[Column 143]

I well remember those terrible days: the fear, the steadily worsening situation, the passivity with which we regarded others' suffering. We made no self-examination, and asked ourselves no questions as to why the Germans were killing us – and we paid a high price for it.

I remember clearly the first “Aktzia” when we were all standing together on the field, saying to Ben-Zion Malik and to Ya'akov Karsh, “Look, they are digging graves for us; if we don't do something we are lost!”

When I left the field and went back to the ghetto, I tried to get hold of a gun. With the help of my brother-in-law, Yeshayahu Kroin (z”l.), I managed to acquire a pistol and later two rifles.

I prepared a hiding place for the pistol in an empty water bucket for when I left and returned to the ghetto; outside the ghetto there was always a pistol in my pocket. My decision was firm and final: if I fell into the hands of the Germans, I would put an end to my life.

One day, I repaired a rifle in the cellar of the house and had to fire real bullets in order to test it. I placed Ya'akov Karsh on the steps of the house, gave him two large hammers and told him to start banging with them. Then I went down to the cellar again and started shooting.

One day we woke up to find the ghetto unguarded. I was quite sure that our liberation had not arrived but that it was some trick or other by the Germans.

During the day, I could not escape because the Gentiles pestered me with their demands that I return them the watches they had given for repair to my brother-in-law, Yeshayahu Kroin (he himself had already flown to his hiding place that he had prepared at a Gentile's house).

A few minutes before nightfall, I climbed up to the hiding place on the roof. The hiding place was able to hold about 15 people but there were about 30 people there. They just sat on one another's knees. I went to the hiding place where I had placed the rifles and found just one rifle there. Later on I discovered that the missing one had been taken by Ya'akov Karsh and Ben-Zion Malik who had escaped earlier. We sat there in the hiding place until late at night and couldn't get out because of the shooting going on all around. From time to time we heard someone coming up to the roof and going down again. We sat there petrified with fear and without uttering a sound.

Eventually, the sound of shooting lessened and I said that

[Column 144]

the time had come to get out to the forest. There were women from the Malik family and they said, “No, no – we'll stay here until tomorrow night. Almost certainly the whole situation will be even quieter by then.”

“No!” I protested. “Tomorrow they will destroy the ghetto. Come with me, please,” I begged.

The majority refused, so I opened the door to the hide-out and went out. My own wife and Yeshayahu Kroin, Ya'kov Yaffe and his wife and two orphans, whose names I don't know, came with me.

On the way, I saw some wagons coming towards us. We ran into the field, lay down hiding and waited. Afterwards, we went into the village and got some food to take with us. We ran into a Gentile who raised his voice and began shouting, “Dirty Jew! Dirty Jew!” I approached him with my rifle at my shoulder and the pistol in my hand and he shut up. His shouts of “Dirty Jew” quickly changed to “Sir” – or some such – and we got some food. I warned him that I would shoot him and burn his house to the ground if he sent the villagers after us and we continued on our way. On the second evening we entered the forest.

After some time some others joined us and we dug a large bunker in the ground where we could hide, but we didn't have any food.

Eventually we decided that I would go with two friends to Kamen-Kashirskiy, to Zaminkovski the miller and bring some food. A few hundred meters from the miller's house, I gave my two friends a rifle and we separated.

When I knocked on the door it was opened by his wife. When I told her what I wanted, she hurried to the flour-mill adjacent to the house to call her husband. I stood in the corner of the room to make sure I wouldn't be seen and attacked from the window. Zaminkovski was sincerely happy to see me alive and well. I gave him a few watches and some money and he gave me in return a sack of food and promised to send more. I parted from him warmly and went back to my waiting friends who had hidden under a pile of hay.

About three days later a wagon arrived loaded down with food. There was a sack of flour, a sack of oats, tobacco, kerosene, matches and salt. A short time later the food was stolen and we were again hungry.

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We decided to behave like all the other partisans. From time to time, we would take the wagon to one of the Gentile houses. My friends would wait outside while I, who didn't look all that Jewish, would go inside and order everyone to lay on the floor with their faces downwards. I confiscated about 40% of all the foodstuffs that they had, just like the partisans did. After we had visited two or three houses in one evening, our wagon was full of food.

The forest ranger, who was a good friend of ours, told us that they had lodged complaints with him about the partisans. But

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they never realized that the partisan who had entered their homes had been a Jew.

Once, it was decided that Yitzchak Toizner and I should make contact with a group of partisans. We succeeded in doing so. But they stole our weapons, killed Yitzchak Toizner and sought to kill me as well. But I managed to run, somehow, and hid among the trees and by a miracle the bullets failed to find their mark.

On the way back to my group, without a gun, I felt as if I had ceased to be master of my own fate and every rustle and every tree constituted a threat. But the distance wasn't great and I was soon holding the pistol I had left in safe-keeping with my wife.

[Column 145]

The Russians retreated from the city. Quiet pervaded, foreshadowing the advent of the storm. We whispered and questioned. Even though everyone knew the answers, they were presented in the form of questions. Here and there the voice of a mother calling to her children to come home was heard. With the frantic calls it was sensed that the heart was predicting the advent of the disaster.

Mischievous children wandered about without heeding the demands of the adults, who were looking around with perplexed eyes, wishing to grasp and understand what was coming.

Some women began to clean their houses to calm their nerves. Ripped fragments of newspapers rolled through the streets. Here and there, the squeaking of the open gate of a yard could be heard. Someone burst out in strange laughter, sounding an alarm: nerves were shaky.

It was evening. Shutters were closed and covered with dark sheets, blankets, and aprons to ensure that the light would not burst forth outside, Heaven forbid.

Several families gathered in the house. They whispered. There was also a “calmer”:

“I still know the Germans from the First War. Indeed, they work and work. However, in any case, they will not kill randomly.”

“However, these are now Hitlerists,” someone pointed out.

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Again silence.

“The child has now fallen asleep,” says the mother, “I will go to put him to bed.”

Mothers stood next to their children for longer than usual, looking and looking. A tear falls. Silent weeping – so as not to wake up those sleeping in the innocence of purity.

People do not take off their clothes. A shot resonates from afar. A hungry cat howls, adding to the feeling of gloom.

It is morning. The mooing of a cow that had not been taken out to pasture was heard. A farmer crosses the street. We do not know his thoughts. Someone points out with jealousy, “What does it matter to him.” The second one continues, and adds:

“Whether a Pole, a Russian, or a German, a gentile remains a gentile. He has no fear, and nobody bothers him.”

The farmer continues on his way as in previous days with sure steps until he disappears somewhere, having turned off the road.

Somebody announces, “The have pillaged the shops near the railway station! Youths climb up onto the roofs of the houses. One with binoculars in his hand, gives details:

“They are dragging sacks with sugar. There are so many gentiles, like sand.

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They are also driving with wagons. They also have a few guns….”

The distance from the railway station to the town is approximately two kilometers. Shots are heard.

The second day: The pressure in the heart increased. The shtibels are locked. Every worshipper stands in a corner, with lips moving very silently. Groans accompany the prayers.

Families gather, peering out the window from time to time. Clashes are heard. Broken windowpanes jingle. “They are pillaging!” note several of those gathered around in unison. They lift the edge of the curtain off the window and see: “Farmers from the area, neighbors, Christians, several with poisoned faces, are dragging out from the Jewish homes everything they could get their hands on: pillows, blankets, dishes, clothing. Some are loading their loot into sacks and walking with sure steps with their booty. They know that no Jew will now be so daring as to injure them.

Screams are heard from the second road, following by shots from the rioters, and again steps. The Jews were worried: From where are the screams coming? “It seems like it is from Asher Engel” Mothers hurry to their children's cradles, bend their backs and whisper quietly. It was a night of watching…

During the morning hours, the noise of German motorcycles entering the city was heard. Transport trucks appeared, loaded with German soldiers wearing steel helmets, with their gaze of disdain and pride directed also at the gentiles who came to greet them.

Commands were not long in coming: The Jews must provide mattresses, beds, sofas, and the like. It was forbidden to touch any public property – including that of Jews (The “monopoly” on plunder was indeed in the hands in the Germans). The Jews must provide laborers in the numbers and at times that were needed. Jews were forbidden to buy and sell from the gentile population. A Jew who appears outside his home between the evening and 6:00 a.m. will be killed. A verdict will be issued within 24 hours against anyone transgressing these edicts!

A Judenrat was organized, as a Jewish representation for receiving the edicts of the German command, the Gebitskommissar (district commander), and transmitting them to the Jews. They were also to determine who must go out to work, from whom to collect money, merchandise, etc.

One day, cavalry divisions appeared in town: the punishment battalion. Jews were snatched and hauled to work. The Jews had to clean their horses and saddles. It was announced: the punishment battalion had murdered several Jews.

People hid in the attics. Some of the Jews worked during the nighttime hours at constructing hiding places below the floor of their house.

