[Columns 431-432]

September 1, 1939

The Ludmir residents became very unsettled on Friday morning when they heard the news that Germany had declared war on Poland, and on Friday, had bombed Polish cities.

That Sunday, September 3, our city received the first refugees from Poland, as they fled in terror, leaving behind all their goods and possessions. They said that German planes were bombing the cities mercilessly, houses were flying in midair, and dead people were lying in the streets. They said that Poland was a complete destruction and the entire population was fleeing. But no one actually knew where to run, so one person followed the other. The highway from the Ustyluh road to the Lutzk road, did not rest by day or night. High-up officials, officers, consuls, bankers, and ordinary people, all were running in the direction of Vilna through Ludmir.

Soon, an aid committee was created with the senior official [community elder] at the head, in order to help those who were running through the city, with food and boarding overnight. The roads were filled with those who were fleeing on wagons and bicycles; the women were running and pushing infant carriages. The airplanes did not spare them, and many dead bodies lay in the streets.

The possessions that were left behind lay along the complete length of the streets of Warsaw.

The city changed its face from day to day. The shops closed. In almost every house, every courtyard, there were refugees with cars. Many cars had no gasoline, so they were left behind, and people went on foot. Where to? No one knew. They ran, fleeing from the fire.

The first victim of the war was the woman Teme Birman, may she rest in peace, the wife of the dentist Rafael (a Ludimer Zionist), as she was digging near the theater trenches, opposite the air defense area. She had a heart attack and died.

On the very second Sunday of the war, at 4 in the morning, Ludmir was bombed, on Lutzk Street. The bombing caused many deaths, among them Ben Levinson, family Zilber, the two Vevrik brothers, and more. From that day on, many fled into the nearby forests. The city looked dead. In the center and in all corners, they dug ditches. Many Polish military were stationed in every corner of the city.

The German military was already behind the city, but returned according to the agreement that was made then between Russia and Germany.

For two days, the city was without any governance. The Poles wanted to set up a Polish government in Ludmir, and wanted to get even with the “Jewish communists.” Two victims were then killed on Lutzk Street, near Kominski's pharmacy.

A delegation fled to Lutzk, where the Russians already were, and then a Russian official came at night and put things into order. The next day, September 28, lots of military arrived, that extended further and further, actually until Lublin. But according to an order, the military withdrew to Ustyluh, where the German-Russian border was established.

The Russians, as they withdrew from Poland, took with them many, many Jews who did not want to remain with the Germans. There were just a few who remained in Russia. They sent these refugees to Siberia, and because of that, they remained alive. These Jews returned from Russia to Poland, where they were all trying to get to Israel, because in Poland all they found were their former homes, totally destroyed. The families were murdered, all their possessions were stolen, so their only hope now was to get to the Land of Israel.

It was very difficult to acclimate to the Russian way of life. For example, the transition from capitalism to socialism was very difficult for many people. They confiscated everything: all the mills (there were 8 mills in Ludmir) were taken by the government; all the large stores, the large houses, all were taken. All the landowners and settlers were sent to Siberia, and their land was divided up among the poor farmers. Camps, camps of Polish officers, high up officials and police, were all sent to Siberia. A few important people from the city fled to Lemberg being afraid of Siberia, and among them were Nosson Goldstein (owner of a large house and wealthy business of field machinery), Yekel Koltin (a wealthy owner of a large haberdashery store), and others who later were murdered by the Germans in Lemberg.

Gradually, the residents of Ludmir became accustomed to life, as they worked and assumed that this was now the way of life to be. From the other side of Poland,

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we heard a lot of terrible things that the Germans were doing to the Jews. We received information about horrifying nightmares in Chelm, where they herded many Jews to the Bug River, lined them up there, and then shot them. But we did not hear about any pogroms.

All the Ludmir residents received five-year passes as citizens of Russia. The refugees did not want to take on any Russian citizenship. They argued that they were Polish citizens. Then, one fine morning, they were all sent to Siberia. A small percentage of those people went into hiding, but later, they were killed by the Nazis.

The well-known businessman and Zionist, Lev, was sent to Siberia, along with his wife and with Zukerman. Until this very day, there is no news about Lev. Regarding his wife, Lev's brother-in-law Yellin, in Tel Aviv, received a letter from her, in which she asked about her husband because they were not together. She was in deep Russia. Later, her letters stopped coming.

On June 22, 1941, Sunday late morning, we heard shooting from the Ustyluh side. They said that this was coming from maneuvers of the Russian army, and so they calmed down. But as time went on, the shots became more intense. There was also a Jewish dead body on Ustyluh road: a bullet had gone through someone's foot. Rumors spread: Germany unexpectedly attacked Russia. In town, people were mingling and simmering. Many Russian officers, who had brought their families from Russia, were running around and didn't know what to do. They left and never came back, leaving behind their families to fend for themselves. Many of these families stayed and lived in deprivation under the Nazis.

The first refugees came from Ustyluh (13 kilometers from Ludmir, on the border between Germany and Russia), those who saved themselves from the terrible chaos that was there, and from them we learned how the Germans arranged a great evening on Shabbath night, and invited the important Russian border guards, with whom they lived in peace. They got them nicely drunk, and then at 4 in the morning, the artillery, which was behind Rubashov [a high-raking communist official], fired into town and burned it down completely. This army fled in their underwear. Many dead bodies lay in the streets, as destruction reigned in the town. Of the small number of Jews who lived there with a special card (because this was the border card), many of them were killed, and those who remained, barely escaped death, naked and barefoot. We soon gave them their first aid and set up a place for them to live.

We soon saw the terrible destruction that overtook our small town, but there was no time to run. The Ludmir-Kovel train line was completely torn apart, there were no cars for the military, and there was absolutely no possibility for the civilian population to get anywhere.

Soon on Sunday, many Ludmir residents received notice to register in the army. But when they came to the designated place of the military commission, there was already no one there. Everyone had fled. There was no time now to position themselves against the enemy, who at that very same time had bombed Kovel, Rowno, Kiev, and our town. This soon created chaos among the people, and the military tore apart the train lines.

On Monday morning, our town was severely bombed, and there were many victims. The entire street near the large prison, was burned down, and Parne Street, on both sides, was also burned down. A bomb fell near Powiatowski, and the entire Kalb (the butcher) family was killed. A bomb also fell on the Ustyluh road, where the family Gutles died, and so on.

The greatest tragedy happened in the Bokser house (the wine making family), opposite the Haliyes, where many Jews were hiding in their cellar[a], among whom was also the Ustyler Rav Sheintop Yehoshua, of blessed memory, who had come to his father in Ludmir for Shabbath, and did not try to get back. A bomb exploded the wall and destroyed the cellar with the people. Heart wrenching cries and screams were heard from that cellar. They started to try and save some people, but with ongoing bullet shots, there was no success. Everyone choked to death. The Rav shouted: “Save me!” Part of his head was visible, but by the time he was saved from the cement and bricks of the wall that was completely crushing him, his soul left him. We left them all in that place, and only in a few days' time, when the Germans were already there, the bodies were able to be buried in the cemetery.

At 12 o'clock midnight, the Germans invaded the town. They ignited many houses with hand grenades, on Kovel and Ustyluh streets, and shot many Jews. Among them were Shmulik Rotenstein, Shmukler, the bookkeeper of the cigarettes, Hershel Zuker, Frint, Yenti Liben's husband, and more. Very soon, they snatched up Jews from their homes for work to cover the ditches which had bombs.

[Columns 435-436]

In a few days' time, with a specific order, we had to hand in our radios at a designated gathering place. The place was in the city's theater, in a wooden building that was still from the days of the Austrians in 1916. We were also ordered to bring all our books to the theater, and then they were all burned there.

About two weeks later, military policemen were disarmed and positions for a city police troupe and regional commissioner were developed, and they began to create some sort of order in the town. The commissioner summoned the important people of the town and ordered them to create a Judenrat so that he could always be in contact with them. He said that they would no longer capture Jews in the streets ever day, and the Judenrat would assign workers according to their demands.

The Judenrat, with Rav Morgenstern, of blessed memory, at the head, began their work, to satisfy them and so that they would not have to snatch up Jews in the streets. The meeting place from which Jews were sent to work, was in the big shul. Every day, people's voices were heard from there, expressing how they did not want to go to work, but only wanted easier work. And the Germans from various places just stood there and waited to assign workers, each to his place. The Jewish officers from the Judenrat, who summoned the people each day for work, did not behave properly. They often beat the ones who were late, and searched the houses for Jews who were hiding and not coming forward.

The Jews worked hard in all kinds of work settings, primarily at the train station, where the trouble-making “Hitler youth” were in charge. As they led the Jews to the train, they forced them to sing “Bei mir bistu shein, far mir hostu chein…” [to me you are beautiful, for me you are charming; old Yiddish folk/love song], and then at the train station, they were beaten murderously. And every single night a wife or mother would beat her head thinking: her child, her husband was murdered today and could not even have a Jewish burial.

Every day, there were heartbreaking scenes at the shul, I lived nearby and often heard from mothers: “Oy God! Dear Father in heaven! Is Jewish blood really ownerless? Have we really sinned so much that we require such punishment?”

In about two months, Rav Morgenstern became very sick from suffering terrible anguish: horrors, pain, that he had to tolerate on account of the officials. After Rav Morgenstern's death, the advocate Weiler was selected as a representative of the Judenrat. Simcha'le Brigman worked with the Judenrat, and he did much for the Ludmir Jews. He had a great influence on the regional commissioner, and he freed many Jews from prison and death.

On a Friday, in the eighth month, they snatched up Jews in the streets for work, and then they were taken to the prison. As we later found out, this was an order from the Gestapo, who had been in our city. In the prison, about 800 men were shot at night. The officials made sure that these 800 would be sent to work, but we found out the bitter truth when the first pogrom happened on September 1, 1942. Among the martyrs were advocate Weiler of the Judenrat, Mr. Naftali Grosman, Yisroel son of Katz, a young man who had studied in Vilna to become an advocate; Naftali Gurevitz, and Hormacher son of Yosel, who worked as cashier in the People's Bank.

A few days passed, and the Jews continued to go to work. Dr. Bardach, a dentist, was selected as chairman of the Judenrat. We waited every day for news of those who were captured. About six weeks later, the Gestapo came again, and once again captured about 400 Jews, and as it appeared later, they were shot in the prison at night. Among those who were murdered, was the famous businessman from Beis Lechem, Dude Runtenshen and his son Moshe Brinker from the city council, and others. There was always talk that these people were sent to work. We only found out all the details on the eve of Yom Kippur.

This was on a Monday. Tuesday was the eve of Yom Kippur. Once again, they captured Jews in the streets and from all the places where the Jews were working, they were captured as well. They were not left aside nor taken into the prison, but at the iron gate, they were asked: “Your skill?” The workers were set to one side, and the non-workers on another side.

I, who worked in a bakery at that time, replied: “Baker.” So they placed me on the side of the workers.

What happened in the prison's yard is hard to describe. They buried one group of living souls after another, and the cries reached the heart of the heavens. The beatings of the Ukrainian policemen, with the assistance of the Germans, who, with sticks that had iron pieces tied to the ends, beat the Jews to death. Blood ran everywhere. As they passed out, each one fell onto the other. They were thrown alive into the ditches, and then ordered the next group of Jews, a group of non-workers, to destroy them as well. They beat these “new” Jews to death. We were locked in a room, and we heard wild screams from those tragic ones who were buried alive. Then they forced one group to beat the other on their heads with iron bars. And if they

[Columns 437-438]

refused to do this, they were murderously beaten, kicked hard with their feet, thrown into a ditch, then shot.

Then they went to the workers in the room, and immediately began to beat them. “You are too fat! You are a communist! You were a leader with the communists!” And they beat the Jews wherever they could. Who knows how long they would have continued the beating but a gendarme came in and shouted one word: “Enough!”

The Judenrat ran to the regional commissioner, bringing him a large sum of money, and mercifully begged the commissioner to stop the beatings of innocent people. By the time the commissioner arrived, 180 people had already been buried alive, and he ordered the rest to be freed. We spent the night in the prison, and in the morning, we were taken to work, and in the evening, the eve of Yom Kippur, we were released.

On Yom Kippur day, we did not daven – [pray] as a group, but neighbors got together as a minyan – [prayer group], pouring out bitter hearts to the Creator, reciting the El Moleh Rachamim – [prayer for the dead] for the recent martyrs who died so bitterly.

And again, after a few days, Jews were sent to the hardest labor, and again, at the large shul, there were heartbreaking scenes of mothers' cries as they knew that they had lost their sons at their workplaces.

That bloody Monday in the prison was not forgotten, that which the regional commissioner himself had enacted. The Jews were trying to figure out a way to avenge him. That day finally came. When he went on a visit to the town Haike, a village not far from Ludmir, he was shot by Jewish hands. Because of that event, the city lived through terrible times, fearing a pogrom. The entire village was burned down, and many Ukrainians were shot, because the guilt of the actions fell onto them. And with great celebration, the commissioner was buried in the place of the Panstvo gymnasia (high school), where there were many German graves of those who died in war.

The Judenrat became familiar with the new regional commissioner that was sent over. They determined that he was much better than the one before. He promised to maintain order in the city. He also promised security for the unprotected Jews! People brought him many gifts, jewelry for his wife who was in Krakow, furniture, furs, all kinds of material for clothing, and other desirables.

That winter was a hard one. The Judenrat got many things for the Jewish people, and made many deals with the regional commissioner who wanted to set up a ghetto, but this was delayed from month to month.

That winter, we lost the well-known Zionist Dovid Bokser, who was captured by the stormtroopers for work at the Kovel railroad stations, and they put him to heavy work. He was a frail person, and when he did not entirely finish his work, they beat him murderously and then ordered him to sing “Bei mir bistu shein.”. He did not want to obey their orders, so they kicked him with their feet and beat him with the butt of their guns. They dug out a ditch and then threw him in alive. With the words: 147;Shema Yisrael! Kechu nekama be'ad hadam shelanu, be'ad hakorbanos shelanu! Am Yisrael chai!” [“Hear O Israel! Take revenge for our blood, for our victims! May the nation of Israel live!”] they tortured him. The rest of the Jews who worked there watched all this. They worked and they cried.

