[Pages 72-75]

The Balfour Declaration was a revolutionary turning point for Radekhov, a remote and closed off town prior to World War I. Within a short time, all sympathizers of the Zionist idea got together at the “Kadima” club, and community activism began. Hebrew language courses were started in which almost all children, except for the extremely religious ones (Belz Chassidim), participated. The teacher, Yaakov, was busy from the morning until the late hours of the evening. “Kadima” opened a library, started a drama club, and for the first time in the town, Yiddish plays were performed. There were Chanukah and Purim evenings, parties, dances, and more. Women contributed to the snack bar and volunteered their services for it. All income was contributed to the Keren Kayemet (Jewish National Fund). Among the first activists in “Kadima” were Chava Reis, Esther Pfeffer, Belka Ecker, Weissman, Hillel Greenberg, Menaker, Barak, Miller, Natan Barak, Nissan Axler and others. Shortly thereafter the first pioneers planning to move to Palestine became organized, and they began training with local Jewish landowners including the Rappaport, Ecker and Kardimann families. In the meantime youth groups from all the Zionist movements sprouted up: Hashomer Hatsair (Young Guard), Gordonia and others; and they began ideological debates. Emissaries from the centers in Lvov arrived to give lectures and provide explanatory and other types of reading materials. All of this caused the rapid development of the cultural level of the youth.

The second important factor in the development of the town was the opening of a high school in Radekhov (1923). Count Badeni, who was the guardian of the town (he owned an estate and castle and most of the public buildings and elementary schools), donated a building in his garden for the high school, and part of the garden to the town for a public garden. School tuition was very high, so only a small number of Jewish families could send their children to the high school; but, over a number of years, the town's intelligentsia arose from this small percentage.

Over the years until approximately 1930, there were normal relations between the Jewish and non-Jewish students (Poles and Ukrainians) in the high school. There were joint social get-togethers after school for sports activities, tennis and skiing competitions, field trips, etc. I remember a number of Jewish homes that hosted regular meetings of students. The Schuman's son was the first to build himself a radio receiver, and in the Schuman home we had our first opportunity to listen (intermittently with earphones) to

Photograph [of Hebrew school students] from a children's play

opera broadcast from La Scala in Milan. Mrs. Schuman always welcomed us warmly and with a smile, offering us refreshments despite the difficult economic situation. In the Ecker home there were three children in high school, and the house was always full of young people of every age who engaged in loud debates. It was always fun in the Schwarzwald home with Papka and Izio Schwarzwald. Izio was the first victim when the Germans arrived in town. He was shot on the street because he did not respond properly when questioned by a German officer.

The Poles and Ukrainians had two community centers in town: Sokol for the Poles and “Narodny Dom” for the Ukrainians. The Jews did not have their own center so they rented these halls for their parties and plays, and rented tennis courts for games. In the 1930s under the influence of the Nazi Party in Germany, the atmosphere in town changed as it did everywhere in Poland. Not only did they [Ukrainians and Poles] not want to rent their halls to Jews, but they also ceased all social contact. After finishing high school, those who sat next to us in class stopped greeting us on the street. Things reached the point where the Jews restricted themselves to a part of the street for Sabbath strolls because they felt open hostility on the Christian part. In university they went from numerus clausus^[1] to numerus nullus,^[2] and the luckier ones faced social ostracism. They sat on special benches and frequently faced cruel beatings from their friends, members of the anti-semitic nationalist organizations. There were even cases of murder in universities during this time. At the same time the Jews of Poland experienced economic hardship. The Polish government minister at that time was known to oppose anti-semitism, but not social economic pressure. Thus, within a short time Polish and Ukrainian stores and cooperatives sprouted up that openly promoted propaganda not to purchase from Jews. On the other hand, because of high taxes the authorities forced many Jews to sell their businesses and think about emigration.

We then used to meet at the Senensieb home. The father was a Judaism teacher in the schools, and it was he who taught us our first ideas about Jewish history. His wife and daughter, Hala Senensieb, were active in all the women's organizations in town. Visitors to their home included Dr. Milgrom, the town doctor, who was very active in the Zionist movement; attorney Dr. Peczenik; Dr. Gruber; Dr. Charak; Engineer Feuerstein and others. We played bridge in order to ease the stress. However, our main debates focused on the questions of what would be, what to do, and where to run. All gates were locked. Emigration was only possible to the land of Israel for capitalists, and to Canada and Australia for agricultural workers. Despair began gnawing at us slowly but surely. Young people with higher education were unemployed even though the Polish economy was booming because of preparations for war. Everything was closed off to the Jews, however. Those who returned to town with diplomas from foreign countries (France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia) were required to undergo nostrifiktsia, that is, a two- or three-year retraining program. However, to be accepted to such programs one could wait for years until it was his turn, and meanwhile be prohibited from working in his profession.

This is basically how the situation was when World War II broke out. Although we read and heard a lot about the situation of Jews in Germany and Austria, we were too far away to understand what awaited us. The following is a typical story to which I was an eyewitness: In September 1939, when the Germans were at the gates of Lvov and bombarded the city for days, we stayed in a large fine shelter with hundreds of adults and children. The electricity grid, water and gas systems were damaged, and food was scarce. Only the brave among us ventured out at night during brief pauses in the bombing in order to get some water from the town square and some food from a store that was looted. A few days later the women began to grumble and scream: let the Germans come already as long as our suffering could end and we could get out of here. Then an older lady from Vienna stood up (she was one of those expelled to the Polish border by Hitler) and as she cried she began to tell us who the Germans were, and that she herself was prepared to stay in this shelter an entire year as long as the Germans would not come.

From right to left: Nusik Pfeffer, Herszko Ecker, Munio Schuman, Szanka Wasser, Julek Kramm, Salka Ecker, Lalo Wurm?, Tolci Kurzer, Dunek Ecker, Klara Zimant, Lotka Leider, Meir Feuerstein and Guttman from Lwow

[Page 76]

I was born in Lutotów, a small town near Łódź. For economic reasons we moved to Kalisz and there I finished elementary school. In order to continue my studies in Kalisz, I would not have been able to keep the Sabbath and my late father, who was an observant Jew and a Gur Chassid, objected to this. So my sister and I continued at a seminary in Krakow and at the end of my studies, I was sent to teach in Stanisławów. From there I was transferred to Radekhov. The mission of the Beit Yaakov school was: diligent Jewish studies, the Tanach (Bible) and more, as well as strengthening ties with the students.

There were four classes for 7 to 14 year olds. The girls attended the elementary school in the morning, while studies at the “Beit Yaakov” school took place in the afternoon. According to these girls who had already finished elementary school, the last grade always stayed and socialized together till a late hour. Shabbat was reserved for the upper grades and on the Sabbath eve we met for prayer. Each girl wore white Sabbath clothes and an innocent angelic expression on her face. We sang in the choir and then left only to meet again the next morning, And if it was “Shabbat Mevarchim” we got in a line and went to the synagogue to participate in prayer together with the congregation of worshipers. In the afternoon, in the summer, we would take a hike to the field and there we talked about current events. In the winter, the gathering took place in the classroom. The bonds between us were very close. The Hanukah and Purim parties and the performances we held were other valuable factors that strengthened our connections.

First, I assigned the roles. After each girl learned her part at home, we held rehearsals. On the eve of Hanukah, there was no end to the joy. Almost the entire town streamed into “Sokolnia” Hall. I especially remember the performance of the story of Hannah and her seven sons. The “actresses” performed the roles with emotion, as if it were a recitation of what was about to happen in reality. The impression of the show in the town was immense. I remember that the physician, Dr. Milgrom once invited me to organize a play in collaboration with the “Tarbut” school since we were friendly with the people in charge of it. But unfortunately, I refused to carry out the plan as I was instructed by the center.