[Column 148]

The punishment divisions left the town. We breathed a bit more freely. The Germans were designated as “They would not do this. They will indeed not kill without reason.” Thus did the Jews comfort themselves, albeit with hearts full of doubt.

Edict followed edict: “Things must be orderly.” The Jews were only permitted to draw water from the well in the town square for one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening, before the flow reached its peak.

A long row of people with pails in their hands gathered next to the well. All were hastening to fetch water for their homes before the timeframe had passed. Someone stood next to the well colleting a payment for each pail of water.

The Judenrat member Shmuel Werbla, suffering from the disaster of his nation, went of his own free will with a group of Jews being taken to be killed.

Contact with the gentile area was almost severed, since Jews were forbidden from exiting the borders of the town. The supply situation continued to worsen, and a significant portion of city residents were left without food.

A kitchen was set up for those in need. The brothers David and Yaakov-Yitzchok Klorman obtained a portion of the necessary provisions for the kitchen from the Judenrat. Some was given by Dovid Klorman. The kitchen was located in the yard of Yitzchok Urmland, and he himself took care of it with dedication.

Every family did everything to collect food through all sorts of means, especially flour and potatoes. However, it was only possible to obtain such provisions from outside the town, from the farmers of the nearby region who were acquaintances.

I too decided to bring something home. During the late hours of the evening, I snuck out of the town and went to a farmer acquaintance whose house was at the edge of the village. I obtained a half a sack of potatoes from him (approximately 50 kilograms). [Ed. Note: about one hundred pounds.] I loaded it on my back and moved with the load through the fields. The distance was significant, about three kilometers, and I naturally grew tired. I decided to shorten the path, that is: to pass close to the German command.

It was located on a hill at the edge of the city. The hill and its buildings formerly belonged to the landowner Zamochovski. On the western slope of the hill, there was a large orchard which was connected to that of Avraham Katan and Yankel Doktor – who had an amputated hand. I knew the pathways very well, so I decided to return home through this orchard.

A Ukrainian guard was stationed next to the command station day and night. I knew about this, and I took care to the extent possible that my steps would not be heard. The night was dark, I did not notice the barbed wire in front of me, and I slipped. The effort to avoid falling involved several rough steps,

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which made noise that reached the ears of the guard – “Halt! Who is going?” I heard him shouting. Instead of halting, I decided to run. The demand to halt was repeated. I continued on – I ran onward, along with the sack. Since I did not fulfil his command, he let forth a shot. I succeeded in exiting the garden and arriving at the house of Avraham Kotton, located next to the garden, while there was still time. I quickly entered the dark anteroom and hid there. The next day, I found out that the guard ran into another Jew (seemingly also smuggling provisions) while he was pursuing me. He captured him and brought him to the station. Through the intercession of the Judenrat, they freed the Jew in return for a proper payment.

I concerned myself with food for the household, but I knew and understood that death would not come specifically from hunger. Even before the gate of the ghetto was built, I attempted to avoid being seen by the Germans or their accomplices – the Ukrainian police. One of the reasons for this: The son of Avraham Kotton, Alter, had a pleasant external appearance. He was young, strong, and masculine. Once when he was walking along the street, the gebitskommissar (German district commander) noticed him. He did not stop for him, and he did not ask him anything. However, that night, he went to his house, shot him with his revolver, and lay him on the bed. The reasons were sufficiently clear and obvious: youth had strength and the ability to act; therefore they must be liquidated in this manner or another (until they would be completely annihilated). This terrible event penetrated the depths of my consciousness and frightened me…

They hauled Jews to all types of jobs, including work in the railway station. They had to unload and load – especially to load loads of grain, wood, fodder, etc. We would walk in the middle of the street, as Jews were forbidden to walk on the sidewalks. We would see a cowherd. The cows “were forced” to move on the sidewalks – the road was for the Jews.

The Judenrat was ordered to provide (young) Jews for “work” at a “distance” from the city. People hustled to annul the decree. They collected gold coins and jewelry in order to bribe the gebitskommissar. The decree was annulled. The Jews who gathered in the “gmina” (council house) were beaten harshly by the Ukrainian guards.

The Jews were responsible for providing boards and a labor force for building the ghetto fence! Thus was the edict. The ghetto plan was drafted with German precision. The area designated for residence of the Jews was restricted to the area that was fenced with boards with barbed wire on top. Furthermore – shortly, all the Jews had to move into the ghetto within a two-hour period!

The Jews grabbed everything that came to hand – a pillow, a blanket, some clothing, a Chumash, or a sack of food that remained “for

[Column 150]

a black day” (a bitter, bad day), and they moved to the ghetto.

Families lay on the floors and the attics, and “unthinkable places.” The few who were important felt that they should not suffice themselves with thoughts, and that there was a need to act – and strongly.

We continued to go to work, including at the railway station, since the Jews were ordered to load grain, butter, eggs, and the like for the German army. Some of the residents were already starving for bread.

There were shots in the ghetto. Screams – “Jews, save yourselves!” Six Jews were murdered opposite the shtibel of the Shtefani Hassidim. Streams of blood dripped on the wall of Beinish Segal the builder. They had stood the Jews next to the wall and shot them one by one.

Shmuel Werbla, a member of the Judenrat and its first chairman, sanctified the Divine Name and gave his life willingly to unsuccessfully protect a group of Jews. His young daughter Chasia was orphaned. The gebitskommissar entered the ghetto and ordered them to bring Werbla's daughter to him. I peered through the window, so that they would not see me, and followed what was happening next to our house. Here was Werbla's daughter, the refined, pure girl.

The gebitskommissar ordered her to run, as he expressed his opinion aloud: “eine schöne mädchen” (a pretty girl). She ran. The Nazi pointed his gun and shot. With a truncated scream of the girl: “Pa-pa!” (Da-ddy), her life ended at the age of fifteen.

Her screams echoed and echoed in my ears. Her final scream did not silence itself. I hear it now, and always.

The situation became worse and more difficult by the day. The previous day was less bad than the current day, and the next day was always harsher.

The crowding grew with the transfer of the Jews of the area to the town. The floors served as beds. People slept in their clothes. One person always stood on guard and peered through the window to sound the alarm in the event of danger (and when was there no danger?).

The believers awaited a miracle, but the miracle was not coming. They took comfort in the World to Come. Nevertheless, people wanted to live – even under such conditions.

Various rumors spread about the situation on the front. The news calmed us at times, for we sought any source of comfort or illusion to grasp hold of. All radio receivers had been given over to the Germans at the outset, in accordance with their order. Radio receivers had also been taken from the Christians.

The Jews obtained news from Polish acquaintances and from several hidden radio receivers.

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At times, I also asked the “news reporters” of the ghetto to tell me about what they heard, and I would tell other “what I heard from a Polish acquaintance,” so as to avoid arousing suspicion regarding myself. For indeed, my good friend Yossele Segal and I listened to news on the radio – and not necessarily through the intermediary of anyone. The following is a story that happened:

During the Polish era, a Polish captain lived in our house. When the war broke out in 1939, the captain was called up to the army and did not return. His radio with its batteries remained with us. At the time when the edict was issued that everyone must bring their radio receivers to the German command, I obtained a broken radio from Yossele that nobody knew about (it was not registered) and brought it to the German command. In this way, they recorded that the radio that had been in our possession was now in their possession. My parents and family members did not know this and were certain that we had given it over to the Germans.

At night, I took the radio to Yossele Segal's attic. We took the machine out of its case and disconnected the speaker. Instead of the speaker, we constructed earphones, so that no noise or sound would be heard, and so that they would not take up much space. We placed this “working” radio in a small chest made of dirty, unsmoothed boards – all for extra caution. We extended an inside antenna under the roof of the attic in a manner that it could not be seen. We would go up to the attic twice a day to listen to the news. We conducted ourselves in this manner for several months without anyone knowing of this and suspecting us, until one day, my friend's father (Feivel the Carpenter) came up to check that the food that he hid was still fit for consumption. Feivel the builder checked the sacks with the groats and bit of peas, and the little chest caught his eye, thinking that someone had placed their provisions in it. He opened the chest, looked inside, and discovered the secret.

Pale and frightened, he immediately came down and commanded his son Yossele to get rid of the machine immediately. Yossele ran to me and told me about this. I took the machine from him, covered in a sack, and placed it the garbage crate.

That very night, we both snuck out of town with the machine, and went to piles of fodder that the farmers used only in the winter.

The area was one of quicksand that the Polesye area was especially known for. It was impossible to approach the area with wagons in the summer.

We hid the machine in one of the piles, enclosed in a sack and covered with a few rags. We studied the area carefully so that we would know from where to take out the radio at an appropriate time of need. We returned to the town before dawn, without anyone knowing or realizing.

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Youths were whispering – what to do? Some of them had already given up and resigned themselves to fate. A significant number of others were prepared for anything. They were only lacking an organizer and leader.