Soon after the new year 1942, the regional commissioner, by the order of higher powers, wanted to establish a ghetto for the Ludmir Jews. He discussed this with the Judenrat, figuring out how to set this up, and which streets to use. With great efforts, the Judenrat was able to delay this. Using generous amounts of money and gold, the delay was done more and more. The German “worker officials” began to give out to the Jewish workers, to the craftsmen, “worker's identification cards,” which was enacted with the help of the workers' unit of the Judenrat, the head of which at that time were advocates Grinberg and Kudish.

Soon there was a chase after the “skill identification cards,” using all kinds of preferential treatments and combinations. As was everywhere else, it was the same here, that the real craftsmen did not receive their “cards”, but the wealthy ones, the known ones, and the close ones did, and those who would have these papers would remain alive during the next pogroms. Everybody figured that pogroms would happen by us as well, because we heard that pogroms happened in other cities such as Kovel, Dubno, and other towns in Volhyn. (We heard that in Rowno, after November 1941, about 10,000 people were summoned to come to a designated place, rumored that they would be sent to work. Everyone was permitted to take along 16 kilograms of items from their home. When all the people were gathered together, they were all machine gunned to death.)

Many people stormed together daily at the Jewish workman's office, where they shouted and demanded “worker's identification card.” They ran to the German workman's office and paid a lot of money just to get this card for life.

They followed the steps of Grinberg and Kudish, some people calm and others enraged, threatened with knives, because the one who paid good money was the one to receive the card, even if those people were not skilled workers.

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Grinberg's mother was a very religious and honest woman, so acquaintances and close ones ran to her with cries and pleas that she convince her son to provide the life-giving card. She reassured everyone, and nodded her head with commitment: “My dear children, I wish that all Jews could have these cards, and that everyone live, and live to see Moshiach [Messiah], so I will speak to my son, and I will plead with him. Go in good health!”

Also, many people ran to Kudish's wife with all kinds of gifts, and then came with tears in their eyes so that she would have pity on them so that they would receive the ID card.

Her chin shook as she became angry: “What should I do! My husband wants to make it good for everyone, but what can he do! He has to deal with the Germans, and it's difficult to get the cards from them. But I'll tell him, maybe…”

Things were rumbling and raging in our town, and people allowed their entire savings to be used for these life-saving cards, which, as everyone thought, would save their lives. But as was evident later, it was all a bluff, a trick of the German worker's office and the regional commissioner, to fool the people who might otherwise have tried to find a hiding place for the terrifying tomorrow.

The many pleas from the Judenrat made no difference with regards to setting up the ghetto. Already right after Purim, Jewish workers set up boards and dragged wires according to the instructions of a German engineer – that's how they built a ghetto for us.

The ghetto stretched from Starr's Jewish high school through Parne, from the buildings of Tuchshneider-Perlmutter-Vaks-Limunik-Teper-Wiener, until the train road down until Smocza, then opposite Grof's mill until Levin's tree, Loitzker Street up to the city until the large prison. And from Safir, up to the People's Bank.

Two large gates were set up, one at the People's Bank, and the other on Lutzke Street, near Levin's house.

The regional commissioner gave two weeks' time to move into the ghetto, in the various places that the Judenrat instructed for the move.

This is how we received two gifts for Pesach [Passover]: the ghetto, and the order that every Jew, without exception, must wear two yellow badges, round, one in the front, and the other high up on the chest. For those who did not follow these rules, there was the death sentence.

He only made an exception for those who had an obvious work skill, so for now, they were permitted to remain in their place.

For two whole weeks, wagons filled with Jewish possessions and goods went to their Christian neighbors where they hid their beddings and all in the attics and the stalls. The number of people in each house grew to 12 or 20, according to the specific instructions of the Judenrat who measured each room and divided each into two meters, which each person received.

And exactly at the time of Pesach, the ghetto became closed, surrounded by Ukrainian police, who switched every two hours. The only ones who were allowed to leave the ghetto were those who worked outside of the ghetto with the special permission of the German labor office.

The needs of the poor population who worked and starved began to fill the ghetto. They still received everything for money, but for those whose money began to run out they rarely were able to exchange things with the Christian or townspeople, for flour, potatoes, or other products – they suffered severely.

After locking up the ghetto, only workers who would leave the ghetto were able to exchange their possessions, but bringing food into the ghetto was very difficult. The Ukrainian police searched almost everyone who entered the ghetto, and those who were caught, and were unable to save themselves, were given over to the police. Those who were caught were sent to the prison, and only after lengthy interventions of the Judenrat would that person be freed. In many cases, the Judenrat would receive an answer saying that the person they were looking to set free was no longer there, he had been shot.

This is how the Ludmir population struggled in daily life. The Jewish people became more depressed every day, broken physically and morally from daily work and not knowing about tomorrow.

The Jews worked hard by dragging cables, for the full length of the front line. The older ones worked by the ditches, the younger ones dragged the heavy cables on their backs, along the length of the ditches, under the layers of cement that was being put down, and then the older workers blocked off the light of the ditches.

The special German engineers and the Ukrainian special guards took murderous revenge on the Jewish workers and forced them to work without stopping until total darkness.

After Shavuos [holiday] of 5702 [May 1942], the regional commissioner ordered that all workers with the labor identification had to present themselves in the ghetto on Zarice and Wodovonye Streets, that was especially prepared for them. The Judenrat had a very difficult task to take care of…. After, as the regional commissioner had designated these two large streets for the craftsmen, some non-craftsmen managed to get in there as well,

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and those who formerly lived there or had their own houses there did not want to leave their places. For the working residents outside the ghetto, there was no place for them to go. With fights with their own Jewish police, and also with help of the gendarmes, the unskilled workers were thrown out of their homes, and with great force, they were taken into the “death ghetto,” as it was later called. It was thought that the lucky person who was able to get a worker's identification card would, along with his family, remain alive. Because otherwise, why would the regional commissioner create a special ghetto for those with the worker's card?

The representatives of the Judenrat and the doctors were privileged to be able to live outside the ghetto wherever they wanted.

In the so-called “living ghetto,” there was very little space because almost all the wealthy men, the prominent men, and the ordinarily privileged people (and the real craftsmen) received the life ticket and lived on one of the two streets.

In order for them to be able to see one another, the regional commissioner permitted two doors to be open, one near Pinchas'el Roth, who lived on the side, and the second door was near Chaim Kopp, who lived on the other side. The doors were open for designated hours, and you could see one another by going from one door to the next through the street. After the designated hours, the doors were locked for visiting.

We lived through difficult days and sleepless nights in the ghetto.

Because of the crowdedness of the houses, sicknesses began to occur. Many cases of typhus were recorded. No one could go to the regional commissioner because typhus was raging in the ghetto. He would have completely shut down the ghetto, which would have been a death sentence to us all. When the workers would go to work outside of the ghetto, they used to bring in food without which there would have been a terrible hunger and need. The Hebrew gymnasia [school], which was in the center of the ghetto, was turned into a hospital, where we helped with the sick, using our own funds. A second place was created for those who were very sick in the Tarbut school. Officially, it was called a birthing institute. In truth, it was a hospital for the very sick. The Judenrat bought medicines at great expense, and often for actual gold received from the Polish profiteers who came from Warsaw and other cities.

The funerals of the dead were dealt with discreetly. The body was carried to the cemetery without noise and without commotion, and after the tahara [pre-burial cleansing and washing ritual], the body was buried quietly. We would return to the ghetto quickly and silently. We envied the dead person. He already lived through his fate, died in his bed, and was in a Jewish burial place. What would happen to us? Who knew?

After a person's death, you had to sit shiva [seven-day mourning period], then you silently recited the kaddish [prayer for the dead], behind closed shutters, but who would recite the kaddish after us? We felt that this would not evade us. The sky, that was so bright for the world, was so dark for us. The air was sharp, wet, everyone went around with all kinds of thoughts. The political leaders sat in the houses, figuring out the few pieces of news that would come into the ghetto from the front, the victories of our enemy, the slaughters of the Nazis in Russia, their deep invasion of Russia, and there, the German will finally meet his ending. He would not take over Russia – was what our political leaders said, but it was still too early to discuss that. We were still in Nazi hands, and they could do whatever they wanted with us. Who knew if we would survive.

This is how our elders sat and discussed politics, and did not envision our actual disaster, how a plan was being prepared for our destruction.

Every day, in front of the big shul, there were heartbreaking scenes, mothers' and fathers' rending cries, as they saw their children being sent to the hardest labor. They would come home destroyed, with ripped lungs from terrible beatings, and oftentimes they did not even come home. They would be shot for not obeying the orders of the stormtroopers.

The stormtroopers would beat mercilessly.

The best was to work for the Viennese Germans, for older Germans who were not raised in the spirit of Hitler but argued that it was wartime and everyone had to cooperate. They were afraid to say the wrong things, because they would have to pay with their heads. But quietly, sometimes they would whisper into the other person's ear: “Hitler is kaput, we lost the war because we started up with Russia.” The person would nod his head and put out rings of smoke from his pipe.

Every day, every week and month, the situation in the ghetto became more difficult and more tense. The difficult workdays, the daily orders for death, the news from all around, about the pogroms on the Jews, all of this pressed the air tightly around us. As the days went on, each day saw the Jews becoming weaker and weaker. People would sell the items from their homes for a little flour, groats, and so on.

It became more and more difficult to bring food into the ghetto. The Judenrat could not come up with any solution, because every time they had to give over gold and other beautiful gifts to the regional commissioner's lover Anna, who was a sadist, and always screamed: “When they drain the blood of Jews, then I sing my heart out.” Every time, she

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demanded more and more things, and where the other regional workers were, the deputy of the regional commissioner's area, and the gendarmerie – everyone took something. With all their power, the Judenrat tried to please everyone, and avoided that which they were afraid to confront.

But apparently, nothing helped. One fine morning, the regional commissioner ordered all the workers to be removed from their workplaces in order that they go and dig many ditches behind the city, in Piatidyne, for air defense. He convinced the Judenrat that these ditches were being prepared for air defense. They were digging a base behind the checkpoint of the German government.

Old and young were mobilized for work, until the age of 55, without any reasons or answers. In a specific row, there were doctors and other privileged ones who went to work, where they worked in all kinds of positions. And every morning, along the length of the road by the shul, every worker had to be there by 6 am. And the regional commissioner, may his name be blotted out, with his stick in hand, would be there every morning, walk along the entire lineup, examine each person, count if there was the right number of workers, with the shovels on their backs. Every day, the workers went seven miles, there and back, coming home in the dark, ate a few bites, then dropped heavily on the bed into a sleep, not having even a thought about looking around and seeing what was going on, because the following day, they had to get up before dawn once again, and go to work. Twice a week, the regional commissioner sent some meat for the workers. This, however, evoked a suspicion, because why was he being such a “good provider”? People in the ghetto began to mumble this suspiciously.

He literally drove us crazy, the regional commissioner, but we had no other choice. Our permanent neighbors, the Ukrainians, now became our greatest enemy. When a Jew just put his foot outside of the ghetto, the Poles did not allow him back, and the Ukrainians killed him or gave him over to the police.

For us, everything was as one. The world is big, but for us it was narrow. There was no place for us. Every day, fear for the next day was felt in the ghetto more and more. People were afraid to sleep, and people rushed to sleep in the “living ghetto,” which became extremely crowded. People built temporary rooms for living, so long as they would be able to remain overnight in this ghetto. People felt that the death sentence hung over our heads, as that Judgment Day, the dark day, was coming. The Judenrat met daily with the regional commissioner. Bargman Simcha'le looked for the best jewels and he carried them with him, and wanted to end the long, bad fate that was hanging on our heads, but nothing helped.

On Monday evening, when the Jews came back from work, as they were tossing the shovels at the ghetto gates' entry, they mumbled among themselves that the “day” had arrived. They were preparing themselves for something. What was coming, from which direction, no one knew, but people were talking. And once the gates from one ghetto to the next were shut, hundreds of Jews stormed into the “living ghetto” as if there would be the place for them to be saved.

The regional commissioner was passing through our ghetto with his beloved Anna on two beautiful horses, and then at the gate, they smiled to the Jewish policeman, and asked him, “What's new?” “Don't worry, everything is in order,” he replied, and they continued on.

That night, no one in the ghetto could sleep. Everyone was anticipating the terrible oncoming day.

At exactly 2 am, the ghetto was forcibly awakened and surrounded with Ukrainian police. A quiet filled the ghetto.

Already from yesterday morning, they had brought all the Jews from the surrounding towns into the city to the large shul, with all their things that they had brought with them. From all sides, farmers' wagons came bearing Jewish families under Ukrainian watch, as they rode to the shul and then left the families there. This created a panic in the ghetto, as they prepared themselves for something.

From time to time, shooting was heard as someone was trying to tear through the wires. The police shot and did not allow anyone to approach the wires. From time to time, you could see someone running in the ghetto as someone ran to his neighbor where a small bit of food was hidden.

And then early in the morning, at 6 am, the massacre began. With a yell of “Hurrah!” the Ukrainian police tore into the ghetto with the gendarmerie of Ludmir and from Lutzk, which was specially brought over. They started to drag out the people from their houses. Then the people were crowded together under strict watch near the ghetto gate, which was near the People's Bank, and with special trucks, they took the Jewish daughters, sons, and children, to Pietidyn to be slaughtered. They did not collect too many people in one place, but took them to the trucks immediately so as to prevent any resistance. Everyone was hidden, so that no one knew where the other person was,

[Columns 445-446]

and each hoped that they would not find their close ones. Everyone hoped that this day would pass, and maybe this was the reason that there was no resistance.

This aktzia started in the “death ghetto,” as we called it, and it was calm in the “living ghetto,” surrounded by police, no one from there was permitted to leave, nor was anyone allowed to enter, and no one from there went to work that day.

I was high up in an attic in the “living ghetto” and I watched as the trucks raced out of the ghetto onto the highway, filled with people who were being led to their death.

I could not believe my own eyes, and could not believe that this was actually true, that this horrific day, this actual day, had begun, that which we feared daily, but did not believe would actually happen, and it did come!

And now, what will be? Would they actually leave behind the “living ghetto”? Would nothing bad happen here? Why did the Judenrat not reassure that no more people would be allowed in here? All kinds of thoughts went around in our heads, and we could in no way understand what this meant: They took innocent people and shot them all!

Later, I saw that a truck raced into our ghetto filled with clothes, and drove in the direction of the red shul, not far from us. What was going on? I heard screams: “Faster! Faster!” As I later realized, the trucks had come to this big building with the clothing of the martyrs who had to strip naked before their death. Jews now had to take the clothing out of the trucks and bring them into the building. The trucks left again to the other ghetto, to get more innocents and take them to their death.

I was shivering. It was already 12 noon. It was quiet where I was. Would this ghetto actually survive this mass murder?

It was exactly 1:30, and at a distance I saw a group of Ukrainian police, with the Gestapo at the head, coming in the direction of our ghetto. The gates opened, and with a cry of “Hurrah!” they fled in all directions for a mass thievery. Soon, I saw how they were taking people in groups outside of the ghetto.

As I later found out, the regional commissioner argued with the Gestapo. He wanted to leave behind the “living ghetto” from which he received much gold and jewels, but the Gestapo did not permit this, because there were too many Jews in this ghetto. And after discussions, at around 1 o'clock, the horrific slaughtering began in our ghetto as well.

There was no time to think. I ran down the stairs and hid in the prepared hideout, where my family was hiding out from earlier that day.

Soon the door was ripped open and gendarmes and wild Ukrainian bandits tore their way in. Terrible screams, cries, wails were heard, and heavy steps over our heads. Soon, once again, it was quiet. It seemed: The people from the other side were taken out. We were lying on the floor, not breathing. We needed air. Once again, we heard steps and voices from the gendarmerie: “Search everywhere!” We held our breath and heard the threats to us from the Ukrainians. They moved the furniture, banged and – left with curses on their lips.

At nighttime, I sneaked out to get a bucket of water for our ditch, and slowly, I closed myself back in. I heard sounds of shooting, women's cries that ripped the heart.

That is how we stayed until Wednesday evening, but soon we smelled strong smoke in our ditch. I opened the small door, and flames and smoke came rushing forward. “It's burning!” I screamed. “We have to run!” I grabbed a child's hand and ran out of the house. It is bright all around. I did not think for long, and ran in the direction of the red shul. From there – to the wires. I jumped to the other side near Dr. Piatetska's house, and lay down in the garden.

Ukrainians were running around, shooting in the air, and screaming. The flames grew bigger and bigger. Some houses were burning. It did not matter. Better that everything in the entire ghetto got burned than possessions ending up in the hands of the enemy.

I kept running. My thoughts were to be able to get out of the city, but there were many policemen patrolling around the city, and there, people were also snatched up and sent to prison. The child that I was holding did not allow me the chance to flee, and on Wednesday, at about 1 am, I was taken to prison.

The prison was lit up all around. This was the first time in my life that I was here, even though all my life I had lived near the prison. They took us through the People's Bank, where you heard resonances of music. I took a quick look: Many German officers were dancing. Many were sitting around small tables with empty bottles of wine and beer around them. Oh, how unlucky we were. Why did we deserve all this? Could we not live like others?

“Davai, Davai, zhidovskaya morda!” [“Let's go, let's go, kill the Jews!” (Russian)]. I heard the shouts. And with the butt of a gun pounding my back, I was forced to go faster.

At the gate of the prison, we were searched. They took everything away from us, and they led us even further.

There was noise in the prison. The police were running round as if they were the main families at a wedding. Soon I saw two familiar Christians, now policemen.

[Columns 447-448]

These two familiar Christians, now policemen, kept a serious eye out for such an occasion where they would be able to rob and avenge themselves on us. In the winter, they used to use their wagons to transport wood, half of which was stolen. Now they were standing proudly, as the Jews were brought to be slaughtered.

They took us even farther, down the stairs, as a heavy door opened, and they threw us in.

There were many people in that room sitting on the floor and moaning – women with little children in their arms. The children were crying, they wanted food. Another child wanted to sleep, and the mother rocked the child on her lap.

“A terrible tragedy has happened to us,” wailed a woman holding a tiny child. “I labored hard for all the years, just lived to get married, found such a dear husband, married for only two years, and now such a tragedy, such a tragedy.”

“What can we do? God poured His anger out on us, everything is from Above,” cried out a Jew from a corner. “We sinned, we forgot about God. We have to accept everything with love. Everything is from Above!”

This was the sixth day of the pogrom. We were few left in the prison. On this day of rest, there were no killing acts, but because of that, many Nazis from the gendarmerie and high officials came to “play” with the Jews. They stood, watched, and were very proud of the Ukrainian police who were torturing us. The cook in the prison, the one who provided food for the arrested non-Jewish prisoners, those who were sitting in other cells, would pour water onto those who asked for water, then throw the empty pails onto the women.

There was laughter among the high officials, who were very proud of their cooks, who also hit a child with a small box, who was now crying bitterly from pain. And everyone else was also crying. When one of us made a comment about why the cook was allowed to avenge himself on those who were so helpless, they beat the one who asked the question with guns, until his death. He twisted and turned out of pain, lay in a pool of blood, and finally was silent, moaned, and spoke as if to himself: “Revenge!” They put him, unconscious, into a corner, where he suffered for a few hours, until his soul left him.

I thought: Why did I remain alive? I watched all this and would not be able to tell anyone. Death would not skip over me. I had no hope of escaping from the prison, and it was unlikely to happen, since, as of the day before, would it not be correct to simply lie down together with all my brothers and not watch how they tortured us.

The steel prison doors did not open. They only opened when new victims would be thrown in, with terrified faces, starved men and women with

[Column 448]

small children who were dragged out of their hiding places.

Tears choked my throat as I watched small children pleading with their mothers for a piece of bread, a little bit of water, and asked when they would be going home. And the mothers calmed the children with a kiss.

Among those newly arrived I recognized a young man, a neighbor of my parents. He told me the sad news that after that first day, Sunday, they were all taken to Pietidyn. Early in the morning, just as they began shooting, he, along with my parents, went to hide in a cellar, in my father's house. They stayed there until the afternoon. But my sister's child was crying, so they were all discovered and taken out. He was able to hide under a bed, as he threw pillows on top of himself, bed linen, and old household rags. After that, he went into hiding in all sorts of places. At night, he was able to get out of the ghetto and then hide in the cemetery among the tombstones.

That day, they surrounded the entire cemetery, found him, and brought him to where we were. Would they actually shoot everyone? Would they not leave any people for work? He asked me these questions as he shivered from the cold. “I don't know,” I answered him. “This is also the first day here for me.” I wanted to calm him, and did not want to reveal the entire, bitter truth.

Now I went into a corner and sobbed. Yes, I now had no one. I was left totally alone. My dear parents, my one sister, with her husband and two children, and my dear grandfather, all stood before my eyes. With his snow-white beard, gentle eyes, black frock, and black silk hat, he would come to me in my house and play with my children, and learn a section of chumash [Torah] with my son. He would sigh along with me, saying what would be with the children during these war-torn days – no studying, no writing, then they would forget everything they learned. And then tears filled his eyes. Yes, he was good hearted, shared people's feelings, but spoke little. And now, it was the sixth day since he and my parents, sister, and children, lay shot, along with my brothers in the large graveyard ditch, which we shoveled ourselves, for ourselves. That was so that we could torture ourselves here for a few days: Their oldest son and grandson would recite the kaddish after their death, there, on the fresh grave. I would also recite the kaddish, and then die, because I was going to be shot the next day. I did not believe that I would not be alive the next day. I must flee! That is what I thought. I must take revenge for my parents, sister, brothers, for their spilled innocent blood.

[Columns 449-450]

The prison was in a valley, around a large mountain with electric wires, and strong security guards all around. It was impossible to do anything. Yet, I made a decision: If they would take us to Pietidyn, then I would jump out of the vehicle. That death would be the same [as any other death]. But I would flee if I would be successful, or be shot by a Nazi bullet, or willingly lie down in a ditch, face down, on top of freshly shot bodies, which I would not do.

A few of us friends talked this over together, how we would go, how we would get rid of the four Ukrainian policemen, who would drive us then flee.

That day, there was no new ditch dug out in the prison yard, and as every day, that evening they chased us into the prison cell in the yard, where on the side, on the stairs, there were two guards with rubber batons that they used to hit everyone on their head. I already knew everything. I was from the older ones. Today was the fourth day in prison, I bent down, hid my head, and slunk into the room.

We davened mincha and maariv [prayed the evening services], and this day, I recited maybe the last kaddish after my beloved parents, dear grandfather, our sister and dear children. Tears were stuck in my throat as I recited the kaddish. I wrote in large letters on the wall: “Revenge! For my parents, sister, brothers! Death to the Nazis, death to the Ukrainians!”

In a black frame, I wrote on the wall all the names of my large family who tragically died on 19 Elul 5702 [Sept 11, 1941].

The door to the prison opened every once few minutes, and new victims were pushed in. They told us how the Ukrainian police tortured them and set fire to their homes. As they were trying to run, they were all captured. They gave everything over to the Ukrainians and begged to be left alone so that they could flee, but the Ukrainians shot into the air and then beat them mercilessly.

The thirst was getting worse. We banged on the door and pleaded that someone bring a bucket of water because we were dying of thirst. The door opened, the guard stuck his head in, and hearing that we were pleading for water, he shouted: “You want water? I can give you poison, you lousy Jews. It's enough that you drained our blood these past years, now our time has come and so has your demise.” The door was slammed shut. Our pleas for their mercy on the small children were useless. Then, someone called out: “Do any of you have any gold or other valuable things? We are going to die tomorrow, so we don't need anything anymore. Let's give the things to the guard so that he brings some water.” Soon, some gold was collected along with many gold bank notes. And for that, the guard brought two large buckets of water, which we used to comfort the children.

At dawn the next day, with the first rays of light that shone through the small prison window, we davened shacharis [recited morning prayers], and everyone, as one voice, recited the kaddish. The dayan [rabbinic judge] of the town, who was brought here last night, with tears in his eyes recited some verses from tehilim [Book of Psalms] and pleaded with the Creator that his cries be heard.

Once again, we were in the prison yard. The women and children were on one side and we were on the other side. Many gendarmes were going around with metal helmets on their heads, ordering, screaming, running in and out, as if they were doing a holy act.

No one was digging ditches in the prison, and we did not know what that meant. Maybe the pogrom was put off, and we would be freed that day. Each person expressed his reasoning. But meanwhile, we saw that with every bit of passing time, new victims were being brought in. They said that the ghetto was in terrible shape. Doors and gates were all open. Dead bodies lay in the streets. All houses were destroyed, and the Ukrainian bandits were searching, robbing, looting, ripping apart walls.

I moved into a corner, where some religious Jews were sitting, along with the dayan. He was reciting the vidui [“confessions” recited before death]. I repeated word for word, hoping that today would be my end. I did not want to see before my eyes the light in the world anymore if I would not be able to avenge the deaths of my parents, sister, children. But I did not think this was going to be my end. Some small instinct of hope dug its way into my heart. I wanted to believe that I would get out of the prison and be freed, and then take revenge on the bandits, the murderers.

Meanwhile, I was reciting the vidui and some verses from tehilim with great passion. I was listening with serious concentration to what these religious Jews were discussing with each other, that in the Holy Books it was written that a Hitler type would arise, who would take over the world, kill all the Jews, but his downfall would come, and then the real, ultimate salvation would come into the world!

I sat in a corner, and listened to all the tales that these Jews were saying, and I thought: “Oh my God, will I ever be able to relate all of this? Tell over all about my experiences here in this prison, all of the hardships and punishments that they are giving to our brethren? Will I be able to write to my only brother in Israel about all my experiences and how our dear parents died, our entire family, along with our brothers?”

I remember a brother, who certainly did not know what was going on here. He was likely thinking of going to see his parents, sister, and brother after the war, after already having left them 12 years ago, when he went to Israel as a pioneer.

[Columns 451-452]

By now he certainly had an older son, and he was undoubtedly thinking of bringing him to his grandfather and telling him how our land was being built up. And now, my thoughts were very far away, across the ocean, in our beautiful land, where I dreamed day and night of going, and I would have even gone now if not for the outbreak of the war.

The sun was already high up. It was sending its warm rays upon us, into the narrow prison walls, as it warmed up the bones of the unfortunates who were sitting and waiting for their death. It was already noon, we were becoming impatient. No one was digging ditches, and we were hoping that maybe we would be let go, maybe God would have mercy on us because of the cries of the innocent young children, and in their merit we too would be saved.

The quiet until midday was very unsettling. I called out to some familiar young people, and I said that if they would take us to Pietidyn, then we should jump out of the truck as we were moving.

“But how are we going to do that?” asked one young boy who was looking all around. “They will have guards all around.”

“Listen here, all of you,” I say quietly to them. “There are four Ukrainian police sitting at the four sides of the open vehicle. We have to try to get close to them. Then, each of us should throw these guards down and then jump out. We have nothing to lose, and we cannot allow ourselves to be slaughtered by them. We have to resist.”

“We have to try and do this not far from the forest, behind the city, and then jump, and hide in the forest,” someone else in the crowd says.

We decided to all sit close together so that we would all be able to sit in the same truck.

As we were sitting, the gate opened and, like grasshoppers, the Ukrainian police jammed in, escorting the German gendarmes, and with wild cries, they approached the men.

“Stand up, you cursed Jews! Fast, to the devil with you! Faster!”

They herded us quickly out of the prison. The cars were already waiting. They packed us into the vehicles like herring, and they took us to Pietidyn.

There was not much time to think. Two of us were missing, they were in a different car. There were six of us. We slid over, and I gave the others a signal. Four of us got closer to the police, who, with loaded guns, were sitting on the edges of the car. We threw them down and jumped. I was the second to jump, and banged myself up badly. But I didn't look, and ran into the forest. They shot at us from the cars that chased us. Two of us were immediately shot, but we were able to get more deeply into the forest and hide.

We did not know what happened to the Ukrainian police, and only a few hours later did we realize how badly we had been beaten and could not move. We did not even have a little cold water to put onto the wounds of our bodies.

“It's better to find our death here than to be shot there,” I say as comfort to the others who were lying in pain and suffering. “But we have to leave here because the forest here is sparse, and they will certainly find us.”

“We cannot run now,” Shimon cried out as he clutched his side. “We have to wait until it gets dark.

“It's too bad that we did not grab their guns. They would have been very useful here when they start looking for us.”

We discussed where to run when it would get dark… and as we sat there, we heard people's footsteps in the forest, and then shooting coming from all directions.

“We are lost, everyone,” I called out to them all. “We are surrounded and once again in their hands. Get climbing high up into the trees!”

Disregarding our wounds and pains, we climbed up and then heard the continued shooting and shouting and threats of the German police to the Ukrainians that they should search carefully for the escaped Jews.

I immediately saw that we were lost, the forest was sparse, and we would once again be taken by them.

“To the devil! They are the accursed!” one of them screams and shoots a string of bullets up high. He ordered us to get down, and if we would not listen, then he would shoot into the trees.

Under tight guard, we four were taken back to the road where a closed car, filled with Germans, was waiting for us, and we were taken back to the prison.

It was already evening when we arrived at the prison. We were strongly beaten when we reached the gate and we felt faint, and they had to carry us into the cell, and they threw us in with the new people who were brought that day in the afternoon.

The prison guard pitied us and brought in a bucket of water. We refreshed ourselves a little and applied more clean water to the wounds that we had.

[Columns 453-454]

The people, especially women, who knew about our experience, felt sorry for us and respectfully looked at us like heroes and comforted us, continuously putting cold water on our wounds, crying as they watched over us.

“Oh God! Why are you silent? Our children are being slaughtered, murdered, and you, God, are silent and watch as your children are drowning in rivers of blood.”

“This situation will not remain silenced. They will receive their end, but it is tragic that we will not live to take revenge on our innocent, spilled blood.”

“For us! For our innocent little children, revenge! Revenge!” cried out a young wife as she held her young child in her hands. “The world is silent! The world knows what is going on and does not protest!” shouts a Jew from a corner.

“The world knows and the world is protesting,” I shouted. “They will receive their dues, but we will not be able to take revenge without them, there will be only a small number of us remaining.”

Once again, we davened [prayed] that day, and it was very difficult for me to recite the kaddish, because I could hardly stand on my feet. But I recited the kaddish with many cries for that day's martyrs, those who died that day.

I lay in a corner, banging my head in the wall [frustrated], and looked at the black frame on the wall, upon which I wrote the names of all my family members who had died. All kinds of thoughts about revenge were going around in my mind. I fell asleep for a short while but soon woke up. The events that day did not let me calm down. I did not succeed to escape from the enemy's hands, and once again, I found myself in the clutches of death. All kinds of thoughts were going around in my head. I could not believe that this was actually going to be my last day.

But here, you did not think for long. The door kept swinging open, as new victims were constantly being thrown in, terrified, with wild eyes, covered with mud from the hiding places where they lay for several days not knowing what was going on in the ghetto. They asked for a sip of water. They were barely able to speak.

There was a woman with a six-year-old child, in a small shirt, with its entire face smeared with mud. The child was shivering from cold and hunger. The mother was sobbing, could not calm herself, and shouted: “Where is my husband? My two sons?” And she related the following:

“We were preparing for the great tragedy, so we found a hiding place. But who thought it would be so long, with today already being the eighth day. By the third day, we already did not have water.

The little children were crying for water. The inflictors of pain did not stop their imposition, but made trouble day and night, taking apart the house, breaking down walls and ovens. And here, my small Rochele, a three-year-old child, screamed: “Mama! A little water!” And she cried…” And the mother cried, sobbed terribly, clutched the child to herself tightly, and said: “These neighbors, who sat with me in the ditch, began to demand from me that I choke the child or leave that place. 'You are getting us into trouble because of your child, and we will be discovered because of her. We will all be lost. You must choke the child.”

“What are you saying? What are you saying?” I argued. “Choke my child? That means that you are all murderers!”

“That's how it is. Because of one child, we do not all have to die. My husband,” the woman continued, “refused and said, 'I am going to get water for my children and for you.' But he did not come back. They obviously caught him, and now my tragedy begins. I did not watch but I turned around, and knew that the murderer, my neighbor Avremele the shoemaker, suffocated my child. I went into spasms, I could not cry, and was not aware of what was going on with me. But nothing helped. They bombed the bridge near us and searched until they found us and brought us here.”

The woman became silent, did not cry, but looked strangely at her child and squeezed her closely to her chest.

We all sat stone still. The woman's story moved us terribly. I forgot all my pains and looked at the woman and her child, as she cuddled closely to her mother and was silent.

Choked a child with a person's own hands! How can someone do that? How cold people had become in order to save themselves, oneself, to choke an innocent soul who knows nothing about our terrible tragedy, and only wanted a little water to drink.

“Yes, Shmuel,” said someone nearby. “These people re like animals. The pressure on a person's life is so strong, that in the minute that he thinks he can save his own life, he would be prepared to kill the person next to him.”

New people were being brought in without end. Children without parents, and mothers without children. One didn't know about the other. It happened that mothers may have found their children here, and children their parents. They kissed, they said goodbye, some cried out loudly, others were quiet, deeply engrossed in their thoughts as they looked at the walls that were covered with bloodied letters with names of those who died.

[Columns 455-456]

I was very curious about a young man whom I knew, Boruch Eisen, who, with his wife and two older children, a boy and a girl, were sitting on the bridge and singing a song from the Rosh Hashana prayers. He wanted to comfort the children that way, to calm them, and so, said to them many times: “The world is nothing, there, there…” and continued singing a melody, a sad one from mussaf [the afternoon Rosh Hashana prayers].

It reminded me of the times he used to sing the Rosh Hashana prayers so beautifully in the orphan's house, where there was a minyan [quorum for prayers] every year. He was frequently asked to lead the Tarbut mussaf prayers.

He davened [prayed] with great feeling. His sweet, warm voice, would melt people's hearts. And how strange was it that now I was watching him sit calmly and reassuring the children that there was another world, and everything was from Above, and no one lived forever anyway, and then quietly hummed a sad melody.

He got up, took out a razor, cut open his finger, and then wrote on the wall in bloody red letters:

“I, Boruch, and my family will die today, on 26 Elul, but those who will remain alive should take revenge on the barbaric, murderous hands who are pouring our innocent blood. Revenge, revenge, these bandits and Ukrainians who are helping them in destroying us. Eisen.”

He tore off a piece of his sleeve, tied up his finger, and quietly went back to his children who were sitting quietly.

Moshe Mendel the fat one, as we called him in town, was standing in a corner, with his talis katan [tzitzis], as we called it, over his jacket. Every year, he stingily did not give any donations; he did not even want to hear anything about Israel. He had no children, was married a second time when he was older, married to a girl from Galicia – she was standing next to him and wiping his brow and was holding a little bit of water for him.

“You can bring another two pails of water,” called out Shmulik, son of Yekel the redhead. “The guard wants some pieces of gold. Whoever has some should give it over so that we can have some water.”

People gave money, some even a “fiver,” and the old man, Moishe Mendel, who was scratching his head, lifted his shoulders. His wife whispered a secret into his ear. He turned to the wall, searched his pockets, and pulled out a “fiver.”

“Why are you so cheap even today, Moishe Mendel?” an acquaintance shouted out to him. “You've been so cheap all the years for everything! You won't take anything with you, they strip you totally naked, and …”

“I don't have any more,” Moishe Mendel cut him off not wanting to hear any more about death.

“They took me down from the rooftop, and what you see here is all I have left.”

A cold sweat ran down his face. He slowly sat down and remained silent.

It might have been that he was now doing a self-judgment of all his years. It might have been that he was now feeling serious regrets about the many years of his stinginess, of not giving any charity, and now he had to leave everything and then die. Not die, but be shot by the murderers.

The guard, who had received the gold, brought in two buckets of water. People started to fight, everyone wanted to be first. The children were crying, the women shouting. There was chaos, pushing. One grabbed the water of someone else's hands. Someone shouted that the children had to get water first. They started fighting again until the water spilled out. Then the fighting got even worse. Police came running and began mercilessly beating the people over their heads with rubber batons. They removed the buckets and locked the doors.

“I did not think it was going to be like that,” someone shouted. “Even before death, one person cannot be generous to the other.” “My child, my child wants some water,” another woman shouted and sobbed. “Gevalt, how does no one have pity on these tiny children.”

I felt such pity for the small children. My heart was tearing apart as I saw two small children lying on the bridge and licking the dirty water that had spilled out.

I forget about all my pains, I wished for my own death. Why should I be suffering for the next few days and also see so much pain. But now I had a second thought – you have to hold on as long as you can, maybe you would survive and be able to take revenge and see the destruction of the murderers. I was sure that the day would come, there was no question, it was only a question of when, and who would survive to see their destruction.

Daylight began. The door opened, and once again we were all chased out into the prison yard, and as everyone ran down the stairs in the yard, they were beaten over the heads with rubber batons.

In the prison yard, there was more action going on than usual. Gendarmes, Gestapo, Ukrainian police. In and out: They were fighting a war with us Jews. They wanted to eliminate us to our very roots. That's how they would win the war.

Today was the eighth day since the beginning of the pogrom. The ditches were already filled with us. The destruction in the city was huge. Human sacrifices were all over the streets. They were buried by us, under strict guard, in the very place where they lay. That day, I, along with three other Jews from the prison, were taken to bury some of the dead. A terror grabbed us as we looked around the ghetto.

[Columns 457-458]

Only eight days ago, Jewish life was busy here. And this day, empty and wild. A massive destruction. Groups of Ukrainian children with bayonets, guns, and hand grenades, were running from house to house, searching, looting, and finding fresh new victims underground, beating them murderously, and then taking them to prison.

Now they brought Mottel Daf (Jasner) wearing his yarmulke [skullcap], black frock, and his tzitzis. A Torah scholar he was. He sat down in a small corner and looked strange, with terrified eyes, and then hummed a melody quietly to himself.

Then there was Hirsh Sheimes, a former landlord, he was the chairman of the Gemilas Chasadim fund [charity funding organization] in town, one of the few elders of the People's Bank – now he was standing, and he did not realize how they had found him. He stood there and trembled, not from cold, but from fear and from the beatings that he had received.

Then there was Asher Senders, the pharmacist, with a band on his left sleeve from the medical assistant commission where he worked for the Judenrat.

“Take off the ribbon, Asher,” I called out to him, because the bandits used to beat murderously those who worked for the Judenrat.

That day, I saw many familiar faces in the prison. The door did not stop moving. People were constantly being hurled in, then these people would fall to the ground. There were terrified women, children, and young and old. There was the old Shelufskiche [the person who ran the boarding house and kitchen], the old bubbe [granny] from town. All old and young were her “children.” She took care of all of us. She stood there, wringing her hands because of the massive destruction that had happened to us.

Then came E. Halperin, with the yellow, pointy beard. A scholarly Jew. He lately had done much for the Jews, as he worked as financier and consultant for the Judenrat. He brought a little bit of money with him and said that people should use that money to buy bread for the children. In the other cells of the prison there were Polish men who had committed all kinds of crimes. From them, through the steel bars, we bought bread with our money or gold. They would get the bread from their families in packages.

There were also many Ukrainians, who, with pieces of gold that they stole from the German gendarmes, also brought in some loaves of bread. We received water only once, in the morning. No one was allowed to go to the well that was in the yard close by. And the newly arrived ones, who did not know this, were beaten on their heads for getting a little water.

My friends and I, who were found in the forest and brought here, sat in a corner and trembled. We were scared that they would come and look for us and for the little bit of work we had done with the Ukrainians. We were not afraid of dying, but we were afraid of being tortured: They might want to hang us, or do other forms of torture. So, we sat and were quiet. I edged closer to my acquaintances from the Trisker shtiebel [small shul], and listened to their confessions. As soon as the thugs came in and looked for people to go and work, I quickly went and hid. But this did not help, and they took me to work for a couple of hours in town in order to bury the dead. It is difficult to remember what I was thinking during these hours. I did not think I would survive these few hours.

I saw many heartrending scenes in the prison yard. Men bid farewell to their wives, children to their parents. I sat deep in my thoughts and did a life review. I thought about my few years.

My energy for life was very strong. Even though I knew that I could be killed at any moment, I did not allow myself to fully believe that. Even a minute before death, I still did not believe that they would get me …

Suddenly, the gates to the prison flew open and the Ukrainian police, with the Gestapo at the head, rushed in and demanded that we all stand and get into place.

Now I said goodbye to the world. I was going to die, not die but be shot. We were once again crushed into the trucks, as herring crushed in a barrel. One on top of the other, under strict guard.

There was no concept of running. We were weak, broken, with aching sides from being beaten yesterday, it was impossible to even think of running. But still, one thought lingered: not to allow yourself to be shot, to run from the ditch, but then to be shot not in the ditch.

Through the slits in the truck we were able to see people's heads as they walked freely in the streets. We were the unfortunates, we were not allowed to live.

The truck was speeding, as if excited to take us to our death. It felt like the truck was going on a side, in a field, and then stopped.

“Faster! Faster, you cursed ones!” we heard the Gestapo's screams. It became light, and we were ordered to get off the truck.

All around, there was a narrow line of Ukrainians with guns. We were in the middle. Around us, there were only Germans, Gestapo.

I looked around to see what was going on. I saw the truck driver leaning on the truck and smiling.

I knew him very well. He spoke Yiddish very well. He was called “Yoshke.” He had a four-wheeled carriage in town,

[Columns 459-460]

and every day, he would come to us to get oats for the horses in the little shop. Recently, he had learned to drive a car and worked for the Germans. Now, here was Yoshke, standing and smiling. He was happy that we were going to die. There would be no more Jews who would go on horse drawn carriages. He would be able to take as many people as he wanted.

I looked around to find a place and make a plan about where to run. But they did not allow anyone to think, and orders were flying from all sides.

“Everyone strip naked! Faster, faster, and faster! To the devil with you!”

Everyone stripped naked, cried quietly, and said goodbye. We were not left alone for a minute, ordered to strip again, and go to the ditch. An older woman did not want to remove her kerchief from her head or her underwear. She was beaten, they ripped everything off her and chased her further on.

It is very difficult, very difficult, to give over the last minutes of these people: Did they think about what to do these final minutes, or did they completely lose their minds and fill the orders automatically?

I threw down my jacket and ran further, not having a goal in mind. “To the devil! Where are you running? Come here fast!” I heard a voice calling me. I thought quickly. Should I go back or continue running?

“Get over here faster, you cursed people! Faster! Work faster making things orderly, or else you will be shot!”

I recognized the voice of our security guard from the gendarmerie. Before the time of the ghetto, I had once been beaten by him having been caught for going to the market and buying things that were forbidden to the Jews.

I went back and went over to him. He asked me where I was running to, and I did not answer but looked him straight in the eye.

He ordered me to organize the discarded clothing, and search for money and gold in the pockets.

I thought: I will have time to look around and then find the opportunity to flee.

I, along with two other Jews, started to organize the clothing of our brethren who were hardly still alive, who now lay shot, one on top of the other, in large ditches [graves]. My hands and feet were trembling as I touched these clothes. Gevalt! What was I doing! I was looking through the pockets for money and then gave it all to the security guard. But the thought that with all this going on I could run away, kept me going.

Every while, new trucks filled with people would arrive. They stripped and ran to the ditch. Others, fully naked, tore out of the Ukrainian chain of guards, and ran into the fields. But the bullets caught them as they ran.

The pile of clothing grew, and I drew more people to me so that they could help me with the workload, telling the security guard that I needed more people to help me. He let me take on eight more people.

We knew for sure that they were going to shoot us after we organized all the clothing. Nonetheless, we still believed that maybe we would be able to run from this hell and survive. It is hard for me to remember with whom I worked. I only remember that among the first ones were Ephraim Kuper and Chaim Katzav, and among the last ones, I remember only one person, Moshe Yossel Drazhkazh, as he ran towards us and threw his shoes towards us, and then took out a small package of Russian money, a few fivers, and gave it all to the watchguard of the gendarmerie. He banged Moshe Yossel's back and told him to go work with us and search through all the pockets for money.

The trucks with the victims kept on coming. Each time that a truck came, we went to the side, following an order, so that we would not be able to grab someone to come work with us, so there was no hope that we could see of saving anyone.

This left a terrible, terrible impression on me, that which I saw from a distance: The men and women stripping completely together, mothers holding their children in their arms, and all totally not understanding that their lives would now be minutes long. They had to lie down in the ditch, on top of the newly shot bodies that were still warm, and there, they would get a bullet in their head.

One of the gendarmes, Keller, may his name be erased, shot all the victims on his own, using an automatic gun, which was changed when it got too warm. He stood there alone in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, red-faced being stuffed with food, also somewhat drunk, and he conducted the “holy” work that he was ordered by the authorities to take care of. As he later related: He received 20 pfennigs as a price for each head, and every fifth person who went into the ditch was calculated by someone who was sitting there and taking notes.

Another truck arrived with more people, mainly women and children. One of the children, a 12-year-old, recognized his father who was standing among us.

“Tatte! Tatte [father, father]! What are you doing here? Save me! I want to live! Save me!” The child ran to his father, fell on his father's neck, and cried.

The gendarme ran after him, tore the child out of his father's hands, and beat him, ordering him to strip and run forward. The young boy cried, screamed, and the father pleaded with the security guard that he should be allowed

[Columns 461-462]

to work with us, and then kissed the security guard's hand and pleaded more, and begged, “It is my child, my child!” We all begged the security guard to allow the child to work with us and then he would go along with his father.

The security guard allowed it. The child kissed his father and began to work diligently. He put the shoes, ties, and hats separately.

This scene left a terrible impression on us all. I thought: The child certainly thought we would all be left alive, but…

The murderers did not allow us time for much thought, and they ordered us to speed up, faster, accursed Jews, is what we heard from all sides. And we worked slowly.

We decided to work calmly, carefully. Maybe it would get dark before we would finish the work, and then we would be able to run.

This helped us remain alive for another night. With the order from the security guard of the gendarmerie, we had to load up all the things onto the trucks and get back to the prison.

They took all the clothes to one place: to the red school. Before the German occupation, the Russians closed down the Jewish red school that was on Zarice Street, not far from the post office.

Under strict security watch, we were taken back onto the truck with the clothes. The trucks went to the red school and we took everything off the trucks. We met some Jews there who worked under tight security, and their job was to sort everything that we brought.

“Can we also stay here and work here?” we asked the gendarme.

“To the devil with you! Get onto the truck quickly!” he shouted. “I do not have any orders to leave you here, but to take you back into the prison.”

There were eight of us and there were 12 guards with automatics watching us. There was not even a thought of running away, and we were taken back to the prison, to the fresh victims that they had just brought from the city.

I was completely destroyed from what I had seen that day. I saw everything with my own eyes, and could do nothing to help. I had not eaten for a few days but felt no hunger. But I felt broken that once again I was in the hands of death. It was impossible to tear myself out of its hands.

With broken hearts, we davened Mincha and Maariv [evening prayers] and recited the kaddish for the victims of that day. We didn't actually recite, but we choked with tears in our throats. That day, we were witness to the great Jewish tragedy that was ever heard of before and which no one would later believe.

To this very day, the open ditch with the bodies stands before my eyes, with holes in the heads of the bodies, all in a river of blood. I can also not forget, and never will forget, what I saw with my own eyes.

Once again, I was within the four walls of the dead. The dark fate chased me so that I should see that horrifying rage that assaulted us. I already saw death many times, yet I still had a spark of hope. I will survive. My nerves were strong, and my body was whole. I looked unconcerned into the eyes of the dead, and oriented myself each dangerous minute as to how I would escape death. But soon I was in their hands, and my thoughts kept working: What will be tomorrow? They will once again take me to be shot.

“Run, run!” was the only thought that ran through my mind again and again. Or be shot. Undress, undress, but I would not obey their orders.

They brought new victims. No one was identifiable. It was already eight days that they were without air, without water, without food.

“Shmuel, you've already been here for a long time. What will be? Will they let us go?” an acquaintance asked me. “Is it true that they shoot everyone after they've undressed?”

“I don't know,” I answered. “They brought me here only today.”

A child asked his father: “Tatte, when will we go home? And where is Mamme? Is she at home? I'm hungry!”

I took a piece of moldy bread out of my pocket, something I had found that day in the pocket of a dead body, and then gave it to the child. A deep sigh from my heart came forth.

My children no longer asked for food. That day was the sixth day since they were shot. Oh my God, how awful that is, and how full of heavy rocks is my heart. It is already six days that I am walking around the grave of my children, and I am alive and want to live. How powerful is the desire to live. For what? For whom? I was left all alone and still wanted to live. No, tomorrow I would go to the ditch, to my children, to my parents, family, brothers.

I lived through a terrible night in prison. It was not so crowded so I was able to find a place for myself. I had a serious longing for my children, and the warmth of my home enveloped me. I cried and could not calm down. I myself could not believe what my eyes had seen. The writing on the walls, which the martyrs had written, danced before my eyes, a death dance around me. I became afraid and completely feverish.

[Columns 463-464]

All these martyrs, whom I had seen over these last few days, with whom I had recited the vidui [confessional prayer prior to death], then kaddish, were now lying in the large common grave, all shot. They were running before my eyes, with wild open eyes and stretched out hands, and were screaming: “Revenge! Revenge!”

I covered my eyes with my hands, I trembled when I saw them – the holy martyrs. I heard music playing in the cafes, how the Germans were dancing, and we were passing them under strict guard going back into the prison. All the holy martyrs were dancing before my eyes under the sounds of the music.

The screams of the women and children awoke me. I looked around to see where I was, I completely forgot that I was in the prison.

The new day was dawning. Strips of light were tearing through the grates. We were locked in here for a longer time than usual. The reason was that they were cleaning up the yard a little for us, where torn clothing was laying around since people would rip their own clothes rather than give them away to the bandits. All kinds of monies with different currencies were also laying around: Russian, American, and others. No matter how much they screamed and beat us to give them the money – some of the imprisoned ones ripped up the monies before their very eyes, and then threw the torn monies and other expensive possessions into the toilet, then flushed it all away.

Today was Wednesday, the ninth day of the pogrom, and the fire was not yet put out. The gates of the prison did not stop moving, and new victims were always being thrown in. They were taken to work, that was what they were being told as they were being driven. They asked if what they were told was true.

“I don't know,” I answered, not looking into their eyes.

“They say that we will be liberated today.” I wanted to calm them. “The security guard of the prison reassured us that they will no longer shoot us but they will snatch us up for work.”

I myself did not want to believe what I had heard from the guard, the German boss of the prison. He actually did calm us down, saying that we would go to work. Could we believe him? He had said the same thing yesterday and the day before yesterday, calming us as he smiled.

Why did fate determine for me that I should be the witness to our massive destruction? I cannot understand that until today. That day, once again I fell into the group of four who were taken under strict guard in the ghetto to go and bury the dead who simply were roaming around the streets. It was already impossible to recognize the shape of a human – swollen, puffed out eyes, open mouths. In that place, we dug, put the bodies in, and covered them. Now there was a cemetery in the ghetto. There was now no place without a grave.

There was now no talk of escaping. There were groups of security guards walking around the streets. My running away would fail.

When they were taking us back to prison a gendarme took us into a room in a cellar and told us to take a person out of there, an old man whom they found under pillows and covers. He was still alive but struggling with the Angel of Death.

In no way was I able to recognize who this was. Completely changed and shaken up. Under orders, we carried him into the prison and put him into the ditch still alive. When I told the gendarme that he was still alive, he replied coldly: “What a waste of a bullet for this Jew.” And then he measured me with his eyes from top to bottom.

Then, in the prison, they threw questions at us. What was going on in the ghetto? We told them that the destruction was huge. Doors and gates were open. That meant, that the Ukrainian bosses, our enemies, were in the Jewish homes. They were ripping off doors and windows, anything that was Jewish was available for them.

After they allowed us to have some water that day, I looked for a corner where some religious Jews were sitting and reciting vidui and were telling tales of the Next World. That day, I felt very weak and broken. My heart ached. I took out a rotten beet that I had found in the street, and slowly ate it and thought: Why did we deserve such an ending? Is it because we are the chosen nation by God?

“Gendarmerie, gendarmerie came with the guard Einhorn!” was heard from all sides. What could be happening?

They were conversing with each other. Smiling. They were happy with the looting, came close to us, and told us to be quiet. The guard Einhorn began to speak to us in these words:

“According to an order from the regional commissioner we have the right to select 30 people today for work. These people have to be healthy, not married. These 30 people will work for us.”

It is hard to explain what happened in that moment. As wild animals, people threw themselves onto them, since everyone wanted to have the merit of working for them.

“I have worked for you, Herr Wachmeister!”

“I am the best tailor!”

“I am a craftsman!”

One pushed the other. Everyone wanted to be first to be chosen for work.

[Columns 465-466]

Many people did not believe in this. People were thinking that no one actually knew where these 30 people were being taken. They could be accused of something and then all be hanged, or something else so horrific.

This was the urge to live. People did not realize that they were leaving behind women and children. They just wanted to live.

Loud and wild cries were thrown into the air. Hands were waving wildly so that they could be chosen.

The “Angel of Mercy” Einhorn saw that he could do nothing, so he ordered the Ukrainian police to calm things down.

And they immediately calmed things down. They waved the butts of the guns over our heads, and blood flowed from all sides. One person hid behind the other, and soon it was calm.

I sat in a corner, not rushing to be freed, I did not believe any of their story. But I did have a thought that maybe we could run away from the job place, but I could not tear myself away and sadly watched the entire wild scene.

When everyone calmed down, the security guard ordered everyone to remain seated, he would choose whomever he wanted, according to his own senses.

And he began to choose. They were not of the first to sit down, but he intentionally chose those from the back rows, called them out, and put them on the side, then asked each one of them: “Do you have a wife and children? Are you healthy?”

Everyone answered that he had no one here. Two answered that they were married and wanted to take along their wives, and if not, they themselves would not go, and they went back and sat down.

“We do not take women, only men,” they answered and continued their search.

Of us eight who returned from Pietidyn, five were chosen. The tailor for women's clothing Bik, from Zamoszcz, the blacksmith A.K., the carriage driver Moshe Yossel, me, and fate had it that the butcher was chosen, leaving behind the young boy that he had saved from the ditch. Now, when they asked him if he had anyone, he replied: “I am alone, I have no one.”

The young boy was silent, did not say a word, but began to cry and quietly said: “Tatte, tatte.”

When the number was reached, they said to us that we were chosen for work. We would live!

When they took us back into the prison cell from the yard outside, the deputy of regional commissioner Krauze came in and ordered us to bring two women along with us.

“You have to give them here two women, and also choose two women,” he ordered. And now it became obvious that among the men who had been chosen there were actually two who had wives. These two men began to plead with the security guard that they be allowed to bring their own wives.

The guard became angry and summoned the two wives.

One cannot imagine the joy of the two husbands. They kissed their wives and thanked the guard for his goodness.

The two women were separated from us and we were taken into a cell. The security guard ordered the cell's guard:

“These people will remain alive. Give them water and behave properly with them.”

Two of us were immediately taken away with a gendarme to the ghetto, and he brought moldy bread and rotten tomatoes which were given over to us. Water was brought in a bucket. We were unable to eat as we watched how the rest of the others were taken out into the yard with the trucks…

I will, in my entire life, never forget the scene that took place between a father and child. The child looked up to his father and screamed: “Tatte! Tatte! Do not forget me, and do not forget my mother! Do not forget! Tatte! Tatte! I am going to die, dead, dead, dead. Tatte, do not forget!”

We all cried as we watched the scene. All eyes were looking at us, everyone was screaming: “Be well! Revenge! Revenge!”

Each one of us ran to the window to take a last look at those whom we would never see again. We did not know own our fate. Why were we chosen? Yet we still felt that we would remain alive that day, we would not be shot that day.

Slowly, the yard emptied. New people were brought in, and they did not know about the devil's dance that was going on here. And only in the evening, were the fresh bodies left over for the next day.

[Column 467]

Many of us ate the moldy bread with vigor, but I could not eat. My heart had turned to stone. It got stuck in my throat. This was the eighth night that I was in prison, between life and death. None of my plans to escape had happened, and today I found myself once again among the chosen ones that would live. I cannot believe that eventually, I would come out of their hands a living person.

We davened Mincha and Maariv, and recited the Kaddish for the martyrs of that day. I had never recited the Kaddish with as much earnest as on that day, feeling an obligation for these martyrs, because for what reason did I merit to remain alive on this day if not to commemorate the dead and the dearest ones.

That night was calm. No one was brought over to us. Only the following morning, in the yard, did we see fresh victims who looked up at us and gestured with their hands.

We threw bread down for the children, but could not be of any further help.

I wrote a few words to them, that we were selected for work and we would not be shot, everyone would go to work. I threw this note down to them from between the grates. They threw things back, with some pieces of paper and rocks, a bit of money. They did not need the money, they were going to die.

I protested, we did not need any money. I tore it all to pieces. More and more people came into the prison yard. The fire was still burning. The pogrom was not over.

At around 12 o'clock, our door opened. A gendarme entered and he ordered us to prepare ourselves for going back into the yard. There, the sergeant of the gendarmerie and many policemen were already waiting for us. They paired us off in twos, and the sergeant said to us: “You are being freed. You are alive, but you have to remember to work well and not try to escape. Whoever tries to run will be shot.”

They led us out of the prison, guarded by police, and we were taken in the direction of the Red School. Regall came to meet us, he was the one who used to work in the Judenrat, and who now was chosen as the overseer of the work that we had to do.

“Regall, here you have Jews for work, and please watch over them,” the sergeant called out to Regall, and then handed us over into his hands. He told the police

[Column 468]

that were guarding us to go back to the prison, because we were now freed.

We breathed freely. I looked around to make sure no one was chasing me. I could not imagine that I was free, outside of the large prison walls, and would now be able to try to run and hide.

Regall led us to the yard of the Red School and ordered us to get into groups and clean the houses. Since, after the people left, there remained in the houses some belongings and possessions, we had to search in each house and pack up whatever we found into the cars, and it would all be taken to the school. There, all the items would be placed in rooms, and then be sorted, washed, ironed, and the better things would be sent to Germany.

The task that Regall had given us, to collect the things from the houses, did not feel right. That would mean that we would be those who would collect things from our brethren who were just murdered and give over their things to our enemies, the murderers? We would be those who would enable them to get those goods that our brethren had collected for generations, for which our grandmothers and grandfathers, parents had worked so hard?

But we had a different reckoning. First, being free all day, we would be able to look around and figure out how to escape. Second, we had an important mission: There were still many Jews hiding in the ghetto, suffering from hunger and thirst. We had to help them in any way that we could.

Some men were separated from us, and they had to bring products for the kitchen that was being organized, and where two women would be cooking for us. The men were divided into groups and would have to carry out the tasks that were assigned to us. Regall asked us not to escape, because the gendarme reassured him that we would remain alive. They did not want to assign the job of collecting possessions onto the Ukrainian police, which is why they had taken the Jews.

The first job was to clean the houses, particularly in the “living ghetto,” on Zarice and Wodovonye Streets, which were not far from the Red School. In the Red School, there were workers from before, who were sorting the items in separate rooms under the guard of a Pole, who was entrusted with all the guns, and who became rich from all the Jewish possessions, and who later fled to Poland with the Germans.

[Column 469]

The houses were unrecognizable. Everything was overturned, all the Jewish possessions were thrown on the floor or into the yards.

There were still some Jews hiding in the houses. Our first help for them was bread and water, which we gave them immediately. We took the men out of the hiding places, shaved them, and then took them with us to work. They went back into hiding in the evening. On the second day, we took them with us when we had to be present for reporting. The representative of the regional commissioner checked us over and searched us, and screamed loudly:

“Money! Money! Watches! Hand it all over!” Then, when he counted us, there were 42 men instead of 30. Regall explained that there was a lot of work so he had to take more people.

“Yes, but from where did you take these men?” “They came from the villages,” Regall replied, not wanting to tell him that we had taken these men from the ghetto.

He raised his shoulders, gave a discrete smile, and looked at us as if at his subservients, and did not say anything, but warned us again: “Whoever will not hand over the money will be beaten to death!”

After eating the soup that the two women had prepared for us we went to sleep in a special barrack filled with straw that had been prepared for us.

I no longer thought of running away. First, there was nowhere to go. Wherever you went in the city or the town you were immediately snatched up by the Ukrainian police, or were immediately shot. Second, I just had an important task that was good for me and made me forget all about “me.” That was, helping men who were in hiding. On the third day, we already had 142 people. The numbers grew every day. We all worked and also saved people from dark graves.

The situation was much worse for women and children. We added six more women to the kitchen but they did not allow for more. And we had to find good hiding places for them and food as well before the stove would be turned off.

That is how it was in the building of the Red School, where all the Jewish possessions were brought, organized by some women and children in the cellar. And we got some warm water for them. We were sure that no one would search for them there.

The Ukrainian police still made a lot of trouble in the ghetto, searched, broke pathways, doors, windows, anything, so that they could find a victim.

[Column 470]

In the first days of work, we also bought out a few Jews for gold that they found, and we brought them into our groups, but there were many cases where even gold did not help.

We had plenty of gold and money that we handed over to the authorities every night, since we did not need any of it because all this time we had lost anything and everything that had value to us. Everything else was unnecessary. We hid many precious possessions, but we had to give over everything else.

The pogrom was halted on the fifteenth day. The regional commissioner told Herr Regall to go to the prison, where there were some thirty Jews, and take them out himself. We were allowed to live in a small part of the ghetto, which surrounded Szienkovycz Street, Limonik's wall with the hallways, and the large gymnasium building, which had become a camp where several families lived. The rest lived in the remaining houses.

Slowly, people began to crawl out of the holes, emaciated, starved. We did not know about all of them, and they began to return to the ghetto.

The calculation of the Germans was a good one. The few that remained were scattered in both ghettos, and they could not figure out where the Jews were. So they stopped the pogrom so that the few Jews would gather in a narrow place, from which they would later be able to kill them. Therefore, the pogrom was stopped and also the ghetto size was reduced, tightened, and we were reassured that we would remain alive and go to work.

The remaining Jews, about 4,000, went back and settled in their houses, cleaned out what had been dirtied during the bloody days, set up beds, and settled down again. In a few days' time, Kudish Leib came with his family which had been in hiding, and about two weeks later, Pinchas Sheinkestel with his family as well, and they began to run the wheel of life with the few remaining, exhausted, orphaned Jews. They put themselves in the front, and were starting to work again. New police were set up, who began daily to drag out people for work.

We threw away the work of collecting Jewish possessions and began the task of preparing products for the kitchen that was especially put together in the camp for a few people. And the situation with work began once again as it did before the pogrom.

[Column 471]

That is how the first pogrom in Ludmir ended, September 15. From the pain that I had experienced, one can imagine what the pain was like for all our brethren.

Now, I will move on to describe my painful experiences of the second pogrom.

After the first pogrom – once again it was in the ghetto, but without wearing patches. The Jews, once again, went to work. The Jewish chiefs were Kudish and Sheinkestel.

The first pogrom, as I described, ended on September 15, and with the order of the regional commissioner, a small ghetto was set up where the few surviving Jews had to settle. The new ghetto was set up in the “death ghetto.” Regall ran the new ghetto, which did not treat the Jews very badly, and helped settle the Jews in small, designated places. New people came every day, they who had been hiding in the villages in Christian houses, or in the forests. They returned because they heard that the pogrom had ended, even though they knew that a second one would be coming. Still, few people ran to hide, because no Jew was allowed to be found outside of the ghetto. Those Jews who were found hiding in Christian homes were forced by the Christians to return to the ghetto because they were afraid for their own lives.

Before the first pogrom, along with the Jews who had come from Poland and the surrounding cities, there were in Ludmir about 22,000 Jews. During the first pogrom, about 18,000 Jews died. Four thousand were shot in the prison and were buried in the prison yard in three large graves, dug up by the Jews during the days of the pogrom – Thursday September 3, Friday the 4th, and Shabbath the 5th of September. In Pietydin, in the three large ditches, there are 14,000 Jews – 9 in one ditch, and 3 in another, and 2 in the third.

Four thousand Jews who survived the first pogrom were those hidden in both ghettos. Most of those who remained had hidden in the so-called “death ghetto.” The “death ghetto” was much larger and poorer, and the Ukrainians did little searching there. The “living ghetto” was much bigger and all the rich people were there, and they received a worker's card for money. The Ukrainians searched for Jews in every corner, and very few people actually remained there.

And when the pogrom stopped, every day more and more people came out of their hiding holes.

Most of them were individuals or children without parents, or mothers with children.

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About 200 whole families remained. They settled in the so-called “lane” where there were formerly shops.

In that “living ghetto,” no one had the right to cry. An order was given saying that everything had to be cleaned out of there and brought to the Red School.

Some groups were organized to clean items. The furniture was sent over to other barracks. The Germans took the better items for themselves, and the not-so-good items were given to the Poles. The village farmers, who gave over the set amount of grains that was ordered from them, received a gift: a note from the regional commissioner that they could receive a piece of furniture for free.

The Jews, who worked at collecting the furniture, broke a lot of it, but there was still a lot left for them to distribute.

Also, the municipality, that was run by the Ukrainians, began to sell Jewish homes to the Poles for cheap prices.

In Poland, the former Polish currency was removed, and replaced with issuance zlotys, and by us in Wolhyn, a Ukrainian ruble was issued especially for us, written in German and Ukrainian, with a picture of a village woman with corn cobs. The German Mark was rarely seen in circulation, but the Ukrainian ruble that was in Rowno was seen more often. The population had little faith in this money, and the greatest form of business was to make exchanges. When you had material, clothing, shoes, they were exchanged with the farmers for food. The Jews would take everything out of their houses when they would go to work outside of the ghetto so that they could bring food into the ghetto hidden under their clothing.

When the regional commissioner would catch a Jew with a small piece of butter or a small potato, he would take it away, send it into the kitchen, and scream at the “ruler” Kudish, as to why he allowed this. Our regional commissioner was a smart German, a young Hitlerite, but a smart one. He saved us from many misfortunes in many situations, even before the pogrom. When the Gestapo used to come to us, he used to announce to the Judenrat that people should be less on the streets and honor the “guests” with nice gifts so that they would not have to create any dead victims. When the Judenrat asked him, a few days before the first pogrom, what will be, he answered:

“I am nothing more than a human, a German, and a military man, and when a military man receives an order, he must carry it out.”

The Judenrat did not believe that this would happen, even though the regional commissioner had put his finger into their mouths

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saying that he was not responsible for what would be when he would receive an order from the higher authorities. It was true that he extended the pogrom for a longer time, and the higher power forced him to carry it out.

He did not treat us badly. At a time when in other cities only a few minutes were given to enter the ghetto, we were given two weeks' time. At that time, when two Jews were hanged in Kovel for having been caught slaughtering a calf, he only yelled at us, and often even made as if he did not even know any of it at all. He often came into the houses and wanted to see what was being cooked, and when he would find a lot of food, he used to take it and send it to us in the kitchen, but he kept quiet. This gave the Jews a little courage to stay in the ghetto, even though there was nowhere to run, and the fire was burning around and around. Still, in the ghetto the Jew felt freer among other Jews and they lived for just “today.” People were weak, broken. Not everyone could live in hiding for months, without air, without food.

The regional commissioner also now ordered to remove the shameful patches and in their place, on the left arm, he ordered people to wear a small white piece of material with small stripes. As a sign that you were a Jew, this was much nicer than the yellow patch on the front and on the shoulder.

In a few days' time, Kudish appeared in the ghetto. He was an accomplice with the first pogrom, in sending the Jews to work and in handing out the work permits. Kudish took over the authority of the new ghetto.

Hard working days for Jews began again. And again, Jewish policemen dragged the Jews out to work before dawn. Again, Jews were lined up at the Jewish gymnasium before dawn, where the camp was now located. The Germans came and took Jews group-wise to hard work until late at night.

About two weeks later, after Kidush, Sheinkestel and his family came out of hiding. He became Kudish's adjutant, an adviser. In this way, all three: Kadosh, Sheinkestel, and Regall took over the authority over the remaining Jews.

The main director was Kudish. About him there is an entirely separate chapter. How he managed the few remaining Jews, and how he did not allow anyone to oppose him. There was only one thing for him: The entire camp could die out, but he himself had to remain alive.

In my subsequent chapters about my experiences, I will write more details about him.

I threw away my job of going over the houses and collecting the Jewish goods. With a few other friends, we went over the Jewish houses and collected the food that was in each

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of the houses. The Jews in hiding were more afraid of going without food than they were of death. I took the amassed food to the kitchen, where they cooked it for the surviving Jews. However, the people who worked in the Gestapo were still starving, and I did everything I could to help them by throwing them something to eat.

A bakery was created in the ghetto, in the Krystal cellar, where they baked bread for the Jewish population using the flour that was collected in the ghetto.

Like that, little by little, life in the ghetto returned to normal, where people forgot the first pogrom and again worked hard, and again had sleepless nights because of the bitter fate that awaited them the next day. We waited for the next day to come and went to work because there was no other choice and there was nowhere to run.

At the gates of the ghetto, the Ukrainians were not discharged, and they were very careful not to allow anyone to bring in even a little potato. But we still figured it out.

In the uninhabited side of the ghetto, groups of Jews went around and collected the goods and brought them to the Red School. And when it was full there, the Jewish property was taken to the Jewish Labor Office. There, they filled all the rooms with Jewish goods.

In the Red School, work went on with great energy. Some Jews, with the heads being Shlomo Poiker and Sholom Burshtein, they led the work often under Kudish's supervision. A whole team of girls and some men sorted the things, washed, and ironed them. Every day there was like a fair. Many high-ranking German officials, officers, SS people, also the regional commissioner, used to come there to take the best and the most beautiful items, in order to send gifts to their families in Germany. Especially good things, sealskin and lambskin furs, silk and satin clothing, used to be distributed according to the desires of the regional commissioner. The regional commissioner's girlfriend, “Anna,” by now did not know what to wear every day. The best women's seamstresses sewed for her and it was not possible to satisfy her, nothing was good enough.

Special rooms were filled with footwear, which were brought back from the graves and from the city. Chests filled with silverware, vessels, and knives were just laying in the streets. Antique Jewish menorahs and hanging lamps, silver and brass samovars, primus machines, and all kinds of utensils. Everything lay unheeded in the yard of the “blood Red School” because there was no more space in the rooms.

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A few months before the first pogrom, there was a commotion in the former Polish haberdashery shop, which had recently been empty. The shop was now prepared for fresh goods. With large “moon shaped letters” that showed “Hamburg-Vladimir” it was announced that the Germans would bring goods from Hamburg for the population of Ludmir. But how could anyone have imagined that this store was prepared for the Jewish stolen goods and that after the pogrom the cheap things would be sold there, meaning those items that were not worth sending to Germany. The rest of the German goods were specially allocated to the Poles and village farmers with special certificates from the Labor Office. The Jewish possessions and goods, household items and food items, were sent there from the Red School.

There was something special written on the window of the Red School:

“Jew forbidden to enter!”

There was pain in my heart every time I walked past it, and saw how our enemy carried out our possessions from the store – possessions that our parents, grandmothers and grandfathers, worked so hard for all these for many years in order to secure the existence of their children.

In the uninhabited part of the ghetto, fires would break out very often. There, the Christians ransacked the places at night and looked for leftover Jewish goods. Going around carelessly with light, they often caused fires. The regional commissioner, therefore, appointed a group of Jews every night to guard against theft and fire.

The organized Jewish gangs wanted to bring arms into the ghetto at any cost, so that they could at least take revenge in the event of death. They wanted to take revenge at least by setting fire to the Jewish houses, so that everything would go up in smoke, and so that our livelihood should not fall into the hands of the enemies.

A big fire broke out on Yom Kippur at night, year 5702 [1941]. A small group of Jews, we gathered in a room of a friend of ours. At the specific point when people gathered to recite Kol Nidrei [prayer on Yom Kippur], a huge fire broke out near the shul. The Ukrainians entered the ghetto and drove us out to put out the fire. If anyone resisted, he was brutally beaten. At that time, several large brick houses were burned, among them my grandfather's house, where my parents had lived most recently.

The large shul remained standing, and stands to this day as a symbol and a memory of a Jewish settlement. The doors and windows are missing, broken. Its sanctity was also defiled. The Ukrainian bandits burned the Torah scrolls, and tore up the holy books. The walls

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remained, and from a distance, the Hebrew letters still sparkle of the great Jewish philanthropist and benefactor, Yisrael Shulman, of long ago, who supported the shul, and allowed his name to be written on the shul wall. The two large Magen Davids [Stars of David], which lit up the street for years, were taken down according to an order after the second pogrom and were handed over to the few remaining Jews to hide. “We should keep it as a memory,” the German smiled and nodded. And then said to Kudish: “This is from your holy temple.”

We hid them, but during the last, third pogrom, they got lost along with the few remaining Jews.

From the well-known, famous Ludmir Rebbe, may his memory be blessed, to whom people used to come from all over the region with kvitlech [notes requesting Rebbe's blessings], and who was killed before the war, now after the first pogrom, he was left with a son to take care of, a son who was sickly. He succeeded his father. The few chassidim who remained now set him up in one of the permissable houses. His task, and the task of his followers, was to collect the burnt Torah scrolls and holy books. He was seen walking around daily with his men, accompanied by a cart, as they used to collect the torn books, taleisim [prayer shawls], tefillin, and torn pieces of parchment from the Torah scrolls which were lying around in the streets of the ghetto. With great reverence and love they hoped with great assuredness that the Creator would have mercy, and the few remaining Jews would remain alive and would be able to use the surviving holy books after the great destruction.

Between the evening prayers of mincha and maariv, some depressed Jews would come to Reb Nachum'tze's son, and he would comfort them:

“We have to repent, we have sinned too much, and we have to pay for our sins. But the Creator is giving us a punishment that is too harsh. For our sins, sadly, our children are suffering, and they haven't sinned at all. We have to repent. We cannot go to my father's gravesite, but I am sure that my father is not resting in his grave. His cries are ripping apart the Holy Throne, and he is pleading for mercy and compassion for the small number of remaining Jews.”

Every evening, after maariv, they recited some sections of the Tehilim [Book of Psalms], using the melody of Eichah [Book of Lamentations, read on Tisha B'Av], with the sobbing voice of Tisha B'Av.

I envied those few Jews and Nachum'tze's son, as they still had that great faith that the Creator, in the end, would hear their prayers and annul the evil decrees.

The daily work in the ghetto, as before, exhausted the remaining Jews, and once again, there was no time to even figure out even a small understanding of this bitter situation which,

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with each day, became foggier and more clouded over. The fear of the dark days to follow brought sleepless nights. People walked around all night in terror of the next day that could likely bring a new pogrom.

People began to whisper, to talk, in trepidation of uttering the “word,” as they prepared for a new pogrom.

We began to look for all kinds of ways to escape. We heard about the partisans, but we had no idea where to find them. The messengers that we sent out, understandably without Kidush's knowledge, returned without an answer. We heard that within the Polesia forest there were partisans, but the road to get there was not reachable and was very dangerous. The Ukrainian bandits made a lot of trouble there, and when they found a Jew, they cut out his tongue and gouged out his eyes.

All paths were shut off for us, and we had to get used to the thought that we had to sit and await our fate.

One day, a rumor spread that new graves were being dug in Pietydin. Chaos erupted in the ghetto. We then sent out a Christian messenger to bring correct information about what was going on in Pietydin. The rumors were actually confirmed, but they said that the graves were not for us, but for the Russian war prisoners, of which there were over 20,000 in our city. They were slowly murdered, first the healthy ones, then later the frail ones. Hundreds died of hunger, cold, and typhus. Some were killed in Pietydin and some near the barracks, where they were behind walls and in much worse conditions than the Jews.

Every day one could see the Russian prisoners, as under heavy guard they were led to the workplace. They were in torn Russian overcoats, wooden shoes, cotton hats, and large numbers on their necks. When one of them stopped to pick up a piece of paper or a rotten apple that had fallen on the road, he was brutally beaten, and when one of them did not feel well in the middle of the road, faint with hunger and then fell, they immediately put a bullet into his head, and his friends had to carry him to a certain place, where he was thrown into a ditch like a dog.

This affected me terribly, when I saw how the Russian people were suffering so terribly, compared to us.

Later, after the second pogrom, when I worked a few times near the barracks where the Russian prisoners were,

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when there was already no memory of them, I saw under what strict imprisonment these Russians had been kept. There were three barbed wire walls, as if there were animals being kept there, not people. A few people escaped from there, digging tunnels underground. And when they were caught, a few were hanged and the others were shot.

The Russian-Jewish citizens who were imprisoned, were shot during the first days that they were brought over here. Some were tortured before being shot.

The German sadism was enormous. The frail ones from among the Russian prisoners were healed in the hospitals, so that the world could say that they healed prisoners. But afterwards, the frail ones from the various camps were led in wagons, without feet or hands, to Pietydin, and shot there. One ditch in Pietydin was actually a shared one: half of the pit was filled with Russian prisoners and the other half with Jews.

One nice morning, news spread in ghetto: There were to be fresh, blue, work identity cards for the craftsmen who would be moving to the former “living ghetto.”

In an instant, the news was spread in the small ghetto, and something started to rumble. People began to run here and there. People began to ask what this meant, and they came to the conclusion that what they expected would happen. They prepared themselves every day for a new pogrom.

Kudish reassured the people that, heaven forbid, nothing would happen. He himself had spoken to the regional commissioner, and we, the ghetto workers, who had given him beautiful gifts, were reassured by him of total calm.

Kudish received about 500 of these papers for life, permits, and he himself had to choose the real professionals and arrange them in the Red School, where they would work for the government.

In spite of the fact that the group had already been burnt by the previous permits, they still put in worlds of effort to obtain them again. And in the end, we saw that he didn't let anyone down. But still, mankind can be fooled. When a person is drowning, he grasps even for a straw. And a new race began, a new rush. They followed Kudish and Sheinkestel, and each person claimed that he was a good painter or a good shoemaker: Why can I not get a permit? I will not be quiet! I will run to the wealthy landowner!

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Kudish was not afraid of anyone; people trembled in fear of him. And there was rumbling in the ghetto. People argued, screamed near the office where they distributed the permits in the evenings after work. Not everyone actually merited to receive a permit after a day's work. Not everyone who merited a work permit rushed to go and live in the ghetto. Many there had already prepared hiding places in case a pogrom would break out. And there, you would have to look for, find, and dig out a new hiding place. In general, there was no great trust in this small piece of paper.

Very discreetly, we had a few meetings about resistance and about taking revenge in case bad things would happen.

There was no place to go in the villages. The peasants were themselves fearful. Every Sunday, the priest in the church warned them not to hide any Jews, who were their greatest enemy. It was bitter in the forests – they searched, they bombed, and primarily, there was no food or water.

And here in the ghetto, every day the situation worsened. People prepared for the dark tomorrow.

At night, other than the Jewish guards who kept an eye on the empty buildings in the ghetto to make sure there were no fires, you could see people walking around, those who were afraid to go to sleep. They thought that today or tomorrow the ghetto would be surrounded by police and the Aktzia [“action”; deporting, murdering] would begin.

Some people left the ghetto. For well-paid prices, for gold and expensive objects, they hid in the homes of friendly Christians. But these were few. The rest of the people who worked in great hardship and poverty sat in worry and waited.

Little by little, more and more families went into the other ghetto, where some of them received the card. No one ever expected that if something would happen, it would not happen there. They thought that this was another ploy again, not to run away, not to create panic in the ghetto.

But this time, it was completely different. Whoever was there, in the other ghetto, remained alive for a time being. And at that time, on a beautiful morning, a fresh Aktzia was conducted on us.

Even though Kudish had received 500 permits to distribute among the workers, at the last minute he only used 365 (as we later found out). There were no more craftsmen.

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The last two days, there was a lot of action in the ghetto. That was on a Wednesday and Thursday, November 11 and 12, 1942. It seemed that Kudish knew beforehand that the pogrom was going to happen, and he told his comrades to go to the other ghetto. When he was asked, he reassured 100%, that this time nothing was going to happen, and we could sleep calmly.

“Jews, as long as I am with you, nothing will happen to you!”

Nonetheless, on November 12, there was tension in the ghetto. People were running back and forth, no one knew what to do. Many people had good hiding places there. In the evening, when the running had lessened, people calmed down a little, and even saw that Kudish and Scheinkestel were sitting comfortably in the office or were in the store of better goods that was in the ghetto especially for the regional commissioner. Lately, he would come with superior officers and removed good materials, leather for boots, Persian rugs, sheepskin coats, all that was taken from Jewish houses.

And who could have imagined that they already knew beforehand that the following morning the next pogrom would begin, and the regional commissioner had told them to stay behind so that the Jews would not run away. No one could even imagine that they would fool their own brothers.

On Thursday night, it was quiet in the ghetto. It was a dark night. The sky was cloudy, there was a dull rain falling. People were waiting at the gate of the ghetto, as usual. People in the ghetto were not calm. Something was being prepared, but even so, no one could believe that something was going to happen the next day. Everyone was looking at Kudish, who was still going around even though it was late at night. He was managing those who were waiting so that there should be order. Then he went to sleep, but first reassured the people that nothing would happen that day.

People rushed into that ghetto and then came back. People did not know what to do. If Kudish and Scheinkestel were sleeping here then nothing bad was going to happen.

From minute to minute, it became calmer and calmer. People were sleeping, but people were sleeping fully dressed. Some were talking, discussing.

At about 4 am, someone ran in and screamed in a disturbed voice: “People, we are lost! We are surrounded on all sides. There is nowhere to run. We are lost, lost!”

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It is impossible to relate what went on in the camp and in the ghetto. I woke up, then ran into the yard, and then the street, which was dense with people. They were running around like wild animals. We were surrounded every half meter by Ukrainian police, with their guns ready to shoot anyone who would try to do even one step outside of the ghetto. They tried to get to the uninhabited ghetto, but for nothing. Every road was blocked.

As I later found out, at 3 am, help came from the regional commissioner Krauze, as he took those who were waiting, into the second ghetto, saying that there were those who wanted to steal everything from the Red School. He was taking these people to help him.

They were afraid that the people inside the ghetto would be awoken if they would place police around the ghetto, and take out Kudish and Scheinkestel from the ghetto, so, in a flash, the ghetto was surrounded, in order to impose the second Aktzia on us.

A group of us friends went to look for Kudish, but no result. There was no hint of him. We organized ourselves to tear through the chain of police, and cross over to the second, uninhabited ghetto. Bullets were shot towards us from all sides. Many fell. A shout was heard from us: “Hurrah! Hurrah! Death to the Germans, the Ukrainian police, the beasts.” And we tore right through. Cries were heard from comrades who fell [after being shot]. But we do not look around, and keep running. But there were more guards, and once again we encountered shooting. As wild ones, we ran from place to place, not finding somewhere to hide. The police did not move from their places, but they were shooting from all directions. It was hard to run. The few narrow streets were full of people who were looking for any place to hide. We ran through the camp that was empty of people, and we found a cellar under the camp where the entrance was through a doorstep that could be raised up and then automatically lowered and then locked itself. This had been prepared beforehand.

We held our breath. We heard the voices of the gendarmerie who were shouting and rabble rousing. They carried out into a car the materials from the camp stores. We heard voices of people who were pleading to be released, women's voices, children's voices, voices that cursed the Jews, and all were fighting.

All of this amassed into great cries that reached us in the cellar. We remained quiet, held our breath, and stayed quiet. We heard heavy footsteps over our heads. We heard how they ripped things, searched, and banged on the walls. They were looking for us. Suddenly it became light in the cellar. They had discovered the doorstep, lifted it up, and

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shot into the room a few times, and yelled: “Get out! If not, we will shoot again!”

The women who were with us, became terrified and ran out of the cellar. Some of us stayed, not wanting to go out. The gendarmes were scared and then sent in a Ukrainian. We grabbed the gun from him and began beating him with the gun. We were not frightened, because the only thing that awaited us was death. The Ukrainian began to shout and some came to help him, and then we had to leave the cellar. We had already faced many police agents with aimed guns, also many gendarmes and officers.

“Hands in the air! High up! You swines, cursed Jews!” is what the gendarmes yelled at us. We remained with our hands up in line with many other Jews that were being brought over from all directions.

The Ukrainian, whom we had beaten up, spoke and gestured with his hands to the gendarmes, but they did not understand him because of the huge noise all around. So they didn't listen, and shouted at him:

“Be quiet and go to your job. There is no time now.”

They also detested the Ukrainians, and often called them swines as well. But they used them to help conduct the Aktzias over us.

I stood in line with my hands lifted up, and looked around. From where will help come for us? What should we do? How do we twist ourselves out of their hands? I looked around and saw some people I knew who were going around completely free, with the police all around. I wondered. Among them was an acquaintance, Avraham Aharon Zwillich. When he saw me, he ran over and told me:

“I was already in prison, and they released me and a few others because we had the blue identification cards which we just got. The gendarmerie is going with us, and wherever there is a cellar, they send us in to see if there are people there, because they are afraid to go in themselves.

“Shmuel, we have to do something for you. We have to set you free. I will speak to the head of the gendarmerie,” is what he said to me.

I did not receive the card, because I was not a craftsman and not an acquaintance of Kudish. I trembled and shivered. It seemed that today, the work permit, the worker's identification, was actually worth something. And where do you get something like that today?

My friend spoke with the head of the gendarmerie, saying that I had been assigned that permit, but was not yet given it. It was with Mr. Regall (the secretary who wrote out those cards), and he asked that I be freed. The head officer, who leaned his head over, told me to come to him. But when

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the representative of the regional commissioner came over and asked me why I was standing there, and when my friend answered that the boss allowed this, and that Mr. Regall had the note, he became very angry and told me to go back into the line of Jews. “You are staying alive, and he will be beaten to death!” he screamed out loudly. The Ukrainians immediately gave me some heavy beating, and took me right back to the line of Jews, with my hands raised.

When there was already a sizable number of Jews, we were all taken into prison under heavy guard.

I turned my head and saw that my friend had tears pouring out of his eyes, but he could do nothing.

There were many people in the prison. The prison, with which I was already familiar, and which weighed heavily in my bones, at this point did not frighten me. Many thoughts were still going around in my head, that I must do anything possible to get out of their hands.

The screams and cried of the women and children, and the voices of the Ukrainian police, all blended together. The Ukrainians separated the men and the women.

It seemed that God's anger, which was pouring out onto us, did not yet fill the cup with tears. Their voices were not being heard.

The eight days in prison that I experienced during the first pogrom, taught me a lot. And now I looked around to see where I was and what I could do.

In an isolated corner, there were several people standing together, each holding blue notes, these were the work permits. I rushed over to them and asked what was going on. They told me that they were told to stand separately and they would be freed because they had the permits that Kudish had given them recently.

“We did not believe that these permits would help us and we would remain alive, and now, the gendarmes told us to stand separately, and we are waiting.”

I did not think for long and went to stand near them, and when the Ukrainian guard asked me, I replied that I too had a permit.

Now, what should I do? Where would I get a permit? That little piece of paper was my life! Go, scream… that would not help.

Gendarmes came in and checked the few people, and as usual, I received harsh beatings for standing there without a permit.

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The Ukrainian guard was ordered not to allow anyone to stand there without a paper, only those who had a blue permit. I again approached those people, arguing with the guard that I did have a permit. Then I thought, what should I do? Where would I get a piece of blue paper, while still in front of the Ukrainian? But meanwhile, he couldn't read, so whatever I would show him would be fine.

I searched in my pockets and luckily, I found an old, blue bread card that we'd had in the former good years, before the first pogrom. I straightened out the card and held it up high.

The Ukrainian believed that I had a note and let me stay. But, once again, I got pushed out by the regional commissioner's representative, who had come with a steel helmet on his head and the swastika on his arm, and the huge gun in his hand. He was to fight resistance. This day, the Aktzia against the Jews began again. He was in full control of the notes. I had nothing to show him, so once again, I was pushed out to the rest of the Jews, whose numbers grew and grew with each minute. New groups were being brought regularly from the ghetto.

But when I noticed that he was gone, then I ran over once again to the group of Jews who were holding notes. And once again, I was holding the bread card in my hand. I really don't even know what pushed me back there, thinking that I would be saved if I were with that group.

The ghetto gates did not stop moving. More and more people were being amassed together. The Jews who managed to save themselves from the first pogrom, were now being snatched up like dogs and then brought to prison to their death.

They brought in a young man, totally blackened, completely covered in soot. He had been hiding in the chimney of a bakery. They had dragged him out of there. Not being able to get everything out of the chimney, he had left behind his boots and hat, so he was brought barefoot into the prison. He told us how the Ukrainians had found him and wanted to shoot him while he was still in the chimney. But he pleaded with them, and said he would get himself out. They agreed. No matter how much he washed himself at the well, he still got blacker and blacker. The Ukrainians laughed, and shouted at him that as he was alone, he did not need to wash himself anymore.

The few people who were standing there holding work permits were allowed to take women and children with them. So, each man took a woman and child with him from those who were brought in, at least to be able to save them!

I was confused. They yelled to me, “Save a child!” And the children were smart, and they screamed: “You are my father! Dear father, save me! Take me with you!”

But for now, there was nothing I could do. I had nothing to show, and they thought I had an identification card. I could not explain this to them. I stood there upset,

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and my heart was torn apart for these children who pleaded with me to save them. They wanted to live!

I was pushed out of my place several times, and stubbornly, kept going back. People raced over to that place from all around. The Ukrainian police were beating people and did not allow them to get close to our line. But they could not really determine how to deal with all these people who desperately tried to reach our group. They wanted to live!

The chief of the gendarmerie and the representative of the regional commissioner saw all this going on, so they ordered us to go up into one of the cells in the prison.

He did not notice me, and now I was among the selected ones, or maybe, he just pretended not to notice me. But to this day, I cannot understand what he was thinking at that time when I too was being herded into the prison cell.

While they were moving us, I snatched up a child who was screaming at us, “Tatteh [father]! Tatteh, save me!” I grabbed his hand and began shouting that he was my child, and I began to kiss him. Just before the gate of our entrance, my friend Hershel Bik also pushed his way in. He was Avrom Bik's oldest son, and he was clutching two other children. He came into the prison cell with us.

There already were some people sitting in the cell who did have the life-saving note, and were now waiting for their release from the prison.

To each person who asked me, I replied that I had the card, but my heart was in agony and my mind was on fire: What was going to happen? Would they once again check everything when we would be released? Then I would have nothing to show. Hershel and I looked at each other, we understood one another well. We remained silent and awaited our fate.

Through the bars of the room, we saw the goings on in the prison yard. We heard the cries, screams, wails. My heart was ripping apart from the pain.

For some reason, fate wanted me to be in the same cell that I was before the first pogrom, where there was all the writings on the wall written by the hands of the first set of martyrs. There was also the writings that I had done, with my name and the date. I became terrified, and my entire family stood out before my eyes. People tried to comfort me, saying it was now so much better than the first time. At that time, you were facing certain death, and today you will be freed.

I told them about my eight days in prison during the first pogrom, when I saw with my own eyes that they took my children to their death, when I tore my head apart, and

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could do absolutely nothing. And now, all my struggles for life were only for revenge, revenge of these beasts for spilling our innocent blood.

Now I could not tell them anything, because now I was in danger since I did not own the life note from Kudish. Now I could not even say anything about Kudish because if I would be freed then I would have to go to him for the card. I knew for sure that he and Scheinkestel together had set it up so that we should not be able to run.

The human sacrifices wrote their own names using their own blood, but who would merit to take revenge if they wanted to completely destroy even our roots?

I was standing by the bars of the window and looking down into the yard. I was here two months ago, and today I was here again, between the claws of the dead, where I am torturing myself.

I was thinking: Why am I different from all the other people who are here in the yard? Why are we the ones sitting here waiting to be freed, with that trivial note that divided us into who will live and who will die? What merit do we have that we will be freed?

The urgency to live is huge, so much so that the person forgets where he is. He forgets that he is a person with a soul, with a heart. He only has himself in mind. He only wants to be freed and nothing else matters. I could not understand that at all, how we were then. We watched as they took our very own brothers to their death and could do absolutely nothing.

While I was caught up in my own thoughts, which did not leave me alone, I saw how the door opened and then we were ordered to go down.

In the prison yard, we met many people we knew, many of whom were told to come over to our group, as the commissioner permitted them to be freed without cards.

We got into position of three in a row. My heart was beating. I was terrified of new beatings that would happen when they would check things again and then they would find out that I did not have a card.

The huge steel gate opened, and the representative of the regional commissioner Krauze led us out of the prison, on our own, without any police accompaniment. He took us from one ghetto to another, along the same path that he had gone before the first pogrom, without any security. He brought us to the yard of the Red School where Jews were working, going around as if nothing was going on. We were told to go hide in the houses:

“Do not go out of the ghetto! Whoever goes out even one step will be shot immediately!”

And, once again I was free. I myself did not believe this. With my steel determination and

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strong orientation to fool them with my blue bread card, once again I managed to escape the claws of death. Once free, I began once again to contemplate how I was going to free people from their death, those who were hiding in the ghetto.

The few hundred people who were in the ghetto were not seen just going around. Every person was in hiding. They searched, looking for and preparing hiding places, because they were sure that the fire would begin even here, just as it did with the first pogrom. A few people worked in the bloodied Red School – the work of which was with the stolen, Jewish clothing, and went on with great energy. Lots of girls worked there, separating the clothing, lots prepared to be washed, because everything got washed. A few men worked at sorting the clothes in the yard. Over there were cases of glassware, cutlery, and silver.

The only Pole who was trusted with the keys to all the stores, ran around the yard and in the rooms, and shouted to the workers that they should organize the items better. He felt like the boss of his own store. Everyone shouted back at him:

“Panie [mister] Dajnowski (that was his name), Panie Dajnowski, where should I put the feathered quilts, where should I put the pieces of material, where should I out the leather?”

And he ran up and down with the string of keys in his hand, and guided the few Jews who worked there by taking the small amount of goods from their own brothers.

And Kudish was going around the yard where he was setting up the work, and from there he sent men to overhaul the houses for those people who would move in. He spoke seriously to each person, as if he actually felt responsible for something. When he saw me, he called me over and said:

“Blessed is He, the one who released you from captivity. You will live and survive!”

“The card of life is in your hand, and even without that card I was released from prison and even took a child with me!”

“You are a heroic young man,” he said. “You'll get a card.”

My blood stopped. But I contained myself. I would still need things from him. But I still asked:

“I will get the card, but what will happen to the rest of the Jews who are not being taken to the slaughter?”

I did not want to say that he already knew this before and did not reveal it. I thought that his day was yet to come.

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“What can we do,” he said. “It is a great destruction for us.”

Had we known earlier, we would have organized a resistance, or at least avenge ourselves of our murderers who were spilling innocent blood.

I wanted to bad mouth him, so that he would know we had waited before, and once again I said to him, when others were already with us:

“I think that people already knew beforehand but said nothing.”

He said nothing and looked for an opportunity to get out of this conversation. He said:

“Children,” that's what he often called us, “don't have any discussions now. This is not the time for this. Go into the houses.”

I glared at him, from head to toe, he knew well what I meant. He turned around, wiped his glass eye that they had put in for him, and left in the direction of the Red School.

“Now is not the time to get even with him, but his day will come,” I shouted to the people. “He knew that the pogrom would start today, and he pretended not to know. He even did not use all the 500 life notes that he had, and was now waiting to give these to his close ones.”

A car passed in the yard that was bringing discarded clothing, shoes, hats, coats, and then it was all thrown into the yard.

“All this is from the freshly dead people of today.”

Our hearts ached and bled for the new victims who were killed at the communal gravesite.

The pogrom was in full force in the ghetto. The Ukrainian murderers were taking revenge on our brethren in a rage. It is impossible to describe what happened during the first days, there were still many Jews.

According to the orders of the regional commissioner, on the second day, Kudish sent over a few groups of people. Usually, that would have been people who had the blue notes, the identification cards. They had to clean the houses of the people who had just been taken out to be murdered.

I wanted to go there, but I did not have a note. I went over to Kudish to get a note, and I told him that I would go and collect items for the new kitchen that was just being set up.

Without any argument, he gave me an identification card. With a few friends, we went over to the other ghetto to collect food for the kitchen. In those first days, we saw the total destruction in its fullest. Doors and windows were open, ripped apart. With each step,

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we were interrogated about whether we had the blue identification card. Whoever did not have it was immediately taken to prison.

We were given the task of taking the Jews from this ghetto to the other, to the “ghetto of life.”

For some time, not everyone wanted to give over their identification card to be used for taking the person over to the other ghetto. Everyone was afraid of losing the card, since that meant life.

But I did get a card, and slowly began to take people over from their hiding places to the other side.

It was the most difficult with women and children. No women were working with collecting items. We had to disguise the women as men. That's how we were able to save people every day.

In the small wagon with two wheels, which we used to carry all kinds of things, we also hid children and sacks under the real products, and that was how we got them into the other ghetto. The Ukrainian police investigated at the exit gate, and we were investigated once again at the entrance gate to the “living ghetto.” First they looked for the blue identification cards, then they investigated the items being brought in with the wagons. As we entered the ghetto, we moved quickly with the wagons, and our living smuggled things were not discovered. Also, in the cars, under other items that were collected and being taken to the Red School, often a person was taken over there and smuggled into the ghetto. But this often did not work. And then, if there were many gendarmes, and they found a person without an identification card, he was immediately taken to prison.

There was an incident once when someone gave his card to someone else so that he could transfer over also, but just then he himself was inspected and immediately taken to prison. The identification cards were without photos, only the name was written there. That was why it was very simple to give a card from one person to another. That little piece of paper was guarded as eyes in a head. At night, the cards were tied onto the person's neck using a small kerchief. A person could be investigated at any and every step of the way. And every time, the identification card had to be with the person.

When we went to bring over the food, we saw how the gendarmes and Ukrainians were searching and rummaging, tearing apart hiding places, and each day they found new victims, exhausted, with eyes bulging from fear of death. The Aktzia