[Pages 595-601]

I, Moshe the son of Reuven Zeev Waldbaum, was born in 1901 in the village of Dmytrov (Dmytrow), which is located in the Radekhov (Radekhov) district of eastern Galicia. I wish to record what happened to the Jewish community in this large village as well as what happened to me from the years of my birth through the Shoah (Holocaust), that came upon our People between 1940-44.

I heard many times from my late father and grandfather stories about the great village of Dmytrov. There were 800 Gentile families, the majority being Ukranians, yet for many generations Jewish families lived among them. Of these may be recalled the Jewish families of Waldbaum, Zolkwer, Sternberg, Meir, Wilder, and Barasch. When World War II broke out there were additional families: Pelz, Lockerman, Waldman, Silber, Czermak, and Klughaupt (Klughoypt) – altogether 100 Jewish souls.

In Dmytrov there was one large farm area that belonged to a count. The man who leased that estate was Reb Velvel Wachs and his two sons, Shalom and Shimon. Reb Velvel Wachs was a very religious Jew, a G-d-fearing man, a Belzer Chassid, and he would hire only religious Jews to manage the land that he leased. They included a large group of clerks and they had a marked influence on the life of the village. The rest of the Jews in the village were merchants, shop keepers, and middlemen. In addition to the Wachs family, there was another prosperous Jew, Sternberg. The rest were poor who with difficulty obtained their bread. My father was a livestock dealer who provided for his family under constant pressure and penury. Together we were two brothers and three sisters. Our education was based on the four grades that existed in the school in the town, we could not afford more than that.

My memories flow: the tiny Jewish community of Dmytrov decided to create a holy congregation of its own in order to break away from its dependence on the congregation in Cholojow, five kilometers away from our village. They sought to stop the tiring journey to Radekhov or to Cholojow during the High Holy days, and build a synagogue in our village, put in a Torah scroll and create a minyan that met regularly. Under father's initiative as well as his personal involvement, they began to collect money to have a Torah scroll written. They assigned the writing to a certified sofer-scribe from the town of Toporow. After two years the Torah was brought to the village with great fanfare and ceremony and it was put into a special, temporary Aron Kodesh (Holy Ark) in Reb Shalom Wachs's house until the synagogue itself would be built. At the same time, Father began to take care of building the synagogue itself as well as a cheder where the Jewish children could study Torah, taught by a melamed (Jewish teacher) that they would bring to the village. They also discussed digging a mikva (bath for ritual purification) – the implication of all this: the congregation was becoming a separate entity in every way. While this was going on, World War I broke out, and all these plans were for naught. Father was taken away to the Austrian army, and the family was left in want and suffering.

The Gentiles in Dmytrov were outstanding in their hatred toward the village's Jews. This hatred came to light particularly in the period after the First World War. It was a time between governments when there was no ruling authority. The Gentiles took advantage of those lawless days; stealing, robbing, and setting fire to Jewish houses were everyday occurrences. In 1924, close to Pesach (Passover), robbers attacked one of our relatives, Klughaupt, robbing him of all his valuables, and afterward, shot him on the spot. The Polish police looked into the matter, investigated it for an extended period of time, but no one was arrested and no one was punished.

A number of years after the war, when the political situation stabilized, Father again got involved in building the synagogue. Somehow they overcame the problem of obtaining the money to get the job done, but it was difficult overcoming the arguments, the disagreements, and the irritating fights that swirled around making the necessary arrangements and building the building itself. But Father succeeded in calming down the storms, and the synagogue got built. The Torah scroll was brought into it with great ceremony and true joy. Father was a leader of the prayer services, a Torah reader, took care of many holy tasks, and did so without compensation or reward of any kind. And so an independent congregation of the Jews of Dmytrov arose that was not dependent on any other congregation.

The Jewish young people who grew up in Dmytrov were, by and large, simple villagers. The parents weren't overly interested nor, from an economic perspective, werethey able to give their children an education beyond the village school, and the youngsters, by their own means, were not able to go beyond it.

In 1932, I got married to Beila Mandel from the town of Stanislavchik (Stanislawczyk), and I went to live there. I opened up a general store. It was the ninth store of this kind in that small town, and the competition between the store owners was fierce. Every one of them offered better and better prices to the customers. I bought my merchandise for cash and then I sold on credit. This went on for a while, but soon I was plucked clean from both sides. Without any choice, I returned to Dmytrov.

World War II broke out. The Russians entered our village. In the Russian's eyes we were considered bourgeois in spite of our weakness and poverty, for we were merchants and store owners. The Gentiles of the village informed on us [to the Russians] and incited against us. Bands of thugs formed again in our area, and they pillaged and ravaged without being punished. In one incident my own mother was murdered, may G-d avenge her blood! The NKVD (Soviet State Police) conducted a long investigation; the identities of the murderers was known, but no one was arrested and no one was punished. After all, from their perspective, it was only a Jewish woman who was killed. The anti-Semitic discrimination was blatant for all to see. In another incident, two Jews from our village were taking a little butter and cheese to sell in Lvov (Lwow), when the NKVD seized them. One of them failed to flee successfully and was taken to court where he was sentenced to ten years in jail. His brother, Zelig, of our village, went to Lvov to find his brother in whatever prison he was in. His cousin Wolf joined him and together they sought the prisoner in several jails. In the end, they too were thrown in prison without any charge. With great effort, particularly by giving bribes, in the end, they were set free. While Zelig Klughaupt was delayed in Lvov, a gang of thugs set fire and burned down his house. This was the same gang that murdered my mother may G-d avenge her blood! The general impression was that the Bolsheviks who governed the village, were absolute anti-Semites, and their intention was to show the Jews their strength and their might. This Soviet “Garden of Eden” – paradise – dragged on for us until June 20, 1941.

