cross over the house of Moshi Ber, the Judenrat chairman.

He left the ghetto after a brief time. Then, the chairman of the Judenrat announced that he had received a promise from the Gebeitskommissar that no harm will befall us. He was indeed sincere in his announcement However, people dispersed to their houses. Our own guards were set up on the walls of the ghetto for greater security.

[Column 112]

At dawn, we all went out to work as usual, but the nervousness and tension from the previous night had not dissipated. The topic of conversation that day was: Did the visit to the ghetto yesterday by the Gebeitskommissar signify good or bad?

At 10:00-11:00 a.m. news spread that the Gebeitskommissar was visiting the artels [work groups]. We continued working with great fear and stoicism. He entered, and surveyed the workshop with his murderous gaze. He asked for the names of two expert tradespeople and wrote them down. He did this in every workshop. We understood immediately that this meant the end of the existence of the ghetto, and only a few would remain alive for a period of time, so they can be utilized for the benefit of the German Reich.

Panic immediately broke out. We did not know what to do. Even though the ultimate end of the ghetto was always clear to us, when it came to pass, we were stunned, especially us youths who did not have any organized, clear recourse. It was every person for themselves.

I ran to the ghetto, put on clothing appropriate for a long journey (everyone had winter clothing ready in the house), and returned to my workplace to hear what was happening. The ghetto quickly emptied. Everyone tried to flee for their lives. In the meantime, police were stationed at the entrances to the town, and they opened fire upon any Jew who tried to escape. We found out that tens of people had already been killed on the roads.

I decided to wait until nightfall, and try to escape from the town at night. 5:00 was approaching, the time of return to the ghetto. This time, they would certainly be particular that nobody remained outside the ghetto. I sought a hiding place for myself until night. Without another choice, I chose the chimney of the artel in which I worked as a hiding place (it was in the home of Y. Flom and Charnetz). I took several morsels of bread, a jug of water, and a knife, and I entered my hiding place, closing the door behind me. At nightfall, there were many shots, and I realized that there was no possibility of leaving the town at that point. I decided to remain in my hiding place. In the morning, stringent searches began through the houses outside the ghetto. From my hiding place, I heard how they uncovered the family of Gershon Pluchok and several other Jews in the cellar of the same house.

All that day, and in the days following, shots and echoes of the shouts of the policemen could be heard. Without a choice, I continued to sit in the chimney of the house. At night, I would go down to the houses, find some provisions of food and drink, and return to my hiding place. This is how one week passed. On the seventh day toward evening, my hiding place was uncovered by the gentile “Kadira” who had come to search for movable objects. He stumbled into me. He explained to me that not a single Jew remained in the ghetto. All had been murdered without mercy. He advised me to escape for my life in the direction of the villages of Nevir and Vetly.

At nightfall, I left my hiding place and set out toward those villages…

Translator's Footnotes

1. The original text says 1914, which is obviously an error. Return
2. The original text says 5712, which is obviously an error. Return

[Column 113]

At times, a voice rings out in our house in the silence of the night, so sweet, recognizable, and precious. The room fills with wonderful light, and the luminous melody touches the heart. Then I know that it is the voice of my father studying a page of Gemara to the light of a candle during the latter part of the night. This voice ascends to me from the depths of my dark childhood and resonates in my soul with thousands of chords. The voice of my tortured, murdered father, whose body is rotting in some field in Khoteshiv in the piles of grain… [Ed. Note: Khoteshiv is a village near Kamin Kashirsky.]

I will recall this village. I will remember it until my last day, with its golden fields, green gardens, and flocks of sheep and cattle returning from pasture every evening, raising clouds of dust. I will recall the silvery pond in the dark forest. A large cross stands at the entrance to the village of Khoteshiv. This was the nightmare of my childhood, for I was degraded and hated. A heavy guilt oppressed me. They claimed that I had tortured and crucified “the lord.” However, before I understood their meaning, and it is possible that they too did not understand it, I recall their small, white houses with straw roofs, and their sated, red-necked, bloodthirsty inhabitants, permeated with dark hatred from the netherworld. I recall the silent, white snow, terrible storms, aromatic spring nights, and very golden summer fields.

This was the village in which I was born, in which my father, my brother, and other generations of good, upright Jews were born. They lived by the toil of their hands, and they never harmed anybody. This was a village blessed by G-d. Its soil gave its produce with wondrous generosity, and nature did not hold back anything. It could not bear its quorum of Jewish families. One day, they rose against them and murdered them. The hand that was raised did not tremble and did not recoil. The hand of neighbors, “the hand of friends and those who loved you” already for some time was stretched out to strangle, murder, and annihilate.