The finest of the youth had already made aliya to the Land prior to the outbreak of the war in 1939. When the Soviets conquered the area in 1939, the pioneering youth movements were disbanded. Some of the youth remained faithful to Zionism in a clandestine manner, and others transferred to the Komsomol (Communist Youth). For these and other reasons, trust had decreased, and it was difficult and almost impossible to organize a large-scale activity to escape to the forests. They were fearful lest the matter become known to the public – and would then also reach the ears of the Germans.

However, those who were interested found each other. Thus, several groups were formed to prepare for escape from the ghetto.

When I was once sitting next to a pile of boards in the area of the railway, a distance from the rest of the workers (at noontime), Mottel Starir approached me and asked: “What will be our end, Droog?” I responded that the Germans would “gift” each of us “several grams of metal” – and with this “the matter will conclude.”

“So, in your opinion, what should be done?” he continued to ask. I responded that I would be far away from there within a brief period. He immediately leaned toward me and told me in a whisper, so that nobody would hear, that he too was prepared to join.

We met the next evening. We were six people, including Mottel Starir, who had a gun and a large supply of bullets. He was very familiar with the area and was fluent in the Ukrainian language. His external appearance was Aryan. We decided that within three days, we would send two men to scout the forest, so that they would recognize the area, and the route, and also so that they would make contact with a farmer who lived close to the forest and was known as an opponent of the Nazi regime. The two designated for this were Starir and the writer of these lines.

At midnight, I knocked quietly on Starir's door. I had a knapsack of food on my back and a small gun in one of my boots. He asked for the password, and I responded. Then the door opened. I asked if he was ready. “Yes,” he responded, “I must only bid farewell to my family” (he had a wife and two children). Suddenly, lightening began to flash, and a torrential rain began to fall. The sound of the thunder awakened the children, and they began to cry, as did his wife. I approached him and said that now was the best time to sneak out of the ghetto, since the rain and the thunder would protect us, and nobody would notice us. He sat down, looked at me with a perplexed look, without saying anything. Then his eyes turned to the side, and he looked at the picture of the family hanging in the room. I understand that no convincing would be effective this time. I rose and left his house.

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The first plan failed, but we did not give up. One week after this, we snuck out at night through a small ditch that we had dug beneath the fence, on the side bordering the fields. We were about twelve people. Dovid Lerman went first, since he knew the route well. We walked with rapid steps until the light of dawn and reached the area of the bog. We hid among the bushes that grew there. We were joined by a Christian, who had left the city for political or other reasons. He was an acquaintance of Lerman (apparently, he lived in an isolated house at the edge of the city).

We had provisions for several days, and the Christian brought us a bit from the village. The bogs covered an area of tens of kilometers. We would always change our places at night out of concern that someone might have noticed us.

Mosquitos swarmed in these bogs. They covered the area with their buzzing and landed on our faces and hands. We defended ourselves with supple leaves to chase them away, but it did not help very much. The mosquitos attacked, we continued to defend ourselves, and finally we overcame them.

Before nightfall, we burnt branches and damp trees. The result was that they did not catch fire (we were very careful that fire would not be seen in the area – especially at night), but smoke rose like clouds to the sky. Those who wanted to rid themselves of the mosquitos sat next to the wind. In this manner, the smoke enveloped them and chased away the mosquitos.

The eyes hurt, but this was better than the buzzing and biting of the mosquitos. The next day, nobody recognized one other. We were all covered in soot.

We did not remain together for a long time. Lerman, his wife, and a few others left, having found hiding places with farmer acquaintances. The rest, I among them, continued to walk in the direction of the forest. We arrived at the Jalowatic Forest. We succeeded in contacting a Christian whom we trusted. One of his sons directed us at night to the deep forest, to a place he claimed was secure. We succeeded in making connections with another villager from the nearby area, one of the White Russians. He was a primitive farmer, but straightforward, with an athletic body and expert in every corner. For several days, we lived on roasted potatoes, without bread or salt. We would take the potatoes from the fields.

After several days, the farmer came to us and brought us bread and a jug of milk. He said that the forest guard lives in the forest several kilometers away. We do not have to be afraid of him, since he was a Shtundist (a religious sect founded upon the Christian religion, with Judaism as part of their faith [Ed. Note: Evangelical]). We decided to make contact with the forest guard.

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He was a thin, short farmer, who wanted very much for us to accept his religious outlook. He would spice his words with verses from the Tanach. He would especially talk about “Solomon the Wise” without explaining the reason. The main thing was that we found a person who would not report us. On the contrary, he was always ready to help us with advice and guidance.

After several visits to the forest guard, we learned from his description about the area of the forest and the bordering villages, the distance to the village, their size, etc. These facts were very necessary for us at the time and in our situation. During the nights, we continued to leave the depths of the forest. With great caution, we would find potatoes in the fields that had not yet been picked by the farmers. Later, we dared to enter the village itself at night, to awaken the residents of the house by knocking on the window and asking for bread. More accurately: to demand bread. In cases such as this, the farmers were not so brazen as to refuse, because of the guns on our shoulders or ready in our hands. They “gave their donations.” One does not refuse the demands of the forest people.

After approximately ten days, it was decided that Yossele Segal and I should return to the ghetto to see what was going on there, to obtain weapons, and to bring additional people to the forest.

We decided to remain together on the way back to the ghetto, but if it became clear that this was liable to hurt or impede either of us, we would each return separately. Yossele's main task was to bring the radio that we had hidden in the field, whereas my task was to obtain weapons and to negotiate with the people who might be able to obtain them. We walked at night along roads and paths that were far away from settlements. During the day, we hid among the bushes along the Zyr River which flowed to the town. [Ed. Note: a tributary of the Prypiat River.] We reached the ghetto fence on the second night. We carefully climbed the fence, which was approximately 2.5 meters high. We grasped on to the barbed wire above – and with one jump from the fence, we were in the ghetto.

The next day, I went to work in the railway station with all the Jewish workers. I succeeded in contacting a Christian railway worker name Michel. I succeeded in obtaining two grenades and bullets from him for a hefty payment. He also promised to obtain a gun and other pistols. I asked him to hide the grenades and bullets next to the tower that provided water for the train, since it was far from the area of the train and the residential houses. I asked him to place a brick there as a sign. I told Yossele to return himself or with someone, for I wanted to obtain more than I had obtained.

My goal was to find weapons and lads with weapons. The transport of the family, relatives, and friends was not practical at that time since our powers were weak, and we had not yet established ourselves sufficiently

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in the forest. Yossel Stepak met me in the evening and asked me to take him to the forest, for he found out that I had come “from there” and I was certainly intending to return. I agreed on the condition that he obtain weapons. I knew that he had many Christian acquaintances in the area, and he would be able to obtain such through a proper payment. His response was that I should come with him to a farmer acquaintance from whom he would obtain “vessels.”

That night, we snuck out of the ghetto and continued walking through the fields until we reached the area of Zastawia, not far from the offices of the former Polish mayor, where Germans were now living. The farmer who was Yossel Stepak's acquaintance lived about 200-300 meters away. His name was Lyor. The farmer had been imprisoned during the Polish era for the crime of smuggling and other “good deeds.” However, he displayed understanding and appreciation for the persecuted people who wanted to defend themselves.

It was midnight. We knocked on his window, and to the question, “Who is there?” Yossel Stepak responded, “It is I, Yossel. I have come to purchase a calf.” (That was his business during the years before the war.)

The farmer did not continue to ask. He opened the door for us and asked us to enter. Then he woke up his twelve-year-old son and stood him on guard outside. We explained to him that we had gone out into the forest, and we had come to obtain weapons from him. Yossel immediately added that he would receive a sewing machine in return. The farmer served us food. His wife prepared food for our journey: bread, cheese, about a dozen hard boiled eggs. The farmer himself entered the storehouse and brought us a sawed-off gun, and approximately fifty bullets. The barrel had been cut intentionally so that the gun could be hidden under the coat. Since the barrel had been shortened, the force and the accuracy of the shot was significantly reduced. It would also make more noise at the time of shooting than a regular gun. However, for us, this was also “good merchandise.” We set out on the journey in high spirits.

After walking for two hours on the paths next to the Zyr, we were forced to hide among the bushes, as dawn was breaking, and we were liable to run into dangerous pedestrians. We were forced to remain there until evening. After several hours of sitting and resting among the bushes, we heard footsteps. We peered out without being seen. Who were those walking? Two gun barrels stuck out of the two pedestrians. These were two village youths who had been drafted into the German guard. At this point, a thought came to my mind: to shoot them with one shot from the gun that was in our possession. From this distance, we could kill two murderers at one time, remove their weapons, and toss the bodies into the river. The area was far from any settlement. I expressed my thought quickly to Yossel Stepak. He began to plead with me to not do so, lest I miss my target, and then we would be killed. I did not agree, for I was certain that I would succeed at this from the short distance.