On June 22^nd, the Germans entered our village. The Ukrainians welcomed them with drums and dancing, celebrating over the day of blood [that was to come] for the village Jews. They weren't afraid to say so and they spoke of it openly: “Your day has come!” We heard about the murders and killings of the Jews in Radekhov and Cholojow. Everywhere that the Germans entered, they always left one or two Gestapo people. They organized the murderous Ukrainian militia and the “Judenrat” (German-created Jewish council) with its own militia, fulfilling faithfully the quote from Isaiah the Prophet, “From you, yourselves will come forth those who will tear you down and destroy you.” These were Jews who came from the underworld. Anyone who hadn't seen with their own eyes would never be inclined to believe this horror of the “Judenrat”. But the facts are undeniable. It's impossible, also, to describe the awful sufferings that we bore from the Ukrainian militia as well as from the ordinary Gentile villagers. I can never forget those dark, disastrous days.

A man from the Gestapo, accompanied by a Jew who was a member of the Judenrat in Cholojow, came to the village and began to search for Jews' houses. This was the beginning of the devastation. It was a very cold winter's day. The Gestapo agent entered Father's house and ordered him to open the windows, and while doing this asked, “Who owns this house and what is his name?” He ordered the Judenrat man to write down my brother's name, after my brother had said that he was the owner. By different means he gathered the names of 11 Jews. After a few days, he came back with a list and ordered those same Jews to gather at a certain place. My brother hid himself, so they took my father in his place. When my brother found out, he presented himself to the Gestapo agent and father was set free. My brother, along with the other ten Jews, were transported to Sokal, where they found their deaths. May their memories be a blessing!

On one Sabbath day, the Germans came to the village exactly at the time of prayer in the synagogue. The village Gentiles informed them that the Jews were gathered in one of the houses. So the Germans came quickly and attacked with hot anger those who were praying. With murderous blows they beat everyone indiscriminately with the butt of their rifles, and they desecrated the Torah scroll, tossing it on the ground and stabbing it through with their bayonets. They herded the men out and made them suffer terribly. Then they attacked the house of a Jew that was close to the synagogue, removed everything that was in it, and distributed the possessions as presents to the Gentiles who had gathered around.

By order of the militia, every night three men guarded the village, Jews included among them. One time, when it was my turn to guard, the two Gentiles who were my partners in guarding, told me that each of them would guard the outskirts of the village at each end while I was assigned to guard the middle part, near my own house. I agreed to it. Meanwhile, the militia came by to check on how well we were guarding. They sought me out. The two Gentiles had told the militia that I would certainly be sleeping at home. They approached my house and actually found me outside. Without even asking anything, they began to beat me with their rifles. I passed out on the spot. They thought I was dead and left. After they had gone, I awoke and got up. Evidently, the heavy winter clothes I was wearing saved me from death.

The head of the village, Vasil Motshek, wasn't a bad Gentile. In return for some favors I had done for him, he assigned me to work for the village council keeping track of its accounts. I worked there with a village farmer, and as I found out later, he was among the absolute best of the villagers. One day when I was by myself in the council building, a strange feeling came over me, a sense of fear, the feeling that something awful was about to happen. I didn't think much of it. I took the keys to the council's doors and handed them over to the Gentile, my partner at work. Within a short while I heard loud gunshots close to the building where I was working. It turned out that some drunken Germans were near the council building. They wanted to enter, but because it was locked up, they simply fired their guns into the building. If they had found me in the building, I never would have gotten out alive. Evidently, my intuition saved me from death.

There were, some seemingly good Gentiles in the village, trustworthy and strong friends, who supposedly were inclined to save our property out of compassion. In the end, though, things were pillaged and not returned. And if someone turned to them for a little bit of help, they would stare back blankly.

In Radekhov, the next city over, the following shocking incident occurred: a Gestapo person was walking by the city's public garden when he saw a Jewish woman plucking up different grasses and the like. He asked her what she was doing in the garden. She answered him that she was looking for special kinds of leaves – that if one puts them on a wound it would help speed up the healing process. He ordered her to go with him. She understood for what purpose he wanted her to come with him – for death. She began to plead with him, begging him for her life, that she had five small children, and that he should have mercy on her. So he took along the five little children also and transported them to a designated spot. A militia member told the story afterward, that right in front of the mother, the Gestapo man turned his dogs loose on the children and they ripped the children apart. The children found their death right in front of the mother, and afterward, he shot [and killed] her too.

From mouth to ear the news arrived concerning the crematoriums in Belzec. The Ukranian militia told the Gentile villagers about it with great pleasure. We learned about all the torture and atrocities that the victims suffered before their deaths, and the terrible treatment after they were killed: the bodies burnt, teeth extracted [for the gold], and the like. We had absolutely no doubt about the truth of these reports.

In spite of the pervasive evilness committed by the village's Gentiles, there were two men, two brothers-in-law, that could be included among the pious of the non-Jewish nations of the world. Thanks to them, we were saved and remained alive, their names being Dimitri Muzyka and Tomke Mostove (Tomko Mostowy). They helped us with honest, good will, and it should be told that in doing so, they put their own lives in danger.