[Page 77]

In the summer we went on trips on Lag B'Omer. We rented a horse-drawn cart, that was the transportation^[1] then, and we visited Toporów where my sister Adela ran the Beit Yaakov school. How great was the girls' excitement when they saw the white tablecloths spread out on benches with food fit for a king. This was a pleasant sight for many, for there were many households in Radekhov where the livelihood was not very good. Schools in Poland did not go on trips with children, so that day left a strong impression in the girls' memories and they returned home happy.

Two years later I was replaced by another teacher and I was sent to Kielce. I kept in touch with the students and they told me exactly everything that happened at school and in the town. You could say I got love letters. The relationship did not end until I returned to Radekhov, this time not as a teacher. I liked that small town and decided to settle in it. I wanted to build my home there. I was even drawn to a good circle of friends, Fela Schonenfeld, D. Rosen, Lalo Wurm, Shmuel Katz and others. It is unlikely that a remnant of their families remain.

I returned to Radekhov in 1939. The idyll in the peaceful town of my loyal students and beloved and innocent neighbors did not last long. At the outbreak of war on September 1, 1939, things changed and hell began. I was cut off from my family who were already under Nazi rule. In our house we were afraid of deportation to faraway Russia, since my father-in-law was a wealthy merchant. He did not know rest until the day he died. May his memory be blessed. In the summer of 1941, with the entry of the Nazi soldiers into Radekhov, our fate was determined and the tribulations began, one following another.

We were expelled from our homes so that the murderers could more easily both kill the Jews and rob them of their property. Certainly the cruel behavior of the Germans will be described in more detail. I just want to mark the holy and cruel day when the town was widowed of her best sons, my beloved family included. On the eve of Yom Kippur, a minyan was organized in our house for “Kol Nidre.” The city's rabbi was also among the worshipers. My brother-in-law Avigdor was the cantor due to his pleasant voice that night. To this day, the sounds of the worshipers in the last prayer of their lives resonates in my ears.

The next day everyone lined up for a death march to the nearby town of Kamionka. It is worth mentioning here the devotion of a devoted mother. Her name was Tila Zeiger, the wife of Ephraim Asher Zeiger. Her son was among those who had supposedly reported to work. The mother brought her son a coat and when she saw that her son was walking in the line, she joined him. The son wanted to save his mother and stepped out of the line. At that moment, he was shot to death. His body remained in place and his mother continued on her way to death with the rest of her family.

[Page 78]

A heavy mourning fell upon those who remained. These were the elderly and a very few young people who miraculously survived. In December, all my family members, five in number, were deported to Sokal. The Gestapo in Sokal were notorious. Every day the ghetto residents felt this. We, the strangers, were especially the scapegoats. On the way, the Ukrainians robbed us of the little we had left from our house. We were dragged to hard work every day. In addition, we were also beaten. We walked around the ghetto and when we saw the human skeletons, we often thought: could the world abandon us? And that's what really happened.

In May 1943, the ghetto was liquidated with the murder of all the Jews. Only a few managed to escape, among them were both my husband and I. We stayed in the attic and through the window one morning we saw two Nazis armed with rifles leading two children, a boy and a girl, barefoot and dressed in rags. Once they led a Jew wrapped in a tallit. We escaped from the ghetto at night and crossed the fence. We did not know for ourselves what to do. We did not know the way. We wandered for two weeks on the road from Sokal to Radekhov and we nourished ourselves with what we picked in the field.

All day we hid and at night we got up and walked. Once I went out to ask for food and here was a young man galloping towards me on a horse and he said to me: “You are looking for a way out of the village, here it is in front of you,” and he showed us exactly which way to go. He was a Jewish boy who worked in the village and wanted to help us. He immediately disappeared so that God forbid they would not see him or find out that he was also a Jew.

Once another young Ukrainian saw me in the village. He grabbed me by the hand and said to me: “You are certainly not alone, you are a whole gang, now you will tell me and come with me to the police.” I stood frightened and trembling and along came a young woman with a baby in her arms and told the lad to choose: “In the name of my children and in the name of God do not harm her.” As she spoke, she held the young man's hand and she turned to me: “Run away, as long as you have the wherewithal.” How great was our despair when we arrived after life-threatening dangers on the way home to finally find – no way home. The Ukrainians did not allow us to cross the threshold of our house. Only one woman named [Marija] Bihun^[2], took us in for three days. On the third morning we set out for the field with a loaf of bread, hoping to reach the nearby forest. It was a forest where I would hike with my students. Here we found shelter for a period of time. In this gloom, a light came on. The old woman promised to share her bread every Saturday night and to place a loaf of bread in a certain place. To our surprise, we met once more on Saturday night, with two more souls shaking from cold and hunger, Peshi Kardasz (today Hochman) and a 13-year-old boy named Chaim Finger. The “family” grew but the source of sustenance remained as it was, and thus did we divide our bread among four individuals.

[Page 79]

Our suffering was great in the winter with frost, rain and snow. The danger to life grew with the fortification of Germans in the forest. This was also the reason for the capture of the rest of the people, of whom, a few remained: Dr. Lenchner and Issachar Kurtz, the boy who was swollen from hunger who went out to ask for bread one day. The Ukrainians handed the boy over to the Germans for a monetary reward. After the liberation, we were told that the Germans took the boy to the forest so that he could show them the place where Jews were hiding, but the boy misled them. The Germans ordered him to dig his own grave. And so there were only three of us left.

That summer we were liberated, but our joy was not complete. How were we to rejoice in a cemetery, for such was the appearance of Radekhov. We therefore collected abandoned and lonely children and handed them over to institutions. One of our ambitions was to build a home in our homeland. We took tortuous paths (it was not yet legal to make aliyah) and arrived in Israel in 1949. Time covers the wounds but it does not cure them.

Hebrew School in Radekhov

[Pages 80-81]

I remember our town as a peaceful little shtetl, clean and civilized, surrounded by woods, in which we, the local youths, took hikes, picnicked, and in the winter took trips from there in winter wagons. In the summer, the school children along with their teachers would also take trips from there, and this was a real celebration. The children were joined by soft drink and sweets peddlers. We used to buy their goods, spend the entire day playing, rest beneath the trees and return full of new experiences.

In the town there were beautiful gardens, and in the center of town, the count's park with its sitting areas was very pleasing. There were rows of large linden trees all around, acacia trees with white and fragrant blossoms, and white and purple lilac bushes. Most of the public buildings were surrounded by gardens of seasonal, sweet-smelling bushes and flowers.

In my time, the cordiality between the Ukrainian Christian youths and the Jewish youths was fairly decent. The Jewish youths sought education and were very interested in Zionism and going to lectures for self-enrichment. Additionally, they sought to better themselves financially. The boys played chess a lot and we organized plays and dances. When we felt the need for a library, I, together with two other girls, decided to establish one. For lack of funds, we went from door to door asking for books. I remember that in every house we visited we were kindly given books and we felt that this bestowed good luck upon us in our goal. Only later were we able to purchase additional books, thanks to subscription fees and monetary donations. [This went on] until a more substantial committee was established to care for our library. This committee moved the library to a more spacious place and expanded the collection.

My grandfather, Aharon Katz, opened his house to all, and there everyone found something to his liking: from perusing a newspaper, to playing chess or finding a partner for a game, to arguing about politics or other current affairs. I remember the fair days, colorful and noisy, full of activity and clamor. During these days Jews used to come, call my grandfather aside (“seit moichel Reb Ahron”^[1]) and ask him for some money to be returned on market day or at the end of day for provisions for the coming Sabbath, or for a loan for the week, or for settling a bill. Then Grandfather took them to a corner so as not to shame them, took a handful of coins or notes from his pocket, and gave them out as need be without a word and always with a smile of kindness. I never saw him annoyed. I remember the nice custom we had of honoring guests (“tzum tisch”^[2]), especially on the Sabbath and holidays. In the morning, my grandmother as well as my mother filled a basket with Sabbath goods, covered it with a white cloth and sent it over to poor relatives or other poor people, especially those who had lost their fortunes. I recall many times when I was the emissary of these mitzvot (good deeds). Charity without publicity was the foundation of my grandfather's house.