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He claimed: “The bullets were with the farmers for a long time, and it possible that some of them were damaged.” He convinced me with that reasoning. The two of them passed without noticing us. We reached the forest on the second night. I again met those who remained, including Yossele Segal, who had succeeded in returning before me along with the radio.

We told our friends who had remained in the forest about the situation in the ghetto. They told us that several other Jews had joined them, among the Mottel Starir. They also said that the forest guard told them that approximately twenty Russian partisans had visited his house.

We decided to contact the Russian partisans through the intermediary of the forest guard. We went to the forest guard and agreed with him: In the event that the partisans return, he must tell them about us and explain to them that we were interested in meeting them the next evening in the vicinity of his house. We would visit him every evening to find out whether they had come, and whether they had agreed to such a meeting.

After two days, he told us that the Russian partisans had visited him again and agreed to meet us in the designated spot. We went there the next evening a half an hour before the designated time and hid among the bushes. After a half an hour, we noticed people coming close with their weapons in their hand. Before the approached us, we asked them who they were. For some reason they become confused, and suspected that we had set a trap for them (i.e. were collaborators with the Germans), and began to retreat quickly, maintaining their vigilance. One of us, Kuperschmidt, also got confused and began to shoot with his pistol Finally we heard calls from both sides: “We are partisans, who are you?” That is how we met. The Russians told us that they had escaped from captivity and met one by one. Now they are wandering through the forests without a clear plan. Just as with us, not all of them had weapons. We agreed to unite and act together. The sailor among them, named Vaska, was chosen as the commander. He was a young lad, thin, impulsive, and intelligent. However, he frequently did not hide his hatred of Jews.

Among the first thing that we discussed with them was that we must do something every day. That is, we would not sit with folded hands.

The next day, I was sent to scout out the forest area with a radius of approximately ten kilometers. I had to first go in a straight line and return. If I could not find our hiding place, I would utter several whistles (with fingers in the mouth). The sentry who would be standing next to the tent would hear and respond with two whistles. It seemed that on my way back, I was close enough to the place of the tents, but I did not recognize them. I whistled two whistles, but, as I later found out, the sentry had entered one of the tents and did not hear my whistling. When there was no response, I was certain

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that I had made a mistake. Therefore, I turned to a different direction and wandered far off from the proper place. I whistled several times, but there was no response.

Evening fell, and there was no point in searching in the dark. Therefore, I lay down under a tree without falling asleep, out of fear of the wolves that were found in the area. In the morning, I rose and continued walking and whistling for naught. Hunger was afflicting me, and more so, the fear that I would not find them.

After an extensive walk in the forest, I noticed cattle dung in several places. I realized that there were shepherds with their flocks in the area. I saw the prints of bare footsteps on the paths. I continued to walk along the paths, and after approximately a half hour, I noticed the animals, and the shepherd some distance away, whipping into the air with his whip.

I approached him and asked him for food. He removed a half a loaf of bread and a jug of milk from his sack and gave it to me. I ate and drank on the spot, while the shepherd was standing in fear, not knowing what his fate would be – whether I would also swallow him up in one gulp or cut him into pieces. I calmed him, saying that no harm would befall him on condition that he answers my question truthfully. After a short interrogation, I found out that the village was five kilometers away, and that the house of the chief forest guard (Gajobi) was two kilometers away. It was already close to evening, so I told the shepherd that he was permitted to return to his village with the flock, but he was not allowed anyone to tell anyone about our meeting. If he tells someone and I find out, he would be killed.

There were piles of dry hay in the area. I went up on one of the piles, set up a “nest” and fell asleep. I woke up before dawn, descended from my bed, and continued to walk to the house of the chief forest guard, in accordance with the description of the shepherd. After walking for a brief time, I noticed a house at the edge of the forest. I hid lest anyone notice me, and watched what was going on – that is, who was going out and who was entering that house. I thought that it was not impossible that there were Germans or Ukrainian guards who collaborated with them there.

After waiting for several hours, I was certain that there were only the members of the household themselves in the house. I entered and presented myself as a Pole, a refugee from Congress Poland whose village had been bombed by the Germans.

For some reason they believed me and began to ask me about the villages that they knew. I was forced to continue with my invented story. I was asked about a certain village, and whether it too had been bombed. I responded, “More than any” without even knowing which village they were referring to. The woman wailed bitterly, since her parents lived in that village. I comforted her. I responded in the affirmative when she asked me if I was hungry. Of course, she served me pancakes and sour cream and I continued my story while I was eating.

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I noticed that there was a telephone in the second room, and from that, I knew that I could not remain there for long.

I asked the guard, incidentally, about the area and about the people whom he was in charge of. He told me that he had to report to the Germans at all times about what was going on, and that he was in charge of three forest guards. One of them is located at a distance of eight kilometers from here. He continued, “He is a fine man, but stupid, for he accepted the faith of the Shtundists.” I recognized that this was the forest guard with whom we were in contact. After a few additional questions, I found out the way to the house of the forest guard. This was most important to me, since I could meet “the group” once again through his help.

I thanked them for welcoming me. I left their house and continued walking in the direction of the village, without arousing suspicion. After walking for a half a kilometer, I changed my direction and continued on my way. After an hour, I was again with the partisans. They were all very happy, for they had been certain that I had been captured.

The next evening, we decided to “visit” the chief forest guard. We knocked on his door at night. To his question, “Who is there?” I responded in German, “We are Germans, and we have come to visit you.” He began to tremble in fear at the presence of “Germans.” We did not harm him. We only demanded that he not open his mouth or tell anything. We entered the second room, severed the telephone line, and took the telephone with us. I also took the batteries that powered the telephone, since they could be used for the radio that we had brought to the forest.

Each of us filled our pockets with tomatoes, onions, and bread – and we disappeared just as we had come.

With the agreement of the commander, Vaska the sailor, several people once again set out for the ghetto to obtain additional weapons and ammunition for the guns. I was among those who went. Aside from the weapons which we had to obtain, I was full of worry about the situation in the ghetto. I wanted to see and hear for myself about what was going on, in order to designate the appropriate time to smuggle as many people out as possible – not only ones with weapons.

On my second day in the ghetto, the Jews were informed through the Judenrat that they must all, without exception, present themselves the next morning in the field outside the city (not far from the cemetery). The ghetto was surrounded by a strong guard so that nobody could escape.

I decided to not go to that “roll call.” I realized that no good would come of it, and that it was certainly a trap. My mother, sister, and maternal aunt Gittel with her four-year-old child were afraid of remaining in the ghetto

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lest they be found and killed. My other maternal aunt, Reizel, and her husband Leibel Malik and their two children Feigele and Yoelik decided to hide with me in the ghetto.

We ascended the attic of the house of Feivel Segal and hid there. I felt myself physically ill, for apparently, I had contracted dysentery. I lay down on several pillows in the attic and listened to the sound of the people marching through the street, searching for Jews who had not presented themselves for the roll call.

The next afternoon, my aunt Reizel descended from the attic (the attic was accessed by stairs and not by ladders as in all other houses) to bring the children something to drink. After a quarter of an hour, she returned with a jug of drinking water. However, she did not realize at all that the Germans had noticed her and were following her. A few moments after she ascended, two Germans appeared in the attic with pistols in their hands and ordered us to come down. They declared, “You will be shot in ten minutes!” I realized that there was no escape at this time, but I did not make peace in my heart with the idea that everything was over.

We went down the stairs first, and the Germans followed us with their weapons pointed. There was a sort of a hallway at the edge of the stairs with all sorts of grottos. One of them had boards to take bread out of the ovens. One of the Germans picked up one of the boards, apparently to break it into two so that he could beat us before the execution. I took advantage of the situation. I pushed the German until he turned over. With my other hand, I punched the second German in the face. From there, I ran into the room, and ran outside through the window.

I began to run to find a hiding place. The house of Pesach Hersh Urmland was not far from the house of Feivel Segal. There, there was a yard with all sorts of grottos. At the edge, there was a small shed which had once served as the kitchen for the needy people of the ghetto. I hid there.

The two Germans had recovered in the interim and warned the others not to escape. They grabbed whistles and began to whistle to alert other policemen.

I saw the searchers, but they did not notice me. After about a half an hour, I heard shots. They murdered Reizel and Leibel Malik. They stood them next to each other to save bullets.

That day, all the young children were murdered and tossed into pits that had been prepared for this purpose beforehand. Can one describe such an atrocity on paper?

After my aunt Gittel's daughter had been taken from her and murdered, my aunt asked them to kill her. They acceded to her request. Mottel Starir's wife also asked to be killed after they murdered

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her two children. They told her to strip, and she did not agree. A Ukrainian guard approached her and ordered her to strip. In response, she slapped him on his cheek. The Ukrainian guard grabbed a board and beat it over her head several times until her head cracked.