I worked with Tomke Mostove in the village council office handling the accounts. One time, while we were working, I hinted to him that I wanted to be able to hide somewhere until the danger passed. He didn't answer me out loud but the look on his face answered for him, that he was prepared to help me. To have hidden in his place would have been actually courting danger, for Mostove was known in the village as a friend of the Jews. His house and farm were comparatively small and there wasn't any place there where a bunker could be dug. Nevertheless, I kept in mind what had passed between us.

Father was caught and taken to Belzec. Just a few days before he was caught, he managed to bring the bodies of five Jews who had been murdered to Cholojow for a Jewish burial. Many Jews abandoned their homes. They handed over their property to various Gentiles and sought to hide themselves with them. Many of the Gentiles distanced themselves from the Jews and didn't want to be associated with them. But we don't have to talk just about Gentiles, for certain members of the Judenrat were known for their own cruelty. It happened in the ghetto of Radekhov. I worked in a field digging up beets. I didn't feel well and fainted. I appealed to the Jewish militiaman to release me from work. He refused, even though he saw me collapse. Using the whip in his hand, he forced me to continue working. It was actually the Gentile militiaman who saw my condition and let me off.

One day, at the end of October 1942, in the Radekhov ghetto, I returned from work exhausted, broken and shattered, starved and depressed. By this time there wasn't any food or wood, nothing to keep body and soul alive. I mentioned to my wife that I'd been thinking about going to Dmytrov, that maybe I could find something at our house. My wife agreed. Taking an out of the way route, with fear and trembling, I arrived late at night in Dmytrov. I knocked on the door of Dimitri Muzyka's house. They opened it for me, and greeted me warmly, gave me food, and even suggested that I sleep there. Dimitri woke me up very early in the morning and told me that an “Aktion” (round up of Jews for forced labor or death camps), was taking place in Radekhov. He arranged a place for me to hide and told me to go there as quickly as possible. I did as he said, and though in pain and distressed, I started thinking about my wife and my family who were there in Radekhov at the time of the “ Aktion”. That night I returned to Radekhov, using side paths, in order to find out how things were going with my wife and family. This was a journey of martyrdom. As soon as I entered the town, the Jewish militia grabbed me for forced labor. We were emptying out the houses of Jews who had been caught. The Germans took for themselves the housewares and the furniture that we were loading onto carts. It was then that I noticed household items that were from my own family. Terror and fear overcame me. I was sure that my wife and family had been picked up during the “Aktion”. In the end, a militiaman released me after I had taken from my pocket and given him several valuable items that I had brought from the village to Radekhov that I had intended bartering for food to assuage our hunger. To my joy, I found my wife alive, and she told me how she escaped by a miracle from this particular “Aktion”, the third that happened.

Here's her story: by force and blows they hauled several Jews out of the house where we were living, and two militiamen guarded them, a Jew and a Ukrainian. In the line in front of my wife stood a woman with her two children. She suggested to the Ukrainian militiaman that she would give him a valuable ring if he would allow her to get away from that place. The Ukrainian agreed and showed her a side room where she could hide. At the same time, the Gestapo man was busy searching the attic of the building and he wasn't able to see what was happening below. The Jewish militiaman objected, apparently because he, too, wanted a bribe. The woman began shouting loudly at the Jew, and cursed him in G-d's name. Only then did he look away. The woman went with her children into the room that the Ukrainian militiaman had indicated, and my wife succeeded also in sneaking in after her into the same room. When the situation calmed down, the woman and her two children as well as my wife climbed up to the attic and found shelter there that night.

Several days after the “Aktion” one of the ghetto's districts was sealed off. Those who had succeeded in hiding out and escaping the previous “Aktion” now needed to gather together in the other section of the ghetto. The place was very cramped, and ten to 12 people were crammed into each modest-sized room. Everything was distressingly cramped and suffocating. Waste and filth were everywhere. Typhus disease spread, a number of people died every day. The living envied the dead. Comparatively speaking, it was an easy death, not a lot of suffering. Before Radekhov was made “Judenrein” (emptied of Jews), we succeeded in fleeing and then hiding out in the forests of Dmytrov. There is no way to describe our pain and our suffering in those forests. Much later we found some Gentiles who took pity on us and every now and then gave us a little food, just enough to keep us alive. Tomke Mostove, who built a bunker for us at his place, was the one who saved us from death. His brother-in-law, Dimitri Muzyka, may he always be mentioned for good, cooperated with Tomke in doing the work that saved us. At first, we hid out on Dimitri's farm under a pile of hay and straw. He worried about our needs, bringing us food and other things that we needed, even newspapers. But after our spot was discovered by a local Gentile fellow, he took us one night to his brother-in-law, Tomke. And we stayed there until the liberation.

When Radekhov was made “Judenrein”, nine Dmytrov Jews were able to flee to the town of Busk that still had its own ghetto. Afterward, when Busk was also made “Judenrein”, those nine souls from the Sternberg family went back to Dmytrov. There they all gathered in the house of a poor, Polish widow, Yevgenya Mandris. It was very difficult for that widow to sustain these nine people, but in spite of that, she extended herself beyond her capabilities. Suddenly she died, and the Sternberg family fled to an abandoned farm of a Polish fellow named Cygielski. It pains the heart to say that the Banderowcy (Bandera men) ^[2] found out about this family's hiding place and they slaughtered them all in there.