I remember the people of our town as people of high morals, humble people, hard working, each attending to the needs of his house. One could find a newspaper in most progressive homes. The young people worked to increase the membership of the local Zionist organization and no public function ever lacked volunteers.

Hebrew school in Radekhov First row, from the right: Michael Schrage, Feige Barach, Zwia Barasch, Henia Wittlin, [Beila] Ecker, Malka Samet, Gila Friedman, Nissan Axler. Second row: Faki Floh, Shmuel Gertwagen, Weissman Lea, Tolci Kurzer and others

Translator's footnotes

1. “begging your pardon Reb Ahron” [Yiddish] Return
2. “to the table” [Yiddish] Return

[Page 82]

On Sunday, June 22, 1941, we were awakened in the morning after the Germans threw the first bombs on our city. Then we knew that war between the Germans and Russians had broken out. That day, we all ran about like crazy people, for we knew what was awaiting us from the Germans. However, at 2:00 p.m., Soviet tanks began to arrive on the road from Brody. We counted them, and there were 26. We all thought that they would save us and that the Germans would not enter the city. The Russian tanks stood at the western side of the city around their church, in the direction of the railway station. That day, the Germans reached the railway station.

My parents Yitzhak and Scheindel who died in Brazil, my brother – David and his wife Zosia, in whose house the entire family hid

The Germans began their activity immediately. They went from house to house and chased out all of the Jews, shouting “Get outside!” They beat them mercilessly. I saw a caravan of Jews, with three Jews in each row. They began to arrange everyone in an orderly fashion, until we reached the post office. They put us in the yard. They chose about 20 people to go and collect sheets, rice, sugar, and all sorts of other things. I was included among the 20. We were given an order to bring everything including the money within two hours or everyone would be killed. One must believe the Germans especially if they threaten to kill, for “they have no problems” with that. I went with another group, and as we were standing next to the house of Kalman Goldscheider, a group of policemen arrived, captured us along with 200 other people, and sent us directly to the Podgaye. They ordered us to pour all the gravel onto the road. We were about 300 people, and anyone who could not work was beaten with murderous blows. They beat Abish Silberman over his glasses with a stick. His glasses broke, and blood flowed over his cheeks. Yossi Menaker also received blows.

Toward evening, I miraculously returned home. Soviet bombers arrived and began bombing. I was as black as a Negro, and for two weeks, I could only sleep standing up. This is how things went week after week. We were chased out to work every day.

The Soviets had built several airfields in our area. The Germans brought wagons with rocks. We worked at a fast tempo. There was no work without beatings. We worked in this fashion without food, and we were also not permitted to go home. If we wanted to drink a bit of water during work in the heat of the day, they would not give us any, and when an elderly gentile wanted to give us a pail of water, the Germans poured out the water. The young gentiles treated our suffering disparagingly, and even appeared satisfied with it.

My main worry was: what would happen to the people who were taken as hostages. At 11:00 p.m., we heard that they freed these people. The next morning, the Germans began to go around in groups, taking whatever they found in houses and also administering beatings. I had prepared a bit of sugar – and they took everything. We were abandoned like dogs and cats. Any person who was considered to be a Jew was not even looked at. Thus, they went from house to house until Wednesday, beating people everywhere. On Wednesday at 10:00, 18 Soviet bombers arrived. I stood in the yard and watched the bombs falling on the Germans 20 meters away from me. Tens of them were killed. Moshe Gleicher was also killed. He was the only Jew killed during the Soviet bombardment.

On Sunday, they imprisoned four Jews, including Yossi Menaker the son of Nisan, Chaim Wasserman and his son Pesach, the grandson of Hershel Lozik, and Stumfeler from Chołojów, who was in the militia and Komsomol (youth wing of the Communist Party). At night, they murdered them all in the gymnasium building. Pesach the son of Chaim Wasserman saw how they cut off his father's foot. They poured benzene over Yossi Menaker and set him on fire. They beat the wounds with a stick in order to try to put out the fire. Lozik was already dead, as was Stumfeler from Chołojów. When they threw a chair at Pesach, they thought he was already dead and left him. Pesach woke up from his faint in the middle of the night, and saw that the rest were no longer alive. He lifted himself up, approached the open window, and saw a German sentry making rounds. The sentry was startled and turned aside. Pesach succeeded in escaping through the window and reaching his home. He survived until they transferred the Jews of Radekhov to the Busk Ghetto. Nothing is known of his fate after that.

Later, they began to organize the Judenrat. Adolf Kranz was the head, and he selected the Judenrat from among his family members including: Adolf Ecker, Prager, Yosef Wasser, Leibish Goldenberg, Bedner, and others. The Judenrat organized the Ordnungsdienst (Jewish ghetto police). The policemen included Leiber Alzufrom, Reis, Shabtai Rosenberg, Asher Dubner of Chołojów, Hersch Brunn, and others. They set up a labor office with a Jewish division and began to send Jews to do all types of work. Things continued in this manner until the winter of 1941–1942. Then they began to talk about sending workers to Płuhów [labor camp] next to Złoczów. More than 100 young men who were chosen by the Judenrat were sent there. Not one of them returned from there. The poor people were sent, and the wealthy people managed locally.

Two days after Rosh Hashana, the murderers surrounded the city and removed 1,500 Jews for extermination from amongst those who came by. They sent them by train to Bełżec. Only Moshe Windbeutel and one other person remained alive.

However, those two were also killed later on. Two days after this roundup, announcements were posted ordering the men who remained after the first deportation to present themselves at the marketplace in order to receive permits to remain in the city. They reported on Yom Kippur at 10:00 a.m. I was among them. We were more than 500 people. The head of the arbeitsdienst (labor service) of Kamionka Strumiłowa, Schindler may his name be blotted out, arrived along with Ukrainians and Germans who surrounded the entire square. We immediately realized that the intention was murder. They brought them all to Kamionka except for a few professionals who were left behind to continue working. I was among them. From that time on, I fast on Yom Kippur because that was the day that we escaped from the pits of Yom Kippur, September 21, 1942. Leib Gold was also among them.

All of those who remained already knew that the end was approaching even for the survivors. There was a rumor that they would transfer the people to Sokal. The Jews from the area were brought to Radekhov, and housed in the empty houses of the city's Jews who had been killed. People began to escape in order to save own their lives. They began to set up the ghetto after Yom Kippur. The ghetto continued in a westward direction until [the home of] Hersch Hoch to the east. They surrounded the city again on October 7 and gathered all the remaining people – about 1,500 – and transferred them to Bełżec. Not one of them survived.

Epidemics and various diseases spread in the ghetto throughout the half year. Anyone who had the opportunity to escape did so. On December 1, 1942 they loaded up almost all of those who remained on sleds hitched to horses and transferred them to the Sokal Ghetto. Left behind were 100 people to clean the ghetto. The Sokal Ghetto was liquidated on May 25, 1943. They also murdered the final Jews of Radekhov.

On March 15, 1943, they surrounded the ghetto and removed the remaining 100 people. They brought them to the Pukaczów Forest and murdered them. The tens of children were placed in a pit and suffocated alive. Yosef Barij, Sender Barach and I were among the few who survived.