When the Russians conquered the district in 1939, the farmers of Khoteshiv were extremely disappointed. They waited impatiently for a change of regime. They talked about the deeds of the Germans against the Jews with reverence and awe. They repeated numerous times the story about the Germans selling three Jews in a small pigsty… When the Germans entered in 1941, there was no end to their happiness. The day they awaited had arrived…

[Column 114]

There were approximately ten Jewish families in Khoteshiv, the large village. Oh! I remember them well. There was the widow Ita Starir, who struggled with the fate of her widowhood all her days. She raised children, worked in the field and in the house, and maintained a fine Jewish home with the toil of her hands and her great diligence. There was Yona, who peddled haberdashery in the villages. His eyes were like those of Bontshe Shveig^[2], who was perhaps never sated with bread throughout his entire life. However, one never heard a complaint from his mouth toward the Above [i.e., G-d] or the below [i.e., people]. Susia, his wise, valorous wife, was murdered with an ax by the farmer with whom she lived, 24 hours before the end of the war, along with her young son and another Jewish child whom she had taken into her home. The murderer dug a pit in his yard and hid their bodies. There was the large, honorable family of Zlata, and others. All stand before my eyes, even though it is possible that I no longer recall their names, for I was a young girl when they were murdered. They were good, peaceful people, who were tortured and murdered without any wrongdoing on their part.

When the Germans entered, we were forced to wear the white armband with a blue star of David. The band evokes within us dark memories and longings, agony in the heart, but no shame. It is possible that the murderers realized this, so they ordered us to change it to two yellow patches, one in front and one behind, so that we would be marked for derision in the eyes of everyone. Indeed, this was a source of enjoyment for our neighbors.

Before the command to murder arrived, they stole everything from our house. They even uprooted the floors, lest something be hidden there. For months, they prepared death blows and they tortured women, men and helpless elderly people to the point of death (the youth were at the front). On Sundays and holidays, as well as during any free time, Ukrainian police officers appeared in order to beat Jews and enjoy the scene. They delivered blows with their boots, the butts of their guns, batons, and anything that came into their hands. There was no object that was not fitting for this purpose in their eyes.

From time to time, they ordered us to clean the filth in the police station, remove the trash, cut trees, clean the latrines, and perform all types of degrading tasks. When the work was finished, they treated us to a full complement of beatings. They beat us and tortured us to the point of death. However, I do not understand why nobody died at that time. The last case of death was

[Column 115]

of a young girl from tuberculosis at the time of the entry of the Germans. She was not eulogized. For those who remained alive, a natural death was but a dream.

For some reason, the Germans hesitated in issuing their final order. The impatient Ukrainians literally went crazy. I remember a school friend of my father who once burst forth in fury: “When will the desired order finally come? I will strangle you with my own hands. It is not worthwhile to waste a bullet.” With great enjoyment, they hastened to inform us of any slaughter of Jews, and to thereby remind us that our end was also approaching.

During that accursed summer, they slaughtered the Jews of Kamin Kashirsky, Ratno, and Kowel (Kovel) . No survivor remained from all our relatives and friends. Our lives were supported on nothing. We were not human beings, but rather like sheep brought to slaughter, without recourse, and knowing their fate. We no longer had a road or a path. We slunk through hidden paths among the fields and gardens like pursued animals surrounded by a sea of blood. The eyes of the murderers sparkled with insatiable desire for murder…

Then the command came. All the Jews were ordered to present themselves at the police station. However, that night, we secretly snuck away to the forests. Nobody noticed. The forest was dark, strange, and threatening. We hid there until the end of the summer. We obtained our food from the fields at the edges [of the forest] that were once ours. Every night, we walked further and went deeper. During the day, we had to lie down in a concealed fashion, for there was no hiding place from the watchful eyes of the Ukrainians. Even the smallest of his children and his dog were liable to disclose us.

However, winter was approaching. The trees began to shed their leaves, and the forest became barer. The produce of the fields had been gathered into the houses and storehouses. Hungry and naked, we returned to the place that was once our home. In the meantime, they had murdered the elderly and all those who had not succeeded in escaping, and buried them together in a pit that they had dug in the field. My grandfather Tzvi Bukler was among them. We only found the bare walls in the house, with angry squatters who were not even willing to allot a corner for us to rest our aching heads. The house in which I was born was dark and strange. After we remained there for a month, they decided to liquidate us in a final fashion.