Meanwhile the war was nearing an end. The battles came closer to our area. The imminent danger to the village houses was great because they could go up in flames from the shells. We were sitting in a barn filled with straw and the danger of a conflagration was exceedingly real. Mostove had made two bunkers, one for his own family and one for me and my wife. There is no way to describe the complete generosity of Mostove toward my wife and me. But meanwhile, a disaster happened to him. His wife took sick and under terrible circumstances he started to transport her to a hospital in Lvov, but on the way she died. Before he left, he put his daughter in charge, so she could guard us and worry about our food. But the daughter began to relate to us with open hatred, with the accusation that we were responsible for her mother's death, because her mother had been fearful that the Germans might discover that we were there and then kill them also. We had a serious suspicion that the daughter would hand us over to the Germans during her father's absence.

Luckily we were liberated during those same days by the Russians, July 17, 1944. Our fear of the Germans ended, but we still had to contend with the Banderowcy. One night we went out again on byways and winding paths from Dmytrov to Radekhov. In Radekhov I found a good job at the “Sovkom” (Soviet Committee) as a treasurer and bookkeeper. We were eight souls living in the house that belonged to the Menaker family, may G-d revenge their blood!

I then bestowed a relatively small favor on the Mostove and Muzyka families, that thanks to them I stayed alive. I had some influence with the Soviet authorities in our area, and through my efforts, their two sons were released from the army. This was a very important and serious matter for them.

I then went to the Polish area. After many different moves to Krakow, Prague, Vienna, and Germany, we arrived in the land of Israel in 1948. We had passed through the full length of the path of suffering, we drank from the poisoned cup down to its dregs, until we merited arriving at the place of our desire, to the state of Israel.

Of the pious of the non-Jewish nations of the world who gave us shelter and saved us, Faranka Muzyka and her children; Tomke Mostove – her brother

1. The original testimony in Yiddish, “Moyshe Valdboym fin Demitrov Radekhover Bezirk, Seine Memoiren, Gehert un Geschrieben fin Ben-Zion Friedmann,” Gedera, 1969, is deposited at the archive of the Diaspora Research Institure, Tel Aviv University, call number A-28/16. As the text reveals, the Hebrew translation in the Yizkor book is actually an edited and condensed version of the original. For this translation, the original testimony was only used to clarify unclear sections and verify name spellings – March 2003. Return
2. Nationalist Ukrainians led by Stepan Bandera. Return

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From a community that once numbered 40 to 50 people, only two survived: the author of these lines and Mrs. Chaya Meisels (today Mrs. Klara Erez), who resides in Haifa with her husband and son. It is hard to comprehend how we survived, especially for those who do not believe in miracles. There were many instances in which ordinary people, who were weak in all respects and had no resources, managed to stay alive. In contrast, courageous individuals who were wealthy and had many friends among the non-Jews did not survive. Having survived, I feel a deep obligation to fulfill the sacred duty of commemorating all the residents of Niestanice [Nestanychi] in this Yizkor book. These beloved, holy, and innocent residents were murdered for no reason in various brutal ways, and they were not given a proper Jewish burial. No memorial was erected for them, and no one knows the locations of their ashes. No one will mourn them or recite Kaddish in their memory.

In Yiddish, the village was called Nistanitsh, while in Polish it was known as Niestanice. I do not know much about the history of the village, and frankly, I am not particularly interested in it. I do not mourn the village itself but rather its Jewish residents – my relatives and friends, to whom my soul was so deeply bound – including my sisters, Reshi and Gitel.

The village was located about 80 kilometers from Lvov [Lviv], 10 kilometers from the city of Radekhov, and 4 kilometers from the town of Choliv [Vuzlove]. Living among 300 peasant Ukrainian families were a number of Jewish families who formed a community in their own right. It was not easy for the Jews to live among the descendants or followers of Chmielnicki and Petliura. Nevertheless, they managed to coexist peacefully with the non-Jewish residents and even earned their respect. Not once were the Jewish residents invited to a wedding of a non-Jew out of respect, because the non-Jews understood that Jews would not eat non-kosher food.

The Jewish community of Niestanice differed from the surrounding rural communities in the area, as it lived its life almost independently, much like a real town, despite having only a minyan of families. The village had a beit midrash, and the Jewish residents were well-versed in Halacha, which meant that they did not need the services of a rabbi very often. There were individuals there who were knowledgeable about making decisions on kosher matters and other religious-based issues. In the event of a death among the community members, the body was transported

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to the cemetery in the neighboring town of Choliv. Matters related to the roles of a slaughterer and a mohel were also managed thanks to the proximity of that town.

Today, I find it difficult to understand the connection between these Jews and that primitive village that lacked access to roads and electricity. Even the water had to be drawn from a well with a rope or chain. Interestingly, none of the Jews in the village were farmers, and the customs of the non-Jews were foreign to them. Thus, the Jews and the non-Jews differed not only in their clothing but in all aspects of their lives.