[Page 86]

The first Aktzia took place two days after Rosh Hashana 5702 [September 22, 1941], on a Tuesday, lasting from the morning through the evening. The Gestapo surrounded the city and forced all residents-including women, children, the elderly, and notable figures like the rebbetzin, Golda Barash, and Bluma Segal-to leave their homes. They murdered more than 30 people on the spot. The remaining residents were taken to the train station, shoved into train cars, and transported to an unknown location. The bodies of those who were shot were taken to the cemetery and buried in a mass grave. Those remaining were brought to the empty homes and ordered to clear them of all the furniture and personal belongings and load the contents onto vehicles. The contents were then transferred to trains, filling 20 train cars,, and sent to Germany.

Some people who managed to hide during the Aktzia and the members of the Judenrat remained in the city.

Yom Kippur fell on Monday, with “Kol Nidrei” recited on Sunday night. The Germans issued an order requiring all those remaining to report to a work assignment on Yom Kippur, replacing those taken in the Aktzia. Everyone had to gather at a designated location in the morning. Anyone who did not show up would be shot, and the entire city would face destruction. In secret, I chanted “Kol Nidrei” along with the local rabbi, Rabbi Asher, and several other Jews. We discussed our options and ultimately decided to comply with the order. We all ventured out in the morning. My late wife, Biltza, did not go, as the labor office said that sick people were not required to attend.

I joined members of the Judenrat, the rabbi from Choliv [Vuzlove, Cholojów], Rabbi Asher of Radekhov, Yosef Wasser, and Chaim Kurtzer. We all gathered in the street. Suddenly, the Gestapo soldiers surrounded us, preventing any of us from escaping. The head of the labor office ordered everyone to surrender their work cards (about 800 cards altogether), claiming we would receive new ones later.

They ordered us to march, and we walked four to a row. Some people attempted to escape, like Sara Kratz, Israel Isar's sister. They shot and killed her. Anyone who tried to step out of the line was shot.

[Page 87]

Mosheleh Hass was in the hospital. The Germans murdered him along with everyone else there. They loaded my son Melamed onto a cart and took him with us. They urged us to walk faster and faster, and along the way, they killed and murdered people.

We walked without knowing our destination. I fasted and prayed along the way, reciting everything I had memorized by heart. Rabbi Asher, his sons, and the rabbi from Choliv joined in prayer. Eventually, we reached a bridge. Near the bridge, additional Gestapo men from Sokal, including Schindler, arrived. They ordered individuals with badges (like Shmuel Weissman and others) to step aside while they loaded the rest of us into vehicles and drove us to Kamionka. As we passed through the city, we noticed all the houses had been broken into and they were missing their windows and doors. There were no longer any Jews in the town; everyone had vanished.

They led us to a bridge over the Bug River and there they ordered us to take off our clothes. They demanded whatever money we had in our possession, promising that in return, they would offer good jobs. Yosef Wasser attempted to escape; they shot him in the leg and brought him back. Those of us who still had any hope finally understood that this would not end well. They ordered us to strip naked, and the Gestapo soldiers walked along the rows of people, instructing each of us to open our mouth. They hit people in the chin and pulled out all of their teeth and gold fillings. Then they took the people and placed them in large pits. It was already time for the “Neilah” prayer [concluding prayer service of Yom Kippur], and the sun became red. They shot everyone on both sides of the back of the neck. The Gestapo shot me too, and I fell into the pit; it was only when they ordered the “shkotzim” [a derogatory term for Gentile boys] to cover the pits that I heard the Nazis calling: “Where is your Avraham? Where is your Moshe? Why aren't they helping you? Cheers to German technology! Contempt for Communism!” I heard everything. I stayed lying down, and they covered me with dirt. In the middle of the night, I raised my arm to get some fresh air and attempted to pull myself out of the pit. It was already 1:30 in the morning when I got out of the pit. Some others, like Welti Sigal, Efraim Alzufrom, and Chaim Barij, tried to escape earlier. The Gestapo yelled at them: “Where are you going?” and took them. I do not know what happened to them.

I woke up and instinctively pushed myself down; I was naked. It was a cold, moonlit night. I was afraid that the Germans would catch me too, so I crawled on the ground like a snake. After about 100 meters, I rose and began to walk. I spotted a forest and entered it. The cold was intense; I gathered leaves and covered myself with them. I curled up and lay down until dawn. As daylight broke, I noticed some red berries and picked a few. They gave me a jolt of energy, helping me satisfy my thirst and hunger after the fast of Yom Kippur. I continued to lie down until daylight and then stayed there for the next two days, Tuesday and Wednesday. I relied on the red berries to sustain me during that time. It is extremely hard to describe what I felt, so I will only provide a glimpse.

[Page 88]

A non-Jew approached and asked if I was from the pit in Kamionka. I answered that I was not. I explained to him that I was captured while working, stripped naked, and had been lying there in the forest without food since then. I told him I knew nothing about the pit in Kamionka. He responded: “Do not be afraid. Lie down here, and I will bring you a slice of bread and some coffee.” I feared that the man would report me to the Gestapo, so I moved to another spot in the forest.

Five minutes later, the same non-Jewish man brought me coffee and a few slices of bread. He told me he would show me the way to Choliv. I sat down to eat and drink. He gave me something to cover my head and body. I then began walking barefoot on the sharp gravel along the railroad tracks. I jumped from one side to the other until I reached Choliv on Thursday morning.

I noticed a house and knocked on the door, but no one initially wanted to open it. Moshe Krauss from Choliv and Motia Reis answered. Inside the house, there was a double-walled chamber. They took me into the chamber and cared for me until I recovered from my ordeal. They offered me black coffee, and I shared my story, explaining that everyone else had been murdered and I was the sole survivor. Since they were members of the Judenrat, they were able to arrange for a cart to transport me back to my home in Radekhov.

I came home, and Avraham Krantz, the head of the Judenrat, visited me. I told him everything. He asked me not to tell anyone in the city what happened, as it would put everyone's lives at risk.

The following morning, Reb Feivishel came by, and I recounted the story to him and his late wife, Beila. He pulled my ear and said, “You had a great privilege.” I also spoke to Sheindele, the wife of Rabbi Asher, who was still in hiding. I informed her about Rabbi Asher and told her that everyone had been murdered. They all asked me not to tell anybody else. This was the policy of the Germans, damn them, to keep everything hidden and silence us. They told you that they were sending you to work, so to speak, to confuse you and dull your mind.

Another Aktzia took place on Sukkot. Yaakov Leider, Ziss, I, and several others hid in our bunker. We heard gunshots on Friday. A few hundred additional people were murdered during that Aktzia. Two or three days after that, all the remaining city residents, along with those from the towns of Lopatyn, Shtervitz [Shchurovychi], Kryve, Dubyny, and others, were ordered to be brought to a ghetto in Radekhov, leaving everything they owned behind. I told my wife, Biltza, that I would not comply and planned to go elsewhere. I decided to hide with a non-Jew, and my experience there is a story unto itself.

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We lived in Belz, eastern Galicia when the Second World War broke out. Five days later, the Russians, with approval from the Germans, conquered Galicia. A month later, there were changes to the border: The Germans took a part of Galicia, while the Russians received the rest. This marked the beginning of suffering for my family, me, and the Jewish communities in that area. We left Belz on Simchat Torah and moved part of our belongings to my husband's hometown, Radekhov. His family gave us a room where our family of four settled down. The Russians forced us to sustain ourselves by selling our belongings. They did not allow us to work, as we were considered wealthy. The Germans conquered Radekhov on June 22, 1941, and shortly after that, they issued new decrees targeting the Jewish community. They demanded various items be handed over. They first demanded that Jews surrender their radios and then their clocks. This was an effort to disconnect us from the outside world and the events unfolding around us. Not long after that, the Germans established a ghetto.