When we were again commanded to gather in the police station, we knew that this was the end. Every person and family escaped that night to wherever their feet would take them, and all who remained were imprisoned, starved, tortured, and murdered. There was a charming girl in the village named Michla. She literally attempted to escape from the pit, but her gentile neighbor was in charge of the murder, and he made her go back using his axe. “Here is your place, accursed Zhidova!” he screamed with murderous wrath. There was no possibility of escaping from death. Our murderers were not Germans, but rather Ukrainians under the influence of their masters. There was no escape from them. They knew each one of us very well. We were few and they were many, and they knew the place of each one. They even removed those in hiding from their hiding places and dragged them to death.

We escaped from the house on the night before the day of killing. We were five people:

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my parents, my brother Moshe, I, and my cousin who had escaped from the slaughter in Ratno, where his parents had been murdered. We went up to the attic of a barn and lay down there. The owner of the barn did not know of this. There is no question that he would have been prepared to turn us in or murder us with his own hands. It was as if time stood still. It was dark and damp. The cold was biting because of our nakedness (our clothes were with them) and the hunger chewed at us. The fear of death hovered over us day and night. It was forbidden to speak, cough, sneeze, or even breathe, lest someone passing by or entering the barn hear. We knew days of hunger and despair. We quickly forgot the light of day in the dark attic, and the days in the forest seemed in our eyes like far-off days of brightness. The dark, stormy night was our comforting friend, for then we obtained bread. We warmed it next to our broken heart, and thus did we eat in the darkness. The snow provided a serving of water. In the meantime, the cold became more severe. Our hands and feet froze. We bore our pains in silence lest those that were ambushing our lives hear from the other side. We placed our aching feet on the snow to assuage the burning pain that we bore without a sound.

The snow covered everything in existence. Again, we could not come or go out of fear of those who might expose us. Then we knew hunger, destruction, and despair. When the redemptive stormy nights came and we went out to search for a morsel of bread, the doors of our closest friends were covered and locked in our faces. There were very few who would give the merciful bread. I should recall in a positive fashion Miria Lash, a good-hearted elderly woman, who would knock her hands and wail bitterly whenever she would see us children, “Master of the world, what do they want from you!”

They sat in heated houses, happy, sated with oppression, theft, and murder. They laughed at us and thought about the time of our end.

The rest of the Jews of the area were murdered throughout that entire time. Most were captured, and the minority turned themselves in when they saw no reason to continue a life of torment. No opening for salvation could be seen on the horizon, and there was no hope of surviving for several more days, or in the best-case scenario – for several weeks.

That frightful winter dragged on and on. Wandering from one bare attic to a worse one took place literally under the noses of the murderers who were ambushing everywhere. There were times when we had to move two places in a single night. My father was a native of the village, and he knew everyone well. There were times when he spoke to someone who agreed that we could remain for a few days in the attic, but when we reached there, the door was locked, and we were forced again to trample through the snow with our aching feet and to run with our last breath in order to find a shelter before the arrival of our greatest enemy – the light of day. The day and the light were not for us, but for them, until the end – only for them! If snow fell, how good it would be. However, if it was freezing and quiet, how great was the work in covering our tracks, when every moment was fraught with the danger of death and destruction. Quickly

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we learned how to climb up straight walls and find any hidden hole in a roof, enter the attic through it, and leave it without anyone noticing. When there was no hole or crack, my father would remove a small bale of hay from the roof and put it back after entering or exiting, to cover the hole that it left.

That winter, I saw our house on the opposite side of the main street for the last time on a night with a white moon. The frost was biting under my feet. The night was clear, cold and bearing death. I searched for my mother who went to search for a morsel of bread – and she did not return. I sought my death, for it would be sufficient for one door to open and one person to see me for my end to come. Death, death, every yard and house whispered to me. The street that I recognized from the day of my birth was so long and bright. I heard doors forcefully opened, but nobody came out. I retreated and continued walking without looking behind me. Then I saw the house. It stood cold. Its large windows that once lit up the entire street were black, and it seemed that I heard the whisper of ghosts from them. I saw the houses of Jews on that street – abandoned, with dark windows. It seemed that the heads of the murdered residents were pilloried there. My heart was palpitating strongly, and my mind was lost in convulsions. On that clear night of teeth-clenching cold, I ran through the main street of Khoteshiv. Overtaken by madness, I ran to meet death. However, by a miracle I was not caught, and I found my mother with Miria Lash. She took me back to the dark attic.