It is said that the Jewish “paritz” (wealthy estate owner) brought several Jewish workers to the village to work for him. He built the beit midrash and donated the Torah scroll. This attracted more Jews to settle in the village, thus forming a community. The community considered itself one large family, and many residents were related to each other. They all rejoiced in one person's joy and shared in the sorrow of another. They saw themselves as people of distinguished lineage, which they could trace back several generations. They were extremely meticulous about their ancestry, much like the Polish nobility. Although their financial situation was not very good – they had no professions, nor did they possess any property – they managed to conceal their poverty, and none of them ever complained about their circumstances. Their homes were impeccably clean, and their spirits remained high. They were content with little, and each family managed to obtain that little from a different source.

Some of the Jewish residents engaged in trade with the gentiles: purchasing their produce and supplying them with goods from the city. Occasionally, they acted as the intermediaries in the sale of land from one gentile to another. Some women who knew how to sew made a living from this work. They lived peaceful lives, with a strong sense of self-confidence, knowing that God is all-powerful and will surely provide support.

The destruction began as early as the fall of 1939 when Communist Russia struck a deal with Nazi Germany to divide Poland between them. It later became clear that this agreement was part of the German Nazi chancellor's ruse to ultimately devour all of Russia as well. Immediately after the pact was signed, the German and the Russian forces launched an attack on Poland. Within a few days, Poland ceased to exist as an independent state.

In accordance with the agreement, the Germans occupied part of Poland when they advanced to the Bug River from the west, and the Russians took the other part when they reached the Bug River from the east. Since I lived in the area under Russian occupation, close to the new border with Germany, I witnessed the influx of Jewish refugees who fled the Nazi regime. They arrived destitute, like people fleeing for their lives. I knew many of these refugees and spoke to them. They described the atrocities committed by the Germans, such as cutting beards and sidelocks, and forcing people into labor camps. However, no one was aware of the full extent of the Nazi's diabolical plan. Who could have imagined

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that a European nation, known for its advancements in education, technology, and science, could produce a monster – someone who would decide to annihilate, kill, and destroy the entire people of Israel. We cannot, therefore, blame the refugees; some of them, in their innocence, chose to return to their homes in 1939 when the opportunity arose.

These people did not return home by choice. Their circumstances under the Communist regime were unbearable. They did not work to earn a living, as most were merchants, and the regime viewed engaging in trade as a crime. Those who did not work were labeled traitors by the communists. For Jews in particular, it was extremely difficult to take on physical labor such as constructing roads or cutting trees, since they were generally not accustomed to such jobs. This reality led some refugees to believe they had nothing to lose by going back. Ultimately, their fate mirrored that of the 6 million Jews who perished. Those who remained made every effort to be included in the workforce, as having a work certificate was like having a certificate of honesty; however, this was not always the case, and not for everyone. In time, the Russians left the refugees to their own fate, and each one somehow managed to get by.

Some time later, the Russians began to take an interest in the refugees once again. They prepared accurate lists that included where people worked, what their exact addresses were, how many people were in their family, and more. No one believed that this would benefit the refugees, and a sense of fear fell on everyone. Then, one bright morning, the town awoke to the shocking realization that of all the refugees, there was not a single one left. The Russians had lined up freight trains and taken everyone away during the night, including pregnant women and little and sick children. They transported them in locked train cars to Siberia. Without any crimes committed or trials held, these refugees became prisoners and were forced to cut down trees in virgin forests under inhumane conditions. They were compelled to meet work quotas without adequate clothing or food. Under the communists, equal rights for women meant no distinction was made between men and women; women were also forced to meet the work quota – otherwise they would lose their bread ration, the only compensation for their arduous labor.

There is not much more we can add about the communist hell. We should only note that the majority of the refugees never came back, as they died from hunger, frost and all sorts of torture. However, it is not difficult to justify our assessment, after the fact, that Siberian prisoners were lucky; They lived in paradise compared to life in the ghettos or in the concentration camps, where almost all the Jews of Europe were placed by the Nazis, and then murdered before the eyes of the entire world, without any response.

The fate of the Jews residing in areas under Russian control was entirely different. They were considered citizens with equal rights, except for the wealthy ones, whom the communists deemed enemies of the people. These wealthy people were oppressed by various means until they disappeared. Meanwhile, the Jews, who were not known to be rich, managed to find their place in all sectors of the economy. Due to the shortage of skilled labor, Jews occupied high positions in management and gradually – albeit reluctantly – became integrated into communist society.

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Who does not know what it means to live behind the Iron Curtain? The radio and newspapers only delivered propaganda, while everything that happened in the world was closed off and hidden from the citizens. We lived near the border with Nazi Germany and knew almost nothing about the Jews on the German side. Although there were all sorts of rumors that the Germans were abusing the Jews, it was impossible to get any details. Nevertheless, there was a sense of distress, especially among those who lived close to the other side of the border.

In that month, the flirtation between the Russian leader and the German leader came to an end. The Nazis launched a massive and pre-planned attack without declaring war. All the communist forces stationed along the border against the Germans quickly collapsed, and they divided Poland between them. For Russia, this attack was not unexpected. They initiated a significant effort to fortify the border, even along the Bug River, a natural border. They mobilized tens of thousands of people and a vast amount of materials, working day and night for months to build fortifications. But all of that was ineffective. In many instances, the Russians did not even manage to retreat; they simply surrendered to the Germans with their weapons, which they did not even have the time to use. Without any interruption, the German forces reached the outskirts of Moscow on one front, while reaching the outskirts of Stalingrad on the other. There, the Russians finally halted the Nazi monster's advance and, with the full and unlimited help of the Americans, inflicted a crushing defeat on the Nazis, ultimately reaching their capital city, Berlin.

In May 1945, the conquest of Berlin marked the end of the Nazi rule over Europe. However, before that miracle happened, the Nazis managed to annihilate 6 million Jews through various forms of execution as mentioned in the prayer “Unetanah Tokef” [“Let us Declare the Power of this Day”]. Sadly, unlike what the prayer suggests, repentance, prayer, and charity did not avert the grave fate. This unprecedented murder that humanity had not seen before was carried out, as mentioned above, before the eyes of the entire world, without any response. Everyone, particularly the Catholic Church with its pope, displayed troubling indifference to this atrocity.

The Jews were outlawed and their blood was spilled not only by the Nazis but also by the Poles and especially the Ukrainians. In many instances, they preceded the Nazis, and even before the the Nazis arrived, they had murdered many Jews and divvied up the spoils. I will never forget the village of Rimanov, located near Lvov [Lviv], where I was sent in the middle of the night with a few dozen young men for forced labor for the SS commando force. This force was involved in the annihilation of Jews. While there, I learned from a Jewish survivor that there had been a few dozen Jewish families living in the village. One day, they were all round up by the Ukrainian residents and forced to dig graves for themselves. Some were brutally murdered in cold blood with axes, without sparing women and children. The rest were buried alive.

I witnessed an even more terrible atrocity with my own eyes near the camp where we were stationed. The Nazis

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gathered 1,000 boys and girls who were orphaned after the murder of their parents. Their ages ranged from five to eight. I heard that the Nazis planned to draw blood from these children to use for blood transfusions for injured soldiers. The conditions in which the children were kept were far worse than those of animals. They received no food or water. The expressions on their faces and the look in their eyes will never fade from my memory.

In this village where a farm previously owned by a Polish noble was located, the SS monsters, may their name be erased, captured a few dozen Jews, including myself, and established a forced labor camp on the farm. They placed us in a wooden structure with windows that had no glass. It was in the winter, and it was colder inside that building than outside as the open windows allowed biting winds that penetrated the bones. The SS organized a “reception” for us on the first morning. At that reception, they lined us up and announced: “Abraham is no more, Isaac is no more, and Jacob is no more. Your fate will mirror the fate of world Jewry, and not a trace of you will remain. If even one of you goes missing, every fifth man in the camp will be shot.” The building we were herded into was unbearably cramped; there wasn't even enough space for everyone to sit, let alone to sleep. Sometimes we received only 150 grams of bread, but often, our only meal was a soup made of potato peels cooked with the dirt still on the peels. Frequently, when two Jewish prisoners went to get the pot of soup from the housekeeper, a young Polish woman, that cruel woman did not hesitate to add all sorts of other filth to it.

That woman once urinated into the pot of soup in front of the poor prisoners who had come to get it. She threatened that if the Germans found out that the Jews were not eating the soup, they would be beaten to death. Carrying out the threat was as easy as killing a fly. Many books were written about the Nazi Holocaust, but I doubt anyone could truly capture in writing what I witnessed with my own eyes.

In this camp, the Nazis were not genuinely interested in productive labor. They often ordered us to dig pits, providing specific details about their sizes and depths. They stated that when the pits were finished, they would execute everyone in the camp, leaving only two burial workers to cover the graves. This entire scenario served as a form of entertainment for the Germans. When the pits were completed, they told us they were postponing the execution and instructed us to fill in the pits and level the ground. They repeated that cruel charade several times.

A miracle occurred, and I managed to sneak out of that hell after two months. Afterwards, I endured what felt like “the seven circles of hell,” but I survived.

The attitude of the gentiles towards the Jews in the village changed drastically with the onset of the Nazi rule. Every day, the Jews were forced to perform “public works” such as washing floors or cleaning toilets. The gentiles, who in normal times had maintained good relations with the Jews, now stopped looking at the face

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of a Jew. Many of them took pleasure in the misfortune of their Jewish neighbors during their time of distress. They now attempted to buy valuable items at a fraction of their true worth, saying: “You will not be able to use it anyway, as your days are numbered.” And that was exactly what happened.

One day, a decree was issued stating that the Jews had to leave the village and relocate to the ghetto in Radekhov. Those who remained in the village would face execution. A day after arriving in the ghetto, all of them were transported to death camps, including my two sisters, Reshi and Gitel. There was only one family, Sima Meisels and her children, that defied the decree. They built a bunker (shelter) in the forest and escaped under the cover of the night and hid in the shelter. Unfortunately, they did not remain hidden for long. A local man or woman discovered their hiding place and informed the Gestapo, in order to receive the reward promised by the Germans for turning in Jews (five bottles of brandy and five meters of cheap fabric). Ukrainian murderers, accompanied by Gestapo soldiers, quickly found the bunker, dragged the family out, and took them to the Jewish cemetery in the town of Choliv, near Radekhov, where they were all murdered. As was their custom, the Nazis prepared a mass grave for the victims, and the victims fell into it when they were shot. One of the sons, Yosef, survived the shooting because the murderers' bullets did not hit him. He managed to crawl out of the pit in the darkness of night, completely naked, as the Nazis had stripped the victims before they shot them. In this dire state, the boy reached out to a Ukrainian acquaintance in the neighboring village. The gentile provided him with clothing, offered him a slice of bread, and sent him away. However, Yosef was caught by other Ukrainian villagers a short while later, and they tormented him, cutting off his fingers and slitting his tongue, torturing him until his last breath.