Men and women over the age of 50 were taken for forced labor. In August 1941, the Germans rounded up a large group of young people in one day, and none of them returned. Non-Jewish residents later informed us that all of those individuals had been murdered immediately after leaving the city.

At the beginning of 1942, I began receiving letters from my friend, Avraham Wrubel, in Kraków through Christian acquaintances. In these letters, he described the troubles he and the area's Jewish population were experiencing. I had to pay a substantial sum for each of these letters. We reached a point where we could neither live nor die in peace; every night, we begged God to allow us to die a natural death so we would not fall victim to the murderers.

On October 28, 1942, I lost my husband along with his entire family: his parents, Tzipora and Moshe Steinwurzel; his brother Meir; and his sister, Adela Grossman, along with all four of her children. The eldest were taken on Yom Kippur along with 1,000 other people and thrown alive into pits. Adela's husband was the first victim. That afternoon, they came to take

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my husband from the hospital where he worked. When he heard their voices, he jumped from the second floor and was killed instantly. I rented a cart and took his body, and with my two daughters, I went to the cemetery. There, we found many dead bodies collected from the streets and homes, the result of the slaughter that took place that day. As I stood in front of the grave, I was left wondering who was better off: me or my husband, especially since he had received a Jewish burial. I found a stick and wrote his name on it. I never returned to that place.

I then sent away my older daughter, Yocheved, who was 13 years old at the time, passing as a Christian with forged papers –an expense that cost a fortune–to a labor camp in Germany. This left me with my younger daughter, who was eight and a half. After enduring much suffering, we were taken to a concentration camp in Lvov, where there were about a half million people. When the camp was finally liquidated, only 110 individuals were left, including seven children, one of whom was my daughter. In 1944, we walked on foot to the concentration camp at Plaszów, near Kraków. We were forced to wait outside the camp while the German camp staff deliberated on our fate. I learned later that they discussed what to do with us, especially the children. They debated whether they should annihilate the children immediately, since 40 days earlier they had sent away the camp children in train cars to Auschwitz. In the end, we were allowed to enter the camp. Once inside, everyone was forced to work. I was assigned hard labor jobs outside of the camp.

After an endless journey, we arrived in Auschwitz at midnight, amid rainy weather. The guards ordered us out of the train cars and moved us in rows to a long barrack, where we were held without food or drink. In the afternoon, we were told to be ready for the showers after a selection by Dr. Mengele and SS women officers. That selection would determine our fates–some of us would live and others would die. When it was my turn for the selection, the cruel doctor asked my daughter for her age, but she did not answer. She was then asked whether her mother was among the other women. She called out “Mother.” I turned and joined her in the line with those being sent to the “showers.” At that moment, I decided to part ways with this world. They dressed us in striped gowns, and a truck awaited us outside. As they began to load the children and women onto the truck, we hid under the clothing that had been taken off, and we went undetected. It was only when the truck and the selection officials had left that a Jewish worker who aided in the selection found us. He helped us change our clothes and moved us with those selected to live. After 21 days, we had to undergo another selection to determine who would be leaving Auschwitz. Dr. Mengele was again in charge of the selection. Those selected to leave the camp moved to a large area, while those marked for the crematoriums were left in a closed hall. There were about 5,000 women, with only two children remaining in Auschwitz.

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From Auschwitz to Bergen-Belsen (November 1944)

We were loaded onto train cars in Auschwitz, supplied with bread and sausages–likely from horse meat–and began a long journey. Eventually, we arrived in Bergen-Belsen. We were among the first to enter the camp and we slept in tents. The attitude of the officials was not too harsh, especially for my daughter, who was the only child there. We were 800 people in the barrack block, but only 80 of us remained at the time of liberation. A substantial number of those who survived the ordeal at the camp died shortly after the liberation from tuberculosis, typhus, and dysentery, which were rampant in the camp. On April 16, 1945, my daughter and I were transferred to Himmler Hospital near the camp. In June 1945, we moved to Sweden to recuperate. My daughter and I arrived in Eretz Israel on May 28, 1946. Before we made Aliyah, I received a telegram, the first notice I received informing me that my older daughter had also survived. She arrived in Eretz Israel in 1947 and joined us.

Today, I live happily with my two married daughters and enjoy spending time with them and their children.

From right to left, top row: Kratz Yehuda, Steinwurzel Yaakov, Gertwagen Ettel, Ecker Dov, Friedman, Floh Faki, Barach Matityahu From right to left, second row: Stricker Kreindl, Kober Reizel, Lewit Hinda, Stricker Gitel, Barak David, Frima Meir, Menaker Rivka, Stricker Rivka From right to left, third row: Weissman Lea, Maier Eidel, Menaker Peshy, Maier Ester and Kurzer Tolci

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I am the daughter of Shmuel and Rachel from Radekhov. There is little point in recounting the troubles and torture endured in the ghetto during the Nazi occupation, as many have shared those stories before me. Therefore, I will begin my narrative at the time when Radekhov was declared “Judenfrei” [void of Jews].

Like the rest of the Jews, I was forced to leave my hometown (I no longer had a family at that time). We arrived in the Busk Ghetto. We were hoping that the Germans would let us live there, and we would be safer there than we were in Radekhov. However, shortly after our arrival, we experienced the same troubles and riots as in Radekhov. There, we realized that Jews had no chance of remaining alive. A question then arose: Should we just accept the death sentence or try to find ways to stay alive? Personally, I felt so apathetic that I did not bother to seek any way out. After I became the only surviving member of my family, I lost interest in saving myself and surviving. In Radekhov, I had a boyfriend named Shlomo Kremnitzer. After the Yom Kippur Aktzia, when the youth were taken, so to speak, to “work,” he and my two brothers managed to escape that ordeal. Later, I learned he had begged my brothers to run away with him. At first, they were so pessimistic that they did not believe escape was possible and thought, sooner or later, their fate was sealed. They told him: “You still have energy, and perhaps you will succeed. We only have one request: take care of our sister Batia; she may be the last remnant of our family.” Indeed, he saved me from the last Aktzia, and I arrived at Busk with him.

In Busk, we noticed that girls were studying Christian prayers so that they could escape to Germany as Christians and go through the cruel war there. Shlomo then began convincing me to embrace life, but I did not pay much attention to what he was saying. When he realized I could not be swayed, he brought a “macher” [Yiddish for “someone who gets things done”] from the Judenrat, paid him what he deemed necessary (I never found out how much), and then showed him the “merchandise.” In my naivety, I did not understand what was happening, but when Shlomo asked whether I would rather be a Polish or Ukrainian woman,

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I finally understood. I began to scream and cry, saying that I did not want to escape and did not want to live when everyone else was dead.

I will never forget another young Jewish woman who was in the same room. She had a tremendous desire to live but was told her Semitic nose would betray her. Years later, when I was already in Austria, I thought about her often. It saddened me that she was not with me–with her strong will to live, she would have survived. At the time, I could not understand her willingness to leave everyone behind and escape, whereas I, having lost my will to live, ended up finding a way to escape. When Shlomo realized he could not change my mind with kind words, he started using another method of persuasion. He said: “You know, you are in my way. I could have saved myself already, but I promised your brothers I would take care of you. I want to keep my promise, but you are hindering me. Please leave.” I replied, “I do not want to hinder you even if it means facing a certain death.” But then I stopped resisting and did whatever he asked without emotion, without farewells. They dressed me in high boots that were right for my size and a kerchief for my head. They tore off my Star of David and took me out of the ghetto.

My legs stumbled more and more with each step. I did not know where we were going or why. I was aroused by the sound of gunshots being fired at us, and I regained my strength and began to run. I was with the head of the Judenrat's daughter. Fortunately, her father was aware of the situation and managed to settle the matter using his money and connections.