I wanted to go to the forest, but I could not. I did not have the energy to go. I felt that I would fall on the way without reaching there. I pushed off my exit for one week until I would feel a bit better. After five or six days, news spread (this was in the afternoon) that the ghetto had been surrounded by additional reinforcements, and that a brazen aktion was certain to take place.

I decided to leave. I found my sister Ethel and told her to run with me. The people in the ghetto began to run. Some sought hiding places in the ghetto and others did not know what to do and decided that they were unable to save themselves.

I approached the fence of the ghetto bordering the Goldstein house, and I used the metal rod that I had taken with me to push aside the boards of the gate. After several pushes, I moved a board aside and looked carefully at the guard who guarded on that side. He was pacing along the length of the fence without noticing my actions. At the moment that he turned his back to me to pace in the opposite direction, I snuck out of the breach. I went not far from the fence, to Goldstein's yard, which was no longer included in the bounds of the ghetto at that time. I found the barn of a Ukrainian farmer. I jumped onto the granary. Apparently, my sister did not notice me, and thought that I continued onward. Therefore, she continued running in the direction of the railway station. There were bales of barley in the granary. I hid below them, with the hope that I would not be found.

When I was lying under the bales, I heard the squeaking of the gate as it was being opened wide, and the conversation of the farmer with the ghetto guard. The farmer took a pitchfork and began to move the bales beneath which I was lying to the other corner.

Two dangers awaited me that time. The farmer was liable to pierce me with the pitchfork. And even if I succeeded in grabbing the pitchfork before he pierced me, the guard would certainly use his weapon on me.

The heat beneath the bales was terrible. I was wearing a warm coat (I had taken it so that I could sleep outside at night). I tried as much as possible to peer between the bales and barley stalks. Another ten or fifteen bales – and I would be exposed.

I decided that I would grab the pitchfork, and then the situation would be determined. The conversation between the two of them – the farmer and the guard – continued. The guard asked the farmer to give him a glass of vodka. The guard tossed the pitchfork onto one of the bales, closed the gate and went along with the guard. I took advantage of the situation and hid among the bales that had already been arranged in the other corner and waited. During the evening, I heard footsteps approaching the granary. This was apparently the farmer, who closed the gate with a lock.

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I could no longer leave through the gate. Therefore, I ascended the roof with the help of a ladder, and from there, I jumped down with no difficulty.

Behind Goldstein's house, I went onto the road and walked “fearlessly” (outwardly) along the road leading to Rakovliat. A farmer passed me, and said, “Good evening” without suspecting that I was a Jew, for a no Jew would be so daring to walk on that road.

I approach the Zyr River that went through that area, and continued walking through the fields until I was a distance away from the town.

Later, I was told that my sister was running on the road leading to the railway station, thinking that I was running in the same direction. A German noticed her and knew that she was a Jewess due to the yellow patch sewed to her dress on the front and the back. He ordered her to halt, but she continued to run. The German pointed his gun and shot her. She fell, wallowing in her blood, on the road leading to the railway station.

That day, the daughter of Rabbi Perlin, Tzirel Perlin, was murdered in the same manner.

I reached the forest again. I told the Jews full detail about what was had taken place in the ghetto, and that my opinion that we must now act as quickly as possible to transfer Jews to the forest. I realized that the liquidation of the ghetto was drawing near. Therefore, we must not think about who wants to come, about whether they will be families or lone individuals – we must save as many as possible. If they were to die, it would be better to die of hunger in the forest than at the hands of the Germans.

We promised the commander that this time, we would be able to bring more weapons with ammunition, since we had made contact with several people who could provide such to us.

We convinced him that it was very important that one of the Russian partisans join the Jews, and we would enter the ghetto together. There were youths who had weapons, but if they had doubts about whether to go to the forest, they would be convinced when they realized that there was a Russian partisan with us. They would understand that there is an organized force that they could rely on, and they would join us.

The Russian commander agreed to this plan, but did not want me to join those going to the ghetto. The reason for his opposition was not clear to me. After several months, I was told that his opposition was due to the suspicion that I would bring too many Jews, including women and children, to the forest, and this was not acceptable to him. The following were among those who went to the ghetto (as far as I remember): Yossele Segal, Kuperschmidt, and the Russian Mustafa. It was agreed that they would return after five days. If they did not return on time, they would not find us in the designated spot, for we would be moving eastward.

I requested from Yossele Segal that when he arrived, he should first visit several of my male and female friends who would be prepared to join us at any time without needing convincing. I knew, and I was certain, that he would visit them and tell my name to everyone.

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When they reached the ghetto, they were “stuck” there without being able to leave, since the Germans planned a broader annihilation, and increased their guarding of the area.

After five days passed without them returning, the Russian partisans began to blame us, saying that their comrade was killed because of us. On Friday morning, they surrounded us by surprise, and, with threats of using their weapons, demanded that we turn over our weapons to them. They approached each of us and removed our weapons. My personal weapon was a small pistol. When they approached me, I refused to give it over to them. The commander pointed his weapon at me and threated to shoot me. However, I did not agree to remain without any means of defense. A tense silence pervaded. He threatened, and I refused. Finally, he turned to all the Jews and said: “You can go in the four directions, and Boris (which was my nickname among the partisans), and Polotov (Moshe Plott) will go with us.”

“If you refuse to go, I will not hesitate to kill you on the spot,” continued to commander. I knew that he would do so, and I agreed to join them.

We packed our belongings, a few small tents, and left the place. Our brethren were left without weapons, aside from Mottel Starir, who had left earlier in the morning, somehow knowing what the Russians were plotting. He had a good pistol and a supply of bullets.

Along the way, when I had gone along with the Russians in an eastward direction through forests and unsettled areas, the commander promised me that he would treat me as if I was a Russian. He asked me to not think about what was.

I went along with them, with my thoughts directed to the Jews who remained, and those who still had to come. During the nights, I was not careful and stepped on the legs or bodies of those sleeping, and of course I was cursed. “Why are you sleepwalking?” they often asked me. I was stunned. I could not free myself from the thought that I had abandoned my brethren.

Their journey was aimless. At first, they thought about crossing the front, but they were convinced that this was impossible, so they decided to remain in the forests, to obtain food – and to continue. I once approached Moshe Plott with advice, “The Russians trust us. The proof is that we are now standing on guard (this was at night), and they are asleep. Let us choose two of the best guns, leave them, and return to the Jews. They will certainly not pursue us.”

At first, Moshe Plott did not agree. However, he later said, “If we do not meet real partisans within a few days, we will leave. That is what we did.

Luck was with us, and after three or four days, we met in the forest

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three partisans who had been sent from Moscow (paratroopers) to organize the fighters. The situation in the forests began to change. They began to merge our small groups into a single large unit. They also drafted the farmers of the area, to the extent possible.

They all excelled in one thing, without exception, privates and captains – drinking appropriately. They did not overlook this commandment even once. More than once, someone was killed or taken captive because of drunkenness. Nevertheless, they did not cease their drinking.

I recall that there was a village ten kilometers from our place of residence. The village chief knew of our existence and helped us. He told us the identities of the farmers who collaborated with the Germans, and he informed us when the Germans visited the village, what they told them, etc. He invited us to the wedding of his daughter that was to take place in a week. Of course, our appearance in the village had to appear coincidental, to hide from the villagers the fact that the village chief was collaborating with us.

We all prepared to go there on the evening of the wedding. The “samogon” (homemade vodka) enticed them, and how could they forego such a opportunity?

I refused to go the wedding. Therefore, one of the partisans approached me with the request that I give him my pistol, since he did not have any weapons. I knew that nobody would come to the forest at night, and it was important that everyone have weapons in the village in the event that Germans appear. I gave him my pistol and lay down outside next to the bonfire that had already died down. Only smouldering coals remained beneath the ash (as night, we did not light bonfires).

I lay down and fell asleep. Late at night, I heard the howling of wolves from afar. The wolves approached the area where I was sleeping. I thought, it is too bad that I lent my pistol. The wolves are approaching, and I have no weapons with which to defend myself or to scare them. The wolves stood approximately fifty meters away, and their sparkling eyes could be seen in the darkness. What should I do? I removed several burning brands and tossed them toward the wolves. They escaped with howls.

Everyone returned drunk toward morning. The partisan returned me the pistol with “interest” – a bottle of samogon. In time, I had become accustomed to liquor, and I did not suffer from drinking. I was a partisan “in all ways.”