Only Yosef's sister, Klara Erez, survived the war; today, she lives in Haifa with her husband and son. She managed to survive by paying for fake Aryan papers. With these papers, she enlisted to work for the Nazis, was sent to Austria, and remained there until the end of the war.

As I mentioned, Klara and I were the only survivors from the Nazis' claws in the entire village.

I will begin with my father's parents, since I did not know my mother's parents. The name of my father's father was Shmuel Rauchfleish, but he was known as Reb Shmuel Neustanitsher [most likely after his native town]. He was considered the patriarch of the entire Rauchfleish family. He was a very unique person and difficult to describe. He was respected not only by the Jews but also by non-Jews as a pious man. He won the esteem of all as a profound Torah scholar and a man of rare goodness of heart. He was admired by his family, and his entire community treated him with great respect. He devoted his life to the study of Torah and to good deeds.

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He had no desire for wealth and was content with little. His primary concern was to provide for his family, if not in comfort, then at least with modest means and to help anyone in need as much as he could. My pen is too weak to adequately describe, even in the smallest way, his noble deeds – deeds that could fill many pages. I will mention just one fact: During a certain period, my grandfather resided in Novyy Vitkov [Novyi Vytkiv]. He had many children, and his earnings were meager, with his primary income coming from a single milking cow. Despite his situation, he did not hesitate to give up the cow for slaughter so that he could offer some of the meat to people in need for Passover. He empathized with the struggles of others, and those in need,both Jews and non-Jews, always found encouragement and help in him.

My paternal grandmother was a devoted wife who knew how to create an atmosphere of harmony and mutual love between parents and children. We, the grandchildren, deeply felt the noble aura that radiated from the home of our grandparents.

They passed away at an old age, leaving behind five sons and three daughters: Yaakov, Shaul, Aharon, my father Shlomo, Refael, and Mordechai, along with the daughters Krusha, Itah, Toltza, and Dreyzel. All of them followed in their parents' footsteps. My mother, Hennie Malka, died at a young age, when I was still a small child, and my father, Shlomo, departed from the world of evil at the beginning of World War II. My grandfather's merit shielded him from falling into the hands of the Nazi monster.

I grew up in a family of seven children at my parents' house: The oldest was Yehoshua, whom I barely remember. He served as a soldier in the Austrian army and fell on the Italian front during World War I. My sisters, Reshi and Gitel, tragically perished in the Holocaust along with the rest of the Jewish community of Niestanice [Nestanychi]. My brother, Meir, lived in Vienna but was taken to the Dachau concentration camp where he was tortured to death by the Gestapo. My sister Eidel immigrated to Argentina and got married there. During the war, my only comfort was knowing that she survived. Therefore, I made every effort to travel to Argentina immediately after the Nazis were defeated, but it was in vain. She became ill with a malignant disease and passed away before I could reach her.

My sister Freida died in 1935 at the famous hospital in Lvov. That was the sum of my entire family. I survived – Why me? Who knows? My wife, Reshi Freida z'l, from the Fisch family of Uvyn also survived. After I managed to sneak out of the camp in Rimanov, I reached her parents' home. In that area, the Jews had not been sent to the ghetto, as of yet. During the Holocaust, my wife and I passed through “the seven circles of hell,” which are difficult to describe. Afterwards, we traveled together to Argentina. There, we learned that my wife, who had survived the Holocaust, fell ill with a malignant disease and suffered excruciating pain. When we finally made Aliyah in 1953, I was acutely aware of my immense tragedy. I understood there was no escape or salvation, that fate had been sealed. Even in Eretz Israel, my wife endured two more years of terrible suffering, and none of the doctors we consulted were able to prolong her life. Reshi Freida, passed away on the 29th of Cheshvan 5716 [November 14, 1955] and was buried in the cemetery in Petach Tikva. I cannot express the depth of my suffering and sorrow from losing all my dear ones.

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My pain was compounded by the loss of my wife, who was not only a devoted partner but also a mother, a sister, and a teacher to me.

The son of my grandfather, Refael, with his family, and his daughter Toltza with her family, immigrated to Argentina and settled on the lands of Baron Hirsch, in the town of Rivera, located in a distant province. Refael was not able to adapt to the farming life, so he handed over the farm to his son and moved to Buenos Aires with his wife. Even in Buenos Aires, as a very religious Jew, he found it difficult to adjust to various reformed customs prevalent in the big city, particularly the desecration of the Sabbath in public. In his neighborhood, several shoemakers worked on the Sabbath, just like any other day. My uncle Refael could not rest until he signed an agreement with them: He paid each shoemaker the wage of one working day to ensure they would not work on the Sabbath. Despite barely making enough to support his family, he found the means to pay the shoemakers to prevent them from desecrating the Sabbath. Throughout his life, Refael extended help to those in need. Yet, whenever he was ill, he never agreed to receive medical treatment, saying, “My healer is in Heaven, and by His will I shall recover – or not. Therefore, what use is there in a mortal doctor?”

Former Niestanice residents in Argentina From the right: Israel Halperin, his mother Tolci, his father Leibish, Binyamin Tanenbaum (author of this article), Reb Refael Rauchfleisch, the uncle, Reshi Tanenbaum–Fisch, Amalia Blechman, daughter of Eidel and Yehuda Blechman, from Pulhany

Once when my uncle Refael fell gravely ill, he refused to listen to his family's pleas to bring a physician. He eventually lost consciousness and was taken to the hospital where he died. During his funeral, most of the local businesses closed, and the community leaders attended to pay their respects. He left behind a wife, a son, and four daughters. My aunt Toltza, daughter of my grandfather, remained in the town of Rivera with her husband, Leibush, who considered himself.

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the grandson of the rabbi [Mordechai Shapira] from Nezkizh. My aunt became a devoted observer of the Sabbath and kashrut, inspired by words of moral teachings. She knew how to influence the Jewish residents of the town and gained a reputation for her virtue. All the residents in the community respected her, and she was regarded in the town as a woman of righteousness in her generation. When she died, the entire town mourned her. She left behind a husband, three sons, two daughters, and her grandsons and granddaughters.

My uncle Mordechai, the youngest son of my grandfather, was also a unique individual. When World War I broke out, he was drafted into the Austrian army and served on the Italian front throughout the war. Although he returned home safe and sound, he seemed emotionally detached. The cruel war left a lasting impact on him. Eventually, he got engaged, which was a joyous occasion for all his relatives. Everyone was happy about it, but they were later disappointed when it became known that there was a convert in the bride's family. The match was broken off, they parted ways, and he declared that for the rest of his life, he would remain single and alone. And so he did. At the beginning of the Holocaust, he fled to the village of Uvyn to stay with some relatives. There, he hid with a gentile. Unfortunately, he was soon discovered and captured by Ukrainians, who handed him over to the Nazis, and he was murdered.

My grandfather's brother-in-law, Reb Yitzchak Segal, was one of the esteemed Jews in the area, and especially within his community. He was both a scholar and a pious man, earning great respect, particularly by the village “paritzim” [wealthy estate owners]. His word meant everything to them, and no business was carried out without his mediation. He served as the gabbai [sexton] in the beit midrash and held the customary title of “Chatan Torah” ^[1]. I do not have any information about his first wife or the son he had with her. However, I knew his second wife and their three sons: Zeinvel, Henich, and Yekutiel, as well as their daughter, Rachel. His sons were exceptionally gifted, excelling in both education and good-heartedness. They all got married and settled in Lvov, and when the parents reached old age, the sons moved them to the city, providing for their housing and livelihood.

In the early days of the Holocaust, Yitzchak Segal, who was already of advanced age, became ill and was near death. With great effort, his sons managed to bring him to the town of Novyy Vitkov, where he was born and where his parents were buried. He died of natural causes, thus escaping the clutches of the Nazis. Unfortunately, none of his three sons or their families survived; they all perished at the hands of the Nazis. Also killed were Yitzchak Segal's daughter, Rachel, her husband Asher Zeusner, their four sons: Mordechai, Meir, Yosef, and Zalman, and their only daughter Reila and all of their families.

Two additional families lived in the village, who had no family ties with the other residents. The first family was that of Shmuel Shoff and his wife, who passed away before the Holocaust. Their sons married and moved to other areas, but none survived the Holocaust. The second family was that of Anschel Bizem and his wife, Zina. They had two daughters, Yenta and Rivka, and an only son, Avraham. Sadly, none of them survived the Nazi murderers.

I would like to especially mention Reb Eliyahu Segal and his wife Henya. He was a Belz chassid and drew his inspiration for the fear of Heaven from the “court” in Belz, which he used to visit frequently. His wife died when I was a small child, but I remember words of praise for her.

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They had three sons: Nathan, Avraham, and Yaakov, and three daughters: Sara, Reshi, and Rivka. Unfortunately, none remained; they all perished in the Holocaust.

Eliyahu had three brothers: Berish, Mordechai, and Feivel. The eldest, Berish, and his wife, Rosa, passed away when I was still a child. They left three sons: Wolf, Avraham, and Yosef, as well as a daughter, Rachel, who married Chaim Roth, from the village of Yestrovitz. No trace remained of them. They all perished in the Holocaust. The second brother, Mordechai, was one of the esteemed Jews of the town of Novyy-Vitkov, where he lived with his wife, Tilda, and their only daughter, who was a pharmacist. He died before the Holocaust, while his wife and daughter were brutally murdered in the town by the Nazi beasts. The third brother, Feivel, and his wife, Perl, died close to the Holocaust. Their children, Rachel with her husband, Yaakov Merwitzer, along with their two daughters, and her only son, my friend, Akiva, all perished in the Holocaust.

I already mentioned the tragedy of the family of Refael and Sima Meisels. I will therefore mention their relatives, Yehoshua and Kreintsche Meisels. They had five sons and two daughters: Shalom, Wolf, Shmuel, Refael, Yosef, Tova, and Frida. The family was afflicted with suffering even before the Holocaust. It was struck by tuberculosis. Three sons, as tall and strong as cedars, aged 20 to 35 died, first the eldest, Shalom, after him, Shmuel, and finally, Refael. The rest were murdered by the Nazis.

In concluding my words, I ask for forgiveness and pardon if I have not mentioned additional names, as any omission was unintentional.

Author of this article: Benjamin Tanenbaum and his wife Reshi Freida (died in Israel, 5716 [1956])

Translator's footnote:

1. The “Chatan Torah” is the person honored with reading the concluding portion of the Torah on the holiday of Simchat Torah, celebrating and marking the conclusion of the annual cycle of public Torah readings. Return

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