The head of the Judenrat gave us the signal to move forward. We passed through the ghetto's gate and arrived at the “Arbeitsamt” [Employment Bureau]. Everything had been arranged ahead of time. They gave me a name without providing any certificates or explanation. From that point on, my name was Cheslava Malkovitz.

We were transported from Busk to Lvov, and from there, we took a direct train to Austria. I did not feel well since I had not eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours. Everybody else was eating because they had brought wholesome food from home. I sat in my corner, thin, hungry, and fearful, looking at them with wide-open eyes and wondering, “What makes me different from them?” An older woman sat near me; she was the counselor responsible for transporting the “Volksdeutsche” young women. She sensed that I was not eating and asked why. I explained that I had been picked up off the street, and consequently, I had not had a chance to contact my parents. I did not have any food, clothing, or documents. She took pity on me and offered me a slice of bread smeared with a layer of pork fat and urged me to eat. I could not bring myself to eat the fat, so I only nibbled on the dry bread. She did not leave me alone and continued to care for me until we arrived in Austria. She personally accompanied me to the place I was assigned to work so she could see it with her own eyes. I arrived at that place at noon and was astonished to see a table laden with abundant, wholesome food.

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The workers were eating white noodles in tomato juice along with large pieces of meat. I thought to myself about the injustice in the world: Back where I came from, people were dying of hunger and were not even allowed to breathe freely. Meanwhile, here, they devoured food and laughed as if they were in a completely different world. They invited me to join them at the table, but I hesitated to start eating worried they might notice how hungry I was and I didn't want them to become suspicious of me. The woman who accompanied me calmed me down and took a picture of me to use for propaganda purposes in Lvov, while I feared that she or others might recognize me and that it could lead to my execution.

I was assigned to share a room with a Polish woman, who had been at that place for a long time. She spoke German, and I pretended not to understand her. I was very tired and fell asleep right away. I probably dreamt during the night and began shouting and talking in Yiddish. The following day, the Polish woman told me: “Chesia, you have a talent for languages since you spoke a strange form of German in your sleep. This is a good beginning for you.” After that, I was afraid to fall asleep with her nearby because of the risk it posed.

I was working in the vegetable garden. The man responsible for the work was a Pole, a teacher by profession, a horrible antisemite, who presented himself as a “Volksdeutsche.” He did not stop mocking the Jews and always looked at me to see my reactions. I thought he was suspicious of me. Salvation came from an unexpected place. One day, the owner of the house came to the garden and spoke to the man in charge. I was too far away to hear what was being said. A few minutes later, they explained to me that I needed to go with the “Frau Doktor.” It turned out that she liked me and wanted me to work inside her home and not outside. That experience was truly a lifesaver for me. I finally had my own room and was no longer afraid to fall asleep. My work became easier. I was sent to take a German language course since the children were not allowed to hear me speak incorrectly. There was a sewing machine in my room that nobody used, and that was how I learned a little sewing.

The Pole responsible for the vegetable garden took advantage of this and brought me items to fix on the machine. I worked for him every free moment until I became fed up and refused to continue. The following day I overheard whispers at the table: “żydowska, żydowska.” I knew who this was directed toward and who was responsible for it. I decide to act quickly. I approached the homeowner and asked for an interview with him. When the time came for me to talk to him, I didn't know what to say until it was almost like a higher power was speaking through me. I informed the homeowner that I was quitting. He smiled as resignations were rare at that time, especially from a Pole. When he asked me why, I began to cry and told him that I was insulted by being called “żydowska” at the table. I expressed how hurt I was and said that I could not stay any longer. The situation was very delicate, and the homeowner had the right to hand me over to the Gestapo if he wished. However, he seemed to understand my feelings and sent for the Pole and began to interrogate him, with slaps to his face he began:

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“Who dared to call our Chesia Yiden? Who is he? Remember that if you mention that name again, I will know how to take care of you properly!” The homeowner turned to me then and asked: “Are you satisfied? Or do you still wish to retire?” I responded with a smile, “I am happy to stay.”

After that, I did not experience any further harassment from the Polish workers. I sensed their hatred and envy toward me, not only because they believed I was Jewish but also because my circumstances were better than theirs. They perceived me as different, and it bothered them. While I lacked nothing in terms of food and clothing, and the treatment was quite humane, the emotional pain and constant fear led to many sleepless nights. It was evident that after those long nights, my mood was sour, fueling my hatred toward the Polish workers and my desire for revenge. On one occasion, as I served them their meals at the table, I reached a breaking point. My hands trembled, and my feet faltered. Suddenly, the entire tray I held, along with the expensive porcelain dishes on it, fell and broke into pieces. I stumbled, fell, and cried hysterically, feeling overwhelmed and unable to pick up and clean up the mess. In that moment of despair, a caressing and comforting hand reached out to me: “Get up. This is not a disaster. We are in a time of war, and there are far greater tragedies. We will not cry over some broken dishes; we can easily replace them after the war.” It was the voice of my “boss,” the same person who often sounded cruel and unyielding to others.

Once the lady of the house invited me to see a movie. When we arrived at the theater, I realized they were showing “Yud Zis,” [a film that is considered highly antisemitic]. I had read the book at home, so I knew about the content of the movie. It was too late to reject the offer, so I attempted to ignore the scenes shown on the screen. However, some scenes were difficult to ignore. In one of them, I saw a real synagogue in which the Nazi actor Ferdinand Marian played the role of the Jew, Zis. He spoke a correct and juicy Yiddish. He stood by the Ark wrapped in a tallit and holding a Torah scroll. I reached the breaking point again and began to cry emotionally. The landlady stayed quiet the entire evening. When I calmed down, I understood that I gave myself away with my outburst. When I returned to my room, I began to pray and begged for God's help to find the words I was sure to need the next morning. In the morning, after the meal, she asked me: “What happened to you, Chesia, during the movie?” I responded: “I had a good friend at home. We grew up together, went to school together, and we often visited the synagogue because she was Jewish–she is not alive anymore.” She responded: “Nonsense! Crying over one Jewish girl…” I began to work faster to avoid continuing to talk about the subject.

To this day, I wonder why they treated me so kindly, especially since those same people had been cruel in similar situations. I believed my mother was watching over me, providing me with answers that would satisfy them. The sympathy they showed me felt like the finger of God, especially considering that there were other girls, more beautiful and wealthier than I, who had suffered or perished.

The owner of the house once approached me with an offer to help my parents and she asked me to provide her with their exact address.

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She said, through the Red Cross, she would try to convey to them that we could all be together, all of us working for her. She explained her offer by saying she could not stand seeing me so sad. Naturally, I went to my room to cry and pray, as I truly had no idea what concentration camp they had been sent to or if they were even alive. What should I do? A while later, I returned and said in a determined voice: “I prefer to hold on to the hope that I will have someone to return to at the end of the war. The front had passed through our town, gunfire erupted, and people got killed. I have not received any letters from my parents and I could not continue living if I knew they were among those who were killed.” In those days, it was easy for me to cry, so I wept openly until I heard her say: “Poor girl. You are right. It is very wise to think that.” Once again, I felt a sense of relief, but what would happen next? The German newspapers, to the extent I could read them at the time, were full of propaganda and victories, and when the defeats began, they wrote planmäßig nach rückwärts (planned withdrawal). And in my naivety, I believed I would never again be able to be called by my real name and would never again be able to cry out loud for the dear ones who had been killed in such a cruel way.