Several other groups joined us, and our numbers continued to grow. Three paratroopers sent from Moscow worked especially to organize our forces. One of them was a Jew named Moshke Berkowitz, a young, 20-year-old lad. He was short, thin, and very strong. Once, when he returned from an action (he penetrated the city of Pinsk to connect with Russians who worked in the service of the Germans), he was surrounded by Ukrainian policemen who were collaborators with the Germans. This was at five kilometers away

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from the place where we were located. A paratrooper (the second of the three) and a partisan from our ranks were with him. Shots were exchanged. The number of Ukrainians was much larger, approximately fifteen people. The second paratrooper was killed by the Germans, whereas Berkowitz reserved the final bullet for himself. After he succeeded in killing several policemen, they wanted to capture him alive. However, they did not succeed. His last bullet put an end to his life. He always stated, “One must not fall into German captivity. The last bullet is reserved for oneself.” The third one who managed to escape with several wounds told us these details.

Autumn arrived, and the nights became colder and colder. At times, a light rain also fell, penetrating to the bones. We began to dig pits in the ground, at a depth of a meter and a half. We placed pillars in the corners and in the middle, and then several poles, one on top of the other, to form a sort of wall strengthened by the pillars. We constructed a slanted roof from poles, a half meter above the ground. We covered them with straw and earth, and we had a “dwelling.” Inside, there were wide benches along the walls made of poles, which could serve for sitting and sleeping; a tin oven that was constantly lit (there was no shortage of wood) – and the cold was not felt inside. We slept in clothes, with weapons always at the thigh We were unable to build these dwellings quickly, so some of the people slept outside.

The partisans “did not freeze on their guard.” From time to time, they planned and carried out actions with the aim of weakening the power of the enemy who was based in the areas that they invaded. Our brigade was divided into groups of fighters. Each group practiced and carried out actions in various places, such as: damaging and bombing trains, attacking police stations, damaging strategic points of guarding and supply.

I was part of the fighting division. They knew that I was a Jew, but they respected me, since I did not lag behind them in battle. I knew no fear. This stemmed from my belief that my fate was set for death. I did not imagine that I would survive. I did not regret this at all, but I hoped, in some cases even with doubts, that my life would cost the Germans dearly. My aspiration was “to raise the price of my life.”

Once, I went out for an action with one of the partisans. During a general discussion that included horses, he found out, to his great surprise, that I did not know how to ride. At first, he thought that this was a joke, since it made no sense that a young fighter does not know how to ride a horse. He was finally convinced. He comforted me, and offered

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to teach me that craft. After a short time, I knew how to mount the saddle carefully and to gallop like a veteran cavalier.

I was part of the scouting regiment for a brief time. One day a group of 60-70 people went out to destroy and bomb a police station approximately fifty kilometers away from the forest where we were located. We traveled half the distance on a winter sled, since this was a partisan area where the Germans did not dare enter. The scouts rode at the head of the group as a security force. We reached a village next to a river at night. The police station was on the other side, seven kilometers away.

The scouts had to find the place to cross, and to reach the other side first. I attempted to do this. The horse snorted and walked backwards whenever I brought it close to the riverbank. At first, I thought that the horse sensed that it was impossible to cross in that place. However, my patience was wearing thin, and I urged it on strongly with the heel of my boot. The horse was embarrassed and submitted to me. The layer of ice cracked under the burden of the horse and its rider. We advanced, with everyone following us. The horse was unable to take a deep breath because of the belt that fastened the saddle to the horse's belly. I jumped off the saddle and swam, with the horse following me. I reach the other side of the river. In the meantime, another scout succeeded in finding the proper spot, and all the partisans crossed while riding their horses.

The cold was strong, and my clothes turned into an obstacle. I knew that if I were to continue to ride, I would freeze from the cold. Therefore, I ran without stopping for a distance of 6-7 kilometers. After a half an hour, we were forced to return, for the police station was built sturdily, and not of wood, as we had thought, and we had not taken along the tools to attack such a fortified building. (We bombed the police station about two weeks later).

I ran back to the river. I crossed the river while riding, along with everyone. In the first village, where we decided to rest a bit, I entered the house of farmers and requested clean, dry, linen until my clothes would dry. I ascended the “Russian oven” (an oven of that nature was found in all the houses of the farmers in that region), I sipped the glass of vodka that the farmer had given me, and fell asleep. My partisan comrades came two hours later to inform me that they were moving. I felt myself to determine whether I was still alive after the “bath in the river.” It was clear that everything ended in peace.

Anyone who did not belong to the partisans was forbidden from entering the area of the forest in which we were located. To ensure the non-entry of strangers, even those who were supporters of the partisans, there were constant

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guards in set places. Similar searches were conducted at a distance of 5-6 kilometers around the area. In this manner, we ensured that our place would not become known to the enemy.

It was forbidden to light a fire in the forest from evening to morning. We even always slept in clothes and held our guns while sleeping. In addition to all this, each partisan had a prepared, well-covered pit. A gunshot would serve as an alarm. At that moment, everyone would take their stance in the pit that they had prepared.

When winter arrived, each person cleaned their pit from the snow piled up In it, and also prepared white clothing as camouflage.

One winter afternoon, a shot was heard. We all took hold of our weapons and ran quickly to our pits. This gunshot served as a sign of the approach of German and Ukrainian soldiers to our area to annihilate us.

Despite our caution, the Germans found out about the area in which we were located from one of the farmers of the area who collaborated with them. They got closer and closer to us through the paths that we had paved. One of our guards recognized them and shot in the air as an alarm.

After several minutes, everyone was in their place. The camp commander issued commands: let them approach as much as possible; no speaking; no smoking; and do not move from the place without a command. The sign of a counter-attack would be a shot from the vice commander. We must try to ensure that every bullet hits its mark.

The forest was quiet. No tree moved. We lay flat in the pits, everyone holding their gun, ready to shoot. We heard the squeaking of snow under the boots of the Germans. We heard commands in German. We noticed that they were marching opposite us in two flanks on the front, and that they had not yet noticed us. The distance between them and us was about 100-150 meters. The commander marched at the head of the Germans, with his finger was on the trigger of his machine gun. Our deputy commander hid among the bushes and pointed his semi-automatic opposite us, as he was used to aiming it toward an animal in the wilderness of Siberia (he was a hunter in Siberia by profession).

A shot was heard. The German commander fell in its wake, as did the deputy commander who had run to strengthen him. We all opened fire against them. We numbered 130 men with limited ammunition, whereas they were two hundred men with a great deal of weapons and ammunition loaded upon the winter sleds that traveled behind them.

A panic broke out among them, and they began to retreat while shooting aimlessly in the air. They fled, leaving behind the victims and the crates of ammunition, aside from the guns and several machine guns on the wagons.

We left that place that night, since we knew that the Germans

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would not let this pass quietly, and that they would certainly draft a large, strong force to annihilate us.

We managed to move about 40-50 kilometers that night. Toward morning, we reached the village of Perekrest. We decided to rest there throughout the day. We set up guards around the village, so that nobody would leave it borders.

We found out from the villagers that a punishment brigade was supposed to come to the village that day to punish them for failing to fulfill their meat and grain quotas.

We hid behind the fences and waited for the arrival of the punishment brigade. The Germans approached the village in winter sleds, with three Germans on each sled. Fifteen such wagons traveled on the snowy field. We let them approach to a distance of fifty meters, and then we opened fire upon them, and stormed them with bayoneted guns. More than half of the people of the punishment brigade was killed on the spot. The rest met their deaths at the hands of a small group of partisans who ambushed them. These partisans went to carry out the action and prepared for a battle to ensue. They hid among the bushes. When the remnant of the German punishment brigade approached them, they opened automatic fire against them and destroyed them completely.

We continued to travel during the evening hours. The next morning, we reached the Wislo Forests and began to set up camp.

A second partisan camp was located a few kilometers from us. There were several Jewish boys and girls from Kamin Kashirskiy there who had miraculously remained alive after the Russian partisans perpetrated a slaughter upon them after incitement “from above.” The inciter was the commander of the camp himself, who was connected to an extremist Ukrainian nationalist group that wanted to secede from the Soviet Union and establish a Ukrainian government. Their hatred of the Soviet regime was strong, and their hatred of the Jews was no less, since they regarded the Jews as supporters of Communism and the Soviet regime.

When the atrocity perpetrated by the camp commander became known, a portion of our camp, with the permission of our commanders, surrounded the second camp. We entered the residence of the iniquitous commander and liquidated him with shots from our revolvers. Several of the commander's faithful assistants were liquidated along with him.

We again began to go out to various actions. I recall that in one of the actions in which I participated, we had to liquidate a police station that was located 50-60 kilometers from our camp. We left the camp in the evening. After walking all night, we reached a place 10-15 kilometers from the police station by morning. The place we reached was a forest, not far from a village, and we decided to rest there throughout the day, so that we could find out from the villagers details about the size of the building, the number of police officers, and the weapons that they had.