One night, my father spoke with a farmer who was known as a supporter of the partisans. He permitted us to hide in the attic of his barn. It was a dark night. We walked all night, with the snow impeding us. When we finally arrived, the door was not locked. We went up, and lay down on the round rods. Quickly, dawn broke through the cracks. Even though the cold and hunger afflicted us, we were happy that we found a hiding place.

On the long, boring winter nights, the wind would whistle and howl through the cracks, which were grey and dark. Then they would light up again, and we knew: the day was not for us.

The farmer gave the cattle and sheep water and fodder three times a day. We heard him working in his farm, humming a joyous melody, and chatting lightly with his neighbors, as they tallied the number of Jews who were murdered, and those who were yet to be murdered.

The widow Ita, her daughter and three grandchildren were still in some booth on the edges of the forest. But the farmer to whom she had given over all her property went out to murder them. He brought them to their native village and murdered them – five souls in the bright light of the day, under the warm sun. He murdered the children, their mother, and her. They had a young daughter, born for no reason in the midst of the war. She was pleasant, and would chatter in a baby-like fashion, with nobody paying attention to her. They shot at her – and she

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broke out in laughter. The anger of the murderers burned, and they continued to shoot at her. The more they continued to shoot, the more she laughed, until her pure soul departed. Her blood flowed into the white snow, which absorbed it. Infants and babies were wallowing, with their heads cut off, and the shock of death in their eyes. Dismembered corpses and crushed limbs were scatted in the field, darkening the white of the snow.

The snow slowly melted and darkened. The world was covered with a great deal of water, and the good, warm sun peered out appraisingly over the world. It melted the holy blood. The frozen corpses began to rot and disintegrate.

When the snow melted, we were forced to leave our hiding place. The farmer refused to keep us any longer, claiming that our presence had become known. On cold nights, we trampled in the mud of melting snow, almost up to the neck, especially for us children. We reached a village, but there too we could not find a place of refuge. My father, who was known in the area, and who had many friends, could not even find a place for a single day. Our way of doing things was to go up alone to an attic without asking the owners. Death almost overtook us. The owners of the dwellings and the barns were surprised when they suddenly noticed us. Their surprise quickly turned to anger and fury, and then we only succeeded through many pleas to remain until night.

The sources of food disappeared. There was no possibility of going to the forest. The trees were still bare, and it was exposed. Aside from that, the danger was great. Many gangs wandered through it with one goal: the murder of Jews. Even the fields were bare. We had to wait about a month until the stalks of grain grew, and it would be possible to hide in them, but there was no place on earth where we could remain for a month. Death was already within us. When we found a person who agreed that we could remain with him for a few days, his neighbors exposed us and immediately informed him of this. We had to escape that same night, but we did not know where to go. We decided to return to our village, which was the worst of the villages of the neighborhood. This was a certain death, but I do not know why this was hidden from our eyes. Remaining in the place to which we had wandered was also a certain death, and this we saw literally.

I recall a dark night. A light, spring rain fell. I do not know what happened to me, but I suddenly refused to go. In those days, one could not force a person to take a step, even a child, for death was lurking in every place. My mother decided to remain with me.

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They left us with a heavy heart, knowing almost certainly that they would not find us alive again. With great mercy, they left us the knapsack with a morsel of bread, lest we die hungry. They went almost without bidding farewell. However, at that moment, our hearts leapt. We wanted to call after them, perhaps saying one more word to them. But they were no longer there, as if the dark, eternal night swallowed them up. They promised to return in a few days if we were still alive, but this was their final journey. They did not succeed in reaching any place that night due to the large quantity of water and mud. In the morning, the shepherds found them in the forest and chased after them. They dispersed, each escaping in their own direction. My father first reached a man with whom we had remained for some time during the winter. He was a supporter of Socialism. The farmer did not disclose his intention. He waited until my brother and cousin also came, and then brought them to the police. They were tortured with harsh tortures, for the police believed that my father had hidden a treasure in the ground.

My father stood there in the bare field. He was pale. His hairlocks had whitened within the course of a few days, and his eyes were sad. My father, a refined soul who never harmed a living being, stood opposite the satiated uncircumcised man, a strong man permeated with bloodthirstiness. There, my father witnessed the death of his son and nephew through great torture. There, he was tortured until his soul departed. He was then tossed into the wet clods. They died hungry. Their crushed limbs were left on the field. I will never know the place of their burial, but the voice of my father will always accompany me, shouting – from the depths I call out to G-d^[3].

O, Khoteshiv, the village of my birth. You are accursed until the end of all generations. Your soil and its crops are accursed, as are your children born upon it and fed by the blood of my father and brother. An eternal curse upon you!

We awaited their return during the nights. We were alert to everything that took place, but they did not return. We heard about them from the mouths of the anointed ones on the other side of the wall. They told of the deed with great emotion and joy: “Another three are finished off, and still others will be. The Germans are valiant. They run the world with wisdom. How good and wonderful is a world without Jews. You travel to the city, go the market, and there are no Jews. They have been annihilated from the face of the earth, and are no more.”

After the death of my father and the boys, we had no more chance of surviving. We did not know the area. We had nobody to turn to… There was a pile of hay in the bog. We dug into it and sat down, with farmers around us. These were moonlit nights, and we could not go out to seek bread – so we starved. Our feet were swollen, and our stomachs distended. However, we were indifferent. We were no longer afraid when someone met us on our journey. Our deaths were certain. We advanced to the forests and the village of Nevir. There, there were

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a few Jews and partisans. We could not advance very far with our swollen feet, and we could not always find shelter for the upcoming day. Then, we were forced to go into some attic, according to our old method. Once, the clucking of a chicken turned us in. The farmer came, red and furious at us that we were so brazen as to enter his precincts without asking him. He chased us away in the light of the day. How strange was the light, and how clear was the day after so much darkness. It was the day of our death, we thought, for at that time, Jews only saw light when they were walking to death.

We left the pen, and immediately the news spread throughout the village. From old to young, they ran after us pointing: Zhidovka. To them, we were a wonder that they could not believe with their eyes. They looked at us like rare, valuable animals. Thus did they follow after us, as if after a funeral procession, until the evening. However, miraculously, they did not turn us in or kill us. Our route was long and tiring. Our aching feet did not listen to us, but as we drew closer to the place of the partisans, the farmers became more polite, and the bloodthirstiness in their eyes diminished. They showed us the routes, and even gave us a morsel of bread. That summer, we reached the forests of the partisans, and then we saw a rider. Indeed, they were finally coming to take our lives… But he only showed us the way.

That day, we saw live Jews. We did not imagine that there was any Jew still alive. It was a wonder in our eyes, brands plucked from the fire, one from a village and two from a city. Broken and forlorn, they gathered here in the area of Nevir.

We remained in the village of Nevir that entire summer and half of the following winter. My mother sewed, so we had a morsel of bread. Numerous Jews died and froze in the dense forests of Nevir. They sat under the trees and bushes. They lay down, and some even were standing frozen until the arrival of the spring and the summer. The corpses rotted and disintegrated, and worms swarmed within them.

The front approached our area at the end of the winter. The Germans and Russians interchanged positions several times. Areas transferred from hand to hand. The partisans went to greet the front. We were a large mixture of broken people. As we approached the front, the bombardment increased. The firing continued day and night, and many who survived the Nazi hell now met their deaths from the bombing. Others died of typhus.

The army that was sent to the front in Kowel (Kovel) , and stationed in the small, destroyed town of Rafalivka, found us at the end of the war. Indeed, we had remained alive.

Now, after I have written these lines, I feel still more poverty and emptiness, on account of the veracity of the atrocities of those days, for does a person have the power to describe them faithfully?... Indeed, each second was more frightful and dark than the previous.

Translator's Footnotes

1. Deuteronomy 25:17. Return
2. A character from an I. L. Peretz story. See https://www.yinr.org/wp-content/uploads/Bontsha-the-Silent.pdf Return
3. Psalm 130:1. Return

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One day a rumor spread round the artelim that the “end of the Ghetto” had arrived. The Gebietskommissar together with the chairman of the Judenrat, Mr. Bar, went through all the workshops registering the names of all the trained workers in the hope of keeping them alive. In the welding shop (we were five men), only my cousin, Ephraim and myself were registered.

When they had gone, I went outside and met my cousin, Yehuda ['Idel'] Malik, his wife, Bracha and their little child. I advised him that we should conceal ourselves in the hiding place they had prepared in advance for such a situation and at night to escape from the town. They refused. I went back into the workshop and there I found that Ben-Tzion Karsh, with his wife and child, my own family (Bracha and Grunie), the Sokol sisters, and others were already in hiding.

Towards evening, when the Germans surrounded the artelim [workshops], we fled the village – this writer, Ephraim Malik, Dina Malik, Pinie and Ronia Sokol, Yaakov-Yitzchak Karsh, and another girl, a refugee from Poland called Dorka - along the canal. We hid among the bushes until nightfall, because we were waiting for the rest of the group who had stayed in hiding, since one of them had a rifle and a pistol.

We waited until midnight and when no one appeared we continued along the canal as far as the village Vyderta. There, we found the house of one of the farmers, who according to information we had obtained, had contacts with some of the Gentile partisans who were in hiding. He gave us directions but nevertheless we spent the night making mistakes. In the morning we met a Gentile who warned us that there were Germans in the vicinity. We retraced our steps and hid again among the bushes, dividing ourselves into small groups.

Around noon, we bumped into a Gentile, a passer-by who promised to come back at night and lead us well away from here. He also promised to bring bread – and he kept his promise. The day seemed to pass as slowly as the Exile and when darkness fell, we grouped together again and waited. The man appeared and led us all night through swamps and forests in an attempt to find David Lerman, who was hiding in the vicinity with some Gentiles. After many extended searches,

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we succeeded in finding them in the middle of a large swamp.

We stayed there about seven days. During that time we met dozens of Jews passing through the area, escaping from the ghetto. Some of them joined our group.

One night – or more correctly one morning, we were returning from a raid getting some food stores, when we were surrounded by a group of Ukrainian police who opened fire on us. We scattered in all directions. I got hold of a rifle that was left lying on the ground then I, too, ran for my life. In the meantime the police had managed to kill some of the Jews that hadn't escaped, among them David Brat and Mendl Plus. At night we returned to the spot and found the bodies. We moved our location to another area.

We had left a rifle hidden in Kamin and we decided to go and fetch it. Four of us started out – Yaakov-Yitzchak Karsh, Eliezer (Leizer) Stepak, Zisia Dekter (the son of Pinie the wagon-driver and myself. We left early evening and got to Kamin around midnight. We went into the hideout which was empty and found the rifle and a few other articles – and returned to the group at daybreak.

One of the Neumik brothers (from the Gentile group that we were a satellite of), transferred a group of about 30 Jews to the area around the village of Nevir. A few days later we, too left for the same place.

One day we commandeered a horse and sleigh and drove to the village of Vyderta to avenge the blood of those of our group who had been betrayed by some of the villagers. We arrived at a certain house; the owner was asleep. We confiscated a pistol, led him out of the village and killed him. We dropped in on another Gentile - another murderer - and killed him too.

Because of the murders of Russian partisans we were forced to flee from the forests of Nevir and we returned to the vicinity of Vyderta. There we used a hideout that we had previously prepared. At nights we would go out raiding for food.

In the meantime, the mood between the Russian partisans had changed

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and they had stopped murdering the Jews. After long negotiations, we decided to join the partisans in Nevir. From the first day of our arrival we took part in all their operations.

One night we caught a Ukrainian policeman in the village of Shchityn. He informed on some of his colleagues who had taken part with him in some of the atrocities of extermination. In the end I decapitated him with one swing of an axe because every bullet was precious…

In the brigade of partisans known as “Suborov”, of which I was a member, I was seconded to a fighting unit. We had many battles.

Once, while on the way from the village of Kalevitsa to Vyderta, we met an acquaintance who told us that there were many Ukrainian nationalists in the village. After we had organized a near-by brigade of Polish partisans to help us, we decided to fight them. A battle started that lasted several hours. As darkness fell, they retreated and we collected the equipment they had left behind and returned to the village and slept there. With the dawn, four of us, went in the direction of Kamin as far as the village of Olble, looking for a horse that had bolted from us during the battle. We went to a farmer who had cooperated with the Germans. We confiscated a horse and wagon from him and close to Vyderta we put him and his family on the ground and beat them thoroughly. On the way back we were delayed in another village – and here we ran into some Germans coming from the direction of Kamin. We hid in the swamps. At nightfall we came out of the swamps and walked towards through the village and from there continued on to our meeting in Kalevitsa [Kolewice].

On another occasion, we were informed of a Ukrainian policeman who lived in the suburbs of Kamin. We decided to catch him. David Lerman, Yaakov-Yitzchak Karsh, the Gentile Neumik and I took part in that operation. Under cover of darkness we found his house. We quietly forced a window and I slithered though, and opened the doors for the rest of the group. We entered the bed-room and found his wife and father-in-law – the man himself was not there; apparently he was on duty that night. Yaakov-Itzhak stayed on guard outside. The policeman's brother arrived from town with bags of clothes taken from the ghetto. We commandeered a wagon and horse, and different belongings, etc. We decide to burn the house to the ground with all the property inside it. It had all been stolen from the ghetto. The flames accompanied us on our way home.

At the beginning of 1944 it was decided to capture the town of Kamin. Our entire brigade and additional groups of partisans took part. Heavy fire was opened on us from all directions especially from the Nationalist Ukrainians; we took positions and returned the fire. Afterwards we retreated.

Once we decided on obtaining medicines that we needed badly. We decided to organize an “invasion” of Kamin's hospital and confiscate what we needed and at the same time visit some other places in town.

We got close to Kamin at nightfall. Mortar fire was used as a signal to attack and afterwards as a signal to retreat.

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My platoon got to the railway station. We took whatever we wanted and set fire to all the warehouses and then the station itself. After a heavy exchange of fire we retreated.

And again, on another occasion we arrived in the vicinity of Kamin, entering the village of Rakov Les and as soon as dawn broke we commandeered a horse and cart from a collaborator – and retreated. On our way we decided to recover from the Gentiles Jewish property that had been stolen from them. Suddenly it became clear that there were Germans in the vicinity. A scout reported that there were other partisans here and a battle had developed between them and Ukrainian nationalists. We left the horse and cart – and retreated by foot in the direction of Nevir.

During the 'forties, a surgeon had arrived at Kamin from Kiev, by the name of Hotnik, who quickly built a reputation for being an excellent surgeon. The Germans didn't touch him because they needed his abilities in the hospital. We had no doctors in the woods. I suggested, therefore, that we send him a letter inviting him to join us. The suggestion was adopted and the letter sent, signed by Jewish fugitives. His reply was affirmative on condition that we first transferred all the instruments he needed in his work. Our “contact-man” would meet him every week and get from him a parcel of instruments and eventually a day was set for him to escape. We organized a horse and cart for him and a partisan waited for him and succeeded in smuggling him out of town. The Germans spread the rumor that Hotnik had been shot and murdered by them. He was a faithful Jew who aspired to emigrate to Eretz Israel. With the liberation, he was drafted into the Red Army with the rank of Colonel.

For a period of time I was drafted into the “Special Unit” of the brigade. We were operating then in the vicinity of Drahichyn - Yanov [Yanuvka]. Once we were ordered to liquidate, or capture alive several collaborators. We arrived at the village, close to an area under German control. We ran into a platoon of about 30 German soldiers but they saw us and opened up a heavy fire. One of our men was hit and died on the spot, while we (three of us) managed to retreat. Towards evening, when we received some reinforcements, we returned to the place, recovered the body and brought it back for burial in the forest.

Once, during one of the operations in the vicinity of Olble, I found a Holy Ark with one of the villagers that had belonged to the Synagogue of Trisk's Chasidim, that was being used as a cupboard for simple storage…

And again, while we were in Vyderta it was decided to liquidate a known collaborator. We went to his house and entered. We couldn't find him. Outside again, we heard a rustling sound from near a stable and after a warning shot the man came out towards us. We led him to the front of the house and shot him. On a later occasion, when we returned from an operation, we went to the same house with the intention of commandeering a horse and cart. We discovered several Russian soldiers living there and when we told them who the house belonged to they helped us take the horse and cart.

In one of the villages close to Drahichyn lived a villager who collaborated

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with the Germans. We were ordered to liquidate him and leave no traces. We got to the yard of his house that was right on the edge of town. We encircled the house and ordered him to collect all his belongings and his family and to come with us. From pure lack of any alternative he obeyed. Obviously the punishment accorded was death.

From one of our contacts we learned that, every Sunday, Germans came to one of the villages to buy food. We were ordered to capture them alive. We arranged an ambush at night – and waited. For some reason it just so happened that on that occasion they didn't appear and we had to abandon the project and leave the village. Immediately after our retreat the Germans somehow became aware of the plan and they began to chase us in an armored vehicle.

On the anniversary of the October revolution, in 1943, it was decided to blow up the railroads

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throughout the whole of Ukraine. My platoon was given the section close to Drahichyn. The Germans were awake all night and fired along the rails. We waited a few hours and somewhat before dawn things quieted down and we crawled towards the railroad tracks and placed the explosives and at an agreed signal lit the fuse and retreated. There were about sixty of us. After a few minutes the sound of 120 railway lines being blown up was heard – and again the Germans opened fire – and we retreated happily to our places.

There were some Germans on one of the estates on the way home. We decided to attack them. On the order, we opened fire on the house where they lived and retreated.

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We were on the way back from a special mission to Privitovka near Sarni, during which we were to make contact with the renowned Partisan commander, Fyodorov [from the Rovno division] to convey to him a message from our brigade's commander named by Molotov, and also from our immediate superior. My comrade and I, having endured all the rigors and dangers of our long, exhausting ride, arrived at last, back in “our own” domain, between Minsk and Yanov where we should find, according to our estimation, a military unit of the Brigade – the Utriad.

My comrade on the road, a local man, parted from me while I continued riding serenely on my way in the forest. A deep pervading silence was everywhere. Suddenly my ears picked up the sound of people's voices. I got off my white horse and pressed my ear to the ground. I was astounded because I was sure I could hear a disjointed conversation in Yiddish, or perhaps German? Tense and palpitating, I strode towards the voices, the horse's reins in my hand. Suddenly, again, a deep silence fell and only the tweeting of the birds high above the forest canopy, and the trampling of my horse could be heard. I tired of trying to determine from whom, and from where the sound was coming and got back in the saddle. And then, after about an hour, the horse stopped, nostrils flaring and hooves pawing the ground – a sure sign of disquiet. This time I drew the bolt of my rifle, putting a round in the breech and without getting off my horse, began to scout the area, after every suspicious sound.

And again my ears caught the sound of conversation and this time I quickly got off my horse, tethered her to a tree and obeying all the rules of Partisan caution, began to make my way towards the sounds. Sure enough, a short distance away, I saw a group of 3-4 men, in faded worn clothes, talking together – and in Yiddish. I returned quietly to my horse, and with quickened pace rode towards them.

At first they were shocked into silence; however, after I blurted out the word

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“Amcha” – in those days a known password for “one of us” they relaxed and approached me at the same time calling to the rest of their comrades in the camp, which was also, by the way, well-hidden, to come out from, seemingly, the depths of the earth and look at the “miracle”. They all looked at me wide-eyed with stupefaction and one of them – an elderly Jew, (now living in Akko and the owner of a restaurant), “Jews, wow! Today is Rosh Hashanah and the Messiah has come on a white mule!”….It transpired that they had no idea that there were Jewish fighters among Partisans and – here – a Jew, armed with an automatic PPS rifle, in fighter's garb, on a white horse – a Messiah if there ever was one!

Emotional and palpitating, I told them about our town, about what had happened to me and that there were other Jewish fighters among the Partisans. When I asked them about their conditions, they told me that local farmers helped them with food and clothes, and support, sometimes, local near-by Partisans, in return for which they would do all sorts of jobs. However, they were terrified of the Partisans and for good reason: there was among them a youngster who had been stabbed by a Russian Partisan by the name of Mustapha (by the way – a colleague-in-arms of mine, Berish Droog, also known as Dov Amit – but survived by a miracle.

What happened was this: Mustapha and his friend Sasha (later mistakenly killed), were patrolling in the forest and suddenly encountered a group of 11-13 Jews from Pinsk and Yanov. According to what I was told – and as far as I can remember – Mustapha demanded, whether seriously or as a joke, that they join the Partisans and avenge the spilled blood of the Jews and their brothers. According to their reply, they would willingly join up with the Partisans but how can they be accepted without arms? Mustapha became enraged and said: “And with gold you can't buy rifles – come, let's see if you've got any

[Column 131]

gold.” So saying, he drew his bayonet and together with his colleagues, instituted a search finding all sorts of coins and gold jewelry hidden away in the clothing of the unhappy captives, trembling with fear. The result was that the anger of the two was ignited and they started stabbing their helpless victims, one by one, until there was no sign of life in any of them. Only the man mentioned above managed to survive, after being stabbed close to the heart – and by a miracle managed to get back to his camp. (A few years ago, I met him on the beach at Kyriat Chaim and he showed me the scar).

[Column 132]

I was stunned on hearing his shocking story and found no response to make, especially since the murderer was an ex-comrade and one of the finest of the fighting Partisans.

After an hour, I left my unhappy brothers, tortured and pursued from every side, and during the long ride back to my own headquarters, I rode with unstoppable tears of pain and shame streaming down my face, with no one around to see. The fountain couldn't be stopped and neither did I wish to do so – me, the hardened hero, who until now had a heart of stone and a dried up source of tears …

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