One bright day, a panic ensued when we heard the sounds of cannon shots. Inside the house, everyone was preparing anxiously for a meeting of prominent people, and my role was to serve them refreshments. At that time, I still did not know what was happening. The night before the meeting, I could not sleep because of my excitement, but unfortunately, I did not have anybody to chat with about all this. The meeting took place the following day and many prominent people attended, including the mayor, high-ranking military officers, Gestapo officials, and others. For the first time, I witnessed the Germans appearing frightened and scared. They had no idea that I, as a Polish girl, took pleasure in seeing them that way. They spoke openly about the situation, and my heart was filled with a joy and excitement that I could not share with anyone.

The following morning, I served breakfast to the homeowner in his bed. He began talking to me and asking questions about the Russians and their nature. He shared his plans to send his wife and children to “Schladming,” located in the English zone, because he believed the Russians were not gentlemen and did not treat women kindly. He planned to hide in a shack in the forest. My role would be to remain with the occupiers and bring news and food to him in his hideout. I told him that I would willingly help him. I also told him not to worry about the Russians as he treated his workers nicely, and I would testify in his favor. (I did not reveal that I knew he was a secret SS agent and held an important position in the Nazi organization). I wanted him to be captured in that way.

I am not sure what prompted him to change his plans. He decided to send me with his wife and children instead. Unfortunately, I did not reach their safe destination, as I was injured in an accident along the way. I suffered a severe concussion, and when I finally woke up in the hospital, the Russians were already there.

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When the Second World War broke out, I was 19 years old and working as a laborer where the local newspaper was printed.

On Sunday, June 22, 1941, the first day of the German attack against Russia, I happened to be in Stoyanov, where I served as a civil defense guide. In those early morning hours, I noticed increased military activity but could not yet comprehend that the war had begun. Upon arriving in Stoyanov, I encountered the first wave of refugees fleeing from the border area. Many of them were Jewish, and they informed me that the war had indeed begun. I returned to Radekhov, where the Germans had bombed the nearby airport. Everyone believed the war would end quickly, expecting a decisive Russian victory. However, refugees from the neighboring area reported that the Germans had crossed the border and were advancing toward Radekhov. I talked with some friends about the possibility of leaving town. That evening, we received the alarming news that the Germans had already captured Vitkov [Novyi Vytkiv]. I urged my parents to leave the city. Several friends and I planned to depart the following morning and head toward Brody. The night was quiet, but the Germans bombed the city in the morning and were already positioned in its suburbs. The family gathered and decided that we had no choice but to stay, believing that whatever would happen to the entire community would also happen to us. I disagreed with that decision and Yehezkel Gruber, who was staying in my home, and I burst out of the house and left without saying goodbye.

In the city, German shelling caused chaos. We ran through the market until we reached the old cemetery. We realized that the battle would last a while longer, as tanks were involved in the fighting. We then ran toward the Lopatyn forest. Upon reaching the forest, we noticed from afar that the Germans were dropping paratroopers near the village of Usovyn [?]. It became clear that we were cut off. However, having no other choice, we proceeded along the side of the road into the village heading toward Lopatyn. At eleven o'clock or twelve noon, we arrived in the village of Khmilno near Lopatyn. There, we were stopped and were threatened by a Ukrainian gang. They said the Germans would come for us once the fighting subdued. They forced us into a barn filled with wheat, and inside the barn we found more Jews from the area who were already being detained. I therefore decided

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to break through the roof and escape. A few others agreed with me, but many warned us that our actions would lead to negative consequences for them. I had little to lose. I was the first to leap from the roof. Amid the chaos of our escape, the guards opened fire on us. Of those who escaped, only three of us made it to Lopatyn. I do not know the fate of the other people.

In Lopatyn, there were neither Germans nor Russians. I found some acquaintances who advised us to wait there until the fighting subsided so that we would then be able to return to Radekhov. However, I responded: “ I left home, and there is no way back.” We passed through Lopatyn and reached the Styr River. In Stansislavchik, we encountered the first Russian units, who had begun fortifying their positions along the river.

At first, we were imprisoned as the soldiers believed we had deserted the Russian army. Fortunately, a Russian commander there recognized me and he insisted that we join their fight since a column of German tanks was approaching. “ We must dig trenches and delay their advance,” he said. They brought us Molotov cocktails. We had already heard the sounds of the armored column approaching; luckily, they stopped a few hundred meters in front of us and began shelling the Russian positions along the river. That night, the Russians abandoned their positions, retreated to the opposite bank of the river, and destroyed the bridge. We had to swim across the river. In Stansilavchik, a fire broke out, engulfing the city in flames. After leaving Stanislavchik, we continued our journey toward Brody.

We arrived in Brody, where the Russians were still in control. They officially recruited us into the Red Army. The long retreat eastward toward Tarnopol [Ternopil], Podvolitchisk [Pidvolochysk], and Volotchisk [Volochysk] began. It was a harsh and bitter time. During the battles that lasted several days, I sustained an injury to my hand. I was initially unaware that I had been hit by shrapnel, however, my hand swelled during the night. By morning, I developed a fever and noticed that my hand was starting to turn black. I approached a medic, who diagnosed me with blood poisoning and sent me to the field hospital near the front lines. I was placed in one of the tents of the surgical unit and had to wait for my turn. The tent felt like a butcher shop. The primary physician's robe was bloodstained, and arms and legs were thrown under the surgical table. Witnessing the scene sent chills down my spine. Fortunately, a Jewish nurse was present; if I am not mistaken, she was from Stanislavov [Ivano-Frankivsk]. She noticed my situation and quietly advised me to refuse surgery if I wanted to save my hand, assuring me she would try to help me throughout the day. She took me to the physician, who then determined that the only option was amputation. I objected and the physician responded: “ If you do not want to live – so be it.” They brought me back to the tent, and later that evening, the nurse returned with antibiotic pills which were extremely valuable in such conditions and nearly impossible to get. With care and the medication, the fever subsided, and the poisoning ceased. It felt like a miracle, and I was able to save my hand. Later on, they took me to a hospital in the hinterlands, where they removed

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the shrapnel from my hand. Thank God, my hand healed well. The nurse who saved me was a Jewish woman from Stanislavov, but sadly, she was later killed in Leningrad.

Several weeks later, I returned to the front after traveling a long way to Kiev [Kyiv] and from there to Rostov and Stalingrad [Volgograd]. I experienced the hell of Stalingrad, where I was wounded for the second time, and then released from military service. However, before that, I should mention that I was saved from a certain death during the war. After I was wounded, I was transported to the hospital in an ambulance. On the way, we had to cross a bridge. As we approached the bridge, we were stopped by a group of officers who demanded that we give them the vehicle immediately. The physician and the person responsible for the wounded resisted, but the officers threatened to kill us all if they did not comply. They took the vehicle by force. As the officers drove onto the bridge, it exploded, killing them all. We considered it a miracle from the heavens.

When they transferred me to the hinterlands, I was recruited to work in the oil industry in the Caucasus. During the years 1943-1944, I learned about the Holocaust that befell my family and the entire city. That was when I got a letter from Yaakov Leider, informing me that only a few remnants remained from our entire people.

In 1945, I left Russia and went to Poland, where I spent another two years. I received a special permit for that move. Before arriving in Radekhov, we had to stop the car as we heard shots fired. We were not allowed to continue, and later, we discovered that the army was fighting against the Banderovite gangs. As a result, we had to return to Lvov. At the end of the War, I moved to Poland. I stayed there in a [Hachshara] kibbutz. Later, I spent some time in France and Italy, where I took a course organized by the Haganah. I made Aliyah in 1948 and participated in Israel's War of Independence. At the end of that war, when I was released from the army, I decided to start a family. Today, I have a wife and two daughters and I work in printing.

When I left home, I left behind my father, mother, and sister, as well as my uncles and cousins – a large extended family. My sister, Rivka, along with all the youth, were taken by the Germans to the Bug River near Kamionka where they were all murdered. My father, Tzvi, and mother, Shoshana, were murdered in Belzec on May 29, 1943. May their memory be blessed.

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My name is Leibish Schrage from Radekhov, son of Yonah and Chaya Yutta Schrage. My wife is Chayele, daughter of Emanuel and Rivka Schrage. I came to Canada with my wife and two daughters, Betty and Carmella, in 1948 shortly after World War II. My daughters married, Betty to Moshe Kirshner from Żółkiew and Carmella to Nachman Finkel from Cholyov. Just as the war began in 1939, we had to leave our home in Cholyov and go to a gentile whom we knew, and we stayed there, in fear, for almost two weeks. When we returned, everything in the house was destroyed, but the cat was sitting by the door and crying, waiting for us. Soon, Poland fell apart and we received new bosses, the Soviets, and we had to adapt ourselves to the new government. It lasted almost two years, and they transported me from Cholyov to Hanunin, near Radekhov, where I became a refiner at Schwartzwald's [Black Forest] mill. That was in the year 1940. Then, in the year 1941, in the month of June, the German air force attacked and shelled the city. We hid in all the tiniest mouseholes in order to save the small children who were then aged nine to 11. Our uncle, Shmuel Schrage, was also with us. He had lived for 46 years in Leipzig. He was a brother of my late father. My uncle was forced by Hitler's government to leave the country, because he was a Jew and a Polish citizen. He was 72 years old at the time, but in the year 1937, he came to live with us because he felt the safest with us. We lived outside of the city. When the Germans began beating and murdering Jews and creating ghettoes in the city, we searched for holes to hide in to escape the murderers.

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A good friend of ours, a Pole, Tomasz Gugola, presented us with a plan: Three miles from Radekhov he lived on a farm in a small forest. There, a large cistern was buried in the ground. That was a place where, in 1939, the Soviets kept gas to protect it against German bombs. But since the cistern was now empty, we could go there. The war would not last for more than a month, or at most, two months anyway. He also said that if we would need more basics, then he would provide them, and in any case, he would remain in contact with us. He meant all that honestly, and he actually did remain loyal to us. That same evening, he came with a wagon, all loaded up with people: my uncle Shmuel, my wife and children, my brother Avrom's wife Rifka, and her two sons, Joseph and Simcha. Joseph survived, and today he is a doctor of dentistry in New York. My brother Avrom and I at that time had the same permit which gave us the liberty to go around and collect old steel for the German government. That is why we stayed outside and did not go into the cistern. That was so that at nighttime we would be able to gather necessary life sustaining things for the people in the cistern. We were also able to smell the air to detect whether there was any danger brewing. The people slept calmly that night. The next morning, the women got up and put up the pans for heating the coal in order to warm up some tea, and then they went back to sleep. When the water started to boil, whoever got up and went to the boiling water, soon fell over, and everyone was dizzy from the gas that the boiling hot coals emitted from the cistern.

The strongest one of all was my brother's son Joseph. He was able to crawl out of the hole. He ran to our friend for help, and soon, he came running to us with his two sons. He was able to drag everyone out with a rope, then put everyone into the snow, rubbed everyone's face and hands, then rushed to explain things to us. We were thinking about what was going to happen now. Before this, we had a different Pole who advised us to go and hide, but he did not want my uncle because he said that it was very difficult to hide young children and elderly together. Because of this uncle, we could not accept the offer, but when we came home half dead and half alive from the cistern, our uncle made us promise that we would accept the Pole's offer and not negotiate anything for him.

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My uncle would go into the ghetto, and he would be treated like all the other Jews, and he already had lived his life. We were still young and had to live our lives for the sake of our young children. My uncle actually did go into the ghetto, and two days later he died by the hand of God. My brother Avraham and his wife Rivka and son Simcha left for Busk where they were told there was a possibility of staying alive. The end was that everyone there was killed in an aktzia [liquidation, resulting in mass murder]. His 16-year-old daughter was killed by the Germans in an aktzia carried out on Yom Kippur of 1941. My oldest sister Beila and her husband Hersh Brunn were killed in an aktzia in Brody, as well as two other girls who left Radekhov for Brody to save themselves. My second sister, Shifra, and her husband Chaim Eidelheit, and their 21-year-old son, all were killed in an aktzia in Radekhov. My third sister, Mirel (Mirtche), and her husband Avraham Goldscheider, and two little boys, were all killed in Brody where, we heard, that everyone died a horrific death.

On Rosh Hashana of 1941, there was the first aktzia in Radekhov – both in the city and in the sawmills, where Jews worked without pay, including young children. After the aktzia, those remaining, young and old, went to hide in cellars, and also in the forests. They were mainly the people who were no longer working. The Germans put out an order (plakat) that all those who remained should gather on such and such a date, which happened to be Yom Kippur, in the place near the court, and they would receive a permit, and would be able to work again, and would be able to move around, and no one would bother them. And anyone who would be caught in the streets without this permit would be punished by death.

I quickly ran from Hanunin to Radekhov in order to hear what was going to be done. I heard that we had to go, so I too went, and that's how the murderers collected 480 people, me among them. They were taking us to our death – eight across, not more than nine escorts, five Ukrainians and four Germans. We discussed and concluded that once outside of the city we should attack them and take their arms, or simply run. The nine would not be able to kill 480 people, but the rabbi who was walking in the front felt that we should do nothing. God was with us and so nothing would happen. When we heard that, we became less aggressive, and our plans fell apart. But my thinking was completely opposite. And there was no time to think,

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because soon we were outside of the city. So I left the group and went over a fence into the gardens, crawled on my stomach until I re-entered the city, and went to the dentist's place. Once in the house, I fainted. When I was revived, I remembered that the group of people they had captured and taken away would pass through Hanunin near the house where my family was, and they would not know what happened to me. So, at the dentist's house, I met a farmer whom I knew. I asked him to stop at my house and then give my wife an indication that I was still alive. Not long after he left, my older daughter Betty arrived. Her mother had sent her to find me, her father. It is easy to picture our joy. I took the child by her hand, and across fields and hills, I excitedly returned home to my beloved wife and children. We shed an ocean of tears. But that was still far from the end of the disasters. We decided to accept the offer of the first Pole and we stayed with him for exactly 20 months, until the liberation by the Soviets, in the year 1944. Then, for half a year, we were in Lemberg, and another half year in Krakow, three years in Deggendorf, and in the year 1948, we arrived in Canada.

Now, about my wife's family.

Emanuel and Rivka Schrage

Her parents, Emanuel and Rivka Schrage, who went to Israel in 1935, left their older daughter, Beila, in Europe,

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where she married Schmidt, and was murdered by the German killers. The same happened to the other daughter, Lani, and her husband, who was a wunderkind [prodigy], and Sabina, an 18-year-old, Tulche, a 20-year-old, and son Izio, all killed in the aktzia. They lived in Saszno. The other daughter, Yetti, married to Hillel Gelber, lived in Lemberg, with one daughter Relke, married to Dr. Zohn, all taken and killed in Lemberg. One son David, his wife Pepi, and two children, twins. Louisa and Izio were murdered in Brody. One son Eliezer was taken in the Yom Kippur aktzia in the year 1941, and was killed near Kamionka Strumiłova, among the above-mentioned 480 people. A brother of my late father, Yehuda Schrage, his wife Sima, a daughter Mindel, the second Tema, with one son Yitzchak, the second Michael, all married with children, were all killed. Mindel lived in Kamionka Strumiłova, Tema in Lemberg.

Top row, from right to left: Alzufrom Leiber, unknown, Brunn Altzi, Schrage Azi, Friedman Gila, Gertwagen Moshe, Ecker Leib Second row, right to left: Pfeffer Rushka, Friedman Malka, Schrage Itzhak, Rosen Golda and Brunn Pepi

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