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With us were several partisans from the area who knew the villagers. As I was lying on the grass in the forest, one of the partisans who knew that I was a Jew approached me and asked me if I wished to see Jews who were hiding in the forest. I jumped from my place and responded in the affirmative. He walked several hundred meters with me, and called out: “Yisraelik, Berko, come out quickly. A Jewish partisan has come to visit you!” Two human forms crawled out of a hole in the ground through which a human being could only pass with difficulty. I had never imagined that people could change so much. Their beards were growing wildly, their faces were pale and gaunt, their fingernails were long, and they were wearing worn-out rags.

I did not know how to begin. I stood frozen. They looked at me frightened. I drew closer to them and told them in Yiddish, “Why are you afraid – I am a Jew.” They looked at me, grasped my hands, took hold of them, and wept. The three of us wept. I ran quickly, brought them food, and calmed them. I sat with them for about an hour and a half, and they told me everything that had happened to them. Among other things, they told me that they subsisted almost solely on potatoes, for their relationship with the farmers was not good. They were afraid of entering the village lest the villagers turn them in. They told me further that before their escape, they gave over a large quantity of clothing to one of the farmers, and when they went to him to get some of the clothes, he chased them away.

I promised them that everything would be taken care of, that they would no longer suffer from the disgrace of hunger, and that they would also receive their clothes.

I rode to the village accompanied by the local partisan. We reached the farmer who had not given over the clothes to the Jew. I warned him, “If I find out about your improper behavior toward the endangered Jews, Jews will soon accompany you to the cemetery, and your property will go up in flames.” The farmer crossed himself several times in front of me and promised that he would be “a good boy.” He brought out outer clothing and underwear and asked me to give it over to the Jews.

From that farmer, I went to another farmer, whose economic situation was sufficiently positive. I commanded him that whenever people come at night to request food, he must not refuse to give. As a token of thanks, I would give him a horse one day. He promised me that he would share what he had with the Jews. Indeed, they would never return emptyhanded from him.

I returned to the forest and gave them their clothing, as well as a pair of scissors that I took from one of the farmers so that they could cut their hair. I left them enough food for several days, and I knew that from that time, they would no longer starve.

Not only did the partisans rule over the forests, but also over areas of populated villages. There was a ditch called “the Royal Ditch” approximately 40 kilometers from the forest in which we were located.

The “Partisan Kingdom” was located on one side of the ditch,

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and on the other side, “the German Kingdom.” On several occasions, Germans crossed the ditch and entered the partisan areas, but they always retreated after being shot at, for the hand of the partisans was always on top.

Citizens of the villagers who were on our side stood guard along the ditch. They informed the partisans, who remained close by for this purpose, about any incident of Germans attempting to cross the ditch and enter the partisan area.

I too joined the “border” unit, which was stationed in one of the villages that was almost fully destroyed and burnt, with only isolated houses remaining. The farmers dug burrows in the ground – and these were their houses. They worked the land, as usual, and collaborated with the partisans. The importance of this village was due to the flour mill that the Germans had failed in destroying. Many villagers from the area would bring their wheat to grind there. We partisans supervised the protocols and oversaw the operations. Our salary was ten percent of the ground wheat.

In that manner, we filled an economic role as well as a defense role in the event of a German attack. We had plenty of wheat. Some was baked into bread, and a significant amount was turned into homemade vodka.

Two civilian Jews were among the employees of the flour mill. One worked as a technician. He had been involved in the flour mill before its nationalisation. These Jews knew the area and its farmers very well.

One winter day, one of these Jews ran to me and told me that in the village (I do not recall its name) about twenty kilometers away, there are many Jews, and I must visit them. After a short time, I hitched a horse to a winter sled. I loaded a sack of flour, groats, and meat and traveled to that village alone (it was in the partisan area). I arrived after an hour and a half and I met the Jews who all lived in one house.

There were about twenty of them. Some earned their livelihoods from various trades, such as carpentry and shoemaking. The situation of those without trades was difficult.

I unloaded from the sled the food that I had brought and started a friendly conversation with them. Before I left, they told me that in that village there are Polish partisans named for the writer Wanda Wasilawska. At times, they shoot over the heads of the Jews to instill fear in them. I became very angry at that behavior of the partisans, and I decided to react on the spot. I asked the Jews, “Which of you wants to have fun on a ride on my winter sled in the village?” Many jumped aboard, and the sled quickly filled with travelers. I rode to the edge

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of the village while the “company” were singing and speaking aloud in Yiddish and Russian. Then we saw one of the partisans who was on duty in that area. I pointed my submachine gun at him and demanded that he turn over his weapons. The Polish partisan did not even try to resist. Out of fear, he gave me his gun. I ordered him to take a seat in my winter sled and direct me to his command.

I presented myself before the commander of the Wanda Wasilawska camp and introduced myself as a partisan from the Laza camp. I told him about what had happened and about the embarrassing behavior of the Polish partisans toward the Jews living in the village.

The Polish partisan who had brought me to the command suffered a proper dose of juicy curses. Then the commander of the camp promised me that such incidents will no longer occur.

I left the command and told the Jews about the promise of the commander. Their spirits were high, and then went home in song, being sure that no evil will befall them from the Polish partisans. This was one of the pleasant experiences, to meet Jews and help them in their tribulations.

Encouraging news was received from the front – the Germans were retreating, the Russians were advancing in great strength, and the partisans were acting with greater energy and force. The Germans did not dare enter the partisan areas, whereas the partisans entered the villages from time to time, and even perpetrated trouble for the Germans in the small forests.

Partisans from the nearby area “figured out” the time that the Germans would be forced by the Red Army to retreat from their villages, and hatched plans to set up farms and to plow the fields. Everyone had their own plans for the future, but this was not the case with the Jews who had fought in the ranks with the partisans.

After battles with the Germans who had retreated westward and thereby encountered us – we finally met up with the Red Army.

The partisans sorted themselves out in the town of Sarny. Those who originated from the area were freed and were able to return to their homes. The rest were sent to the army (of course, that meant to the front).

Like the others, I was also able to return to Kamin Kashirsky, which had been liberated in the interim. However, I understood and felt that I cold not withstand the suffering of my soul if I were to see the sight of the houses of acquaintances without residents.

To the question of the commander, “What is your decision?” I did not hesitate to respond, “To the army!” I requested an interview with the army prosecutor (who was also a Jew), and I told him the names of the partisans who had participated in the murder of Jews in the forest. I had gathered such details without anyone noticing.

The next day, those partisans were hauled out with their hands in chains. I

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set out to the military camp. “A small accounting,” I thought in my heart. This was at the beginning of the spring of 1944.

After a six-week period of training, I joined a “special battalion” of communications brigade. These were also times of hunger, since they did not succeed in bringing us food in a timely manner. It was good for us when we found in the fields small potatoes that we could roast or cook in tin cans. Once I obtained a large piece of bread. I cut into pieces with my knife and ate it all up, as if it was a fine cake… I later suffered from a stomach ache and was afflicted with diarrhea.

After a cannon and mortar attack, the living and the dead were intermixed in the ranks. There were also times when the number of dead was greater than the number of the living. I was certain that my turn would also come, and the group of undertakers would also search my pockets to find a letter or a picture of the family, of one's beloved, of a child, and through this inform: Your son-husband-father fell in Latvia-Poland-White Russia Germany… having died a hero's death for the homeland. However, they would not find anything, I thought, since the only pictures of my parents that I had taken with me when I escaped from the ghetto in the forest had been destroyed completely when I was forced to swim in the river wearing my clothes.

I would therefore be “the unknown soldier.” This did not bother me. On the contrary: the thought that I was not taken out to be killed by the Germans in the ghetto aroused within me a sense of gratitude: it is better to be killed on the battlefield.

I was wounded by shrapnel in Latvia. After I regained consciousness in the military hospital, I was happy to find out that they had not amputated a leg or an arm. They even promised me that I could continue on toward Berlin after two weeks.

On Polish soil, we at times encountered civilian caravans of Germans who wished to escape to Germany but were forced to return because the Russian army had cut off all paved and unpaved roads. No small number of times, I stumbled upon mangled corpses of German on the roads. Tanks and other vehicles ran over them since nobody made the effort to remove them from the roads. They had been killed by the soldiers of the Red Army, who “treated them” to a volley of bullets.

I only liquidated civilian Germans on one occasion. I recall that this was in the city of Dubno.

We conquered the city, and the local Polish residents were involved in pillaging the Germans: they stopped caravans of civilian Germans on the train or on their wagons, hauled them to a side road, and took everything from them.

We remained there for two days. I had sufficient time to see what had happened around. I noticed a certain Pole wearing workers clothing, standing at the side, looking at what was transpiring without taking part in the pillaging. I approached him

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and asked him: “Why are you not “active” like the rest of the Poles?” “This is not the way,” was his response, “we disgrace ourselves with improper behavior.” After a brief conversation, I found out that he was one of the activists of the Polish Socialist P.P.S. party. He gave me the impression of a proper, honest, person.

I asked about the fate of the Jews. He told me details about the murders. In so doing, he mentioned the name of a German, Müller, who he believed had not succeeded in escaping, and that he was one of those who took part in the annihilation of the Jews.

At my request, he described his place of residence, and added, “Every resident will testify about the veracity of my words, and about the atrocities that he perpetrated against the Jews.” After I asked several other citizens about the “character” of the German Müller, I realized that they were talking about a murderer who might "disappear." I therefore decided to do something…

I approached my commander, Senior Lieutenant Nizhnikov, a Jew from Moscow with whom I had become friendly, and told him, “There is a murderer of Jews at large in the vicinity of Dubno. I must eliminate him before I leave the place. Give me two hours for this task.” His response was, “Take your Leningradi friend (from the city of Leningrad, a Russian lad), mount two horses, do as you wish, but quickly and quietly.”

Around 20 minutes later we entered the gate of Müller's yard. He himself came out to greet us.

My Russian comrade in arms did not know the reason for the visit. I told him that the Poles told me that this German has lots of vodka, and it is appropriate for us to be treated, and to bring several bottles to “the group.” He liked this idea very much and was prepared to sacrifice himself for “such a task” that relates to drinking.

The German smiled a traitorous smile as he invited us into his house. He poured cups of liquor while complimenting the Russian army.

I spoke to him in Polish. My comrade complained to me about this miserly German who poured such small glasses. I told him that he was permitted to take all the full bottles and return to the city. At first, he refused, but I convinced him that nothing would happen to him. I helped him mount the saddle, for otherwise he would have dropped several bottles that were sticking out of his pockets.

I agreed to drink a toast with the German Müller, but in such circumstances – “only with the entire family.” After several minutes, they entered: his wife, his 20-year-old daughter, his 17-year-old-son, and his youngest son, 15-year-old.

“Before we drink,” I told them, “I wish to say something. You should know that I am a Jew!” Müller's face became pale as chalk. His belly protruded further, and his head leaned on the pillow upon which he was sitting. “You should know,”

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I added as I paced several steps back, “That I have heard that which you perpetrated upon the Jews.” That admission was sufficient for me as well as for the Müller family. I took hold of the trigger of my submachine gun, and a volley of bullets released this family from its “fright.” Now I was certain that they would not escape.

I returned to the city a half an hour before the set time and declared, “Comrade commander! I have fulfilled the mission. And thanks!” The Russian comrade who accompanied me also faithfully fulfilled his “mission” – half the bottles were empty…

The westward advance continued day and night without stop. We traveled by vehicle and advanced by foot on paved roads, dirt roads, paths in the forests, and through quicksand bogs. Victory was assured. It was only a matter of time.

We entered Germany. The solid buildings and pleasant village farms stood out. It was clear that the civilian German population had not experienced the taste of hunger and deprivation.

The German army continued to resist and felled no small number of victims. However, the opposing force was too large and strong-willed to be able to be stopped. The civilian population was willing to polish every boot of a Russian soldier, and to add a payment. They were lower than grass. They submissively accepted every command. We averted our eyes when we talked to them. They seemed like abandoned sprouts that recognized a person who raised a stick or stone to injure them, and then decided in which direction to flee.

The soldiers with whom I served began to prepare their plans after the war. The plans were varied: one would return to his village, a second would build a house in German style, a third would complete his education, etc. In the meantime, the soldiers were permitted to send packages to their families, relatives, or acquaintances every two weeks. Thus, during the evenings, the soldiers were busy obtaining all types of items that they removed from German warehouses or from private homes to send to their families.

I was the only one in the entire battalion who was not busy with anything. No trace of my family remained. I looked at the soldiers packing their shipments and was jealous.

The Reichstag was still burning when I entered Berlin, and Russian soldiers were walking upright and with pride, for they were the victors. I did not have the feeling of victory. The question arose in my mind, “And now, where is my place? For my task has concluded!”

Our battalion was sent back to Russia after the German defeat. The train brought us to Rostov on Don. We entered bunkers, and continued being soldiers in those bunkers and.

Once, while travelling on a Sunday (the weekend) in a car, I recognized a group of Jews speaking Yiddish.

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I began to smile, and they expressed their opinion out loud that the person smiling is certainly a Jew. I responded in Yiddish, and I found out from them that everyone who had been a Polish citizen (until 1939) was permitted to return to Poland.

I presented a request to be discharged, for I had been a Polish citizen until 1939. I requested to travel to Poland.

I was finally answered. I was discharged from the army. I received a salary for my time of service, as well as railway tickets for Poland.

I understood that I might perhaps be able to make aliya to the Land from Poland. I decided to visit the town of Kamin-Kashirsky before I crossed the Russian border.

I reached Kowel (Kovel) after travelling for a week. I met a few Jews from our town there: Yitzchak Urmland, Yaakov Goldstein and his family, Yona Waserman, and others.

I was told that the train to Kamin-Kashirsky was not operating, that the only connection was with transport vehicles that bring products to the government stores, and that the roads were fraught with danger. More than once, armed farmers attacked the vehicles, grabbed the products, and killed the travelers.

I did not pay attention to the warnings, and I requested from Yaakov Goldstein, who worked at the time as a warehouse keeper in Kowel (Kovel), to find a place for me on one of the transport vehicles. The vehicle tilted me to all sides as it traveled on dirt roads and traversed tree roots that protruded in the forest.

I was immersed in the not-too distant, unbelievably tragic past. The living and the dead passed before the eyes of my spirit. Beinish Segal's wall, with the blood of the Jews who were shot early in the morning dripping from it; the 15-year-old daughter of Werbla who was murdered in the ghetto by the Gebitskommissar during broad daylight; the wide-open eyes of small children who had become accustomed to not screaming or crying when they entered a hiding place during a time of danger; those indifferent to everything and those prepared for everything in order to save themselves.

The memories made me forget the warnings of attacks and murder on the roads to Kamin-Kashirsky.

I arrived in the town square during the morning. I stood next to one of the houses and looked around me. Most of the shops were closed. Some of them served as warehouses, with government merchants standing at the doors. Here and there a farmer went, or a squeaky wagon moved. The wind caused sections of worn our newspapers and crushed hay to fly about. There was endless gloom.

I continued to walk along the main street, Listopadova (Kowelska), where we had once lived. I tried to ensure that Christian acquaintances would not

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notice me. I was covered in sweat. I crossed from one corner of the house to the next like a thief.

The houses were empty. Windows had fallen out of their frames. There was deathly silence. Some houses had boarded up windows, as if someone were inside who does not want to encounter the murderous world. Yards and houses were occupied by strangers.

For some reason, things became lighter for me as I approached the place where our house had stood. Behold – there was ash and burnt bricks.

I met some Jews who had returned to Kamin-Kashirsky, but I did not ask them why they had returned. I could not understand the reason for them remaining in the town, and it would be superfluous for me to ask since their reason for being there would in any case not be understandable to me – let what is be as is.

The next day, I traveled back to Kowel IKovel) on the transport vehicle. After several weeks, I packed my belongings in one small suitcase. I boarded the train and crossed the border to Poland in a legal fashion.

I remained in the city of Chelm for several days, and then traveled to Warsaw. I wandered the streets in the hope of meeting a larger number of Jews. I peeked in and I also entered some stores, but I did not meet Jews. The next day, I wandered among the ruins of the destroyed ghetto, and the remnants of the bunkers and pits. I felt myself less alone amongst the ruins than on the main street, Marszalkowska.

I was told that there was a community of Jews in Lódz. I did not succeed in getting a seat on the train traveling to Lódz, so I went up on the roof of one of the trains and traveled that way all night. At the Lódz railway station,

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I removed the soot that was covering my face (I had laid down on the wagon close to the chimney) and walked into town. As I was walking along one of the streets, I noticed signs in Hebrew letters. I saw familiar faces. This was one of the emissaries from the Land of Israel – Sheika Wiener from Turisk. I approached him, and he also recognized me.

After a few days, I reached Lower Silesia with the mission of establishing a Hebrew school in the city of Reichenbach (currently Dzierzoniów). I received directives and began to work.

A school was opened, and the echoes of the Hebrew language were heard therein. Most of the children who studied there and were educated in the spirit of [Zionist] actualization made aliya to the Land.

After a year, I boarded a train headed to France with a group of youths. There, I became involved in the “smuggling” [i.e. illegal immigration] activities.

Even before six months passed, I too wanted to make aliya to the Land. One bright day, I was ordered to squeeze out my laundry that I had given over to the laundromat even before it was dry and put it in a sack. I did this, and boarded the Greek ship Triton that traveled the Marseilles-Haifa route.

Since I was appointed to accompany the boat, and therefore was able to be in one of the berths, I was able to dry my wet laundry during the journey…

I arrived in the Land on December 27, 1948, with my laundry dry. I sang Hatikva along with all the travellers of the boat – that Hatikva [hope] that most of the Jews believed but did not succeed in actualizing.

Forever will their memories not leave our hearts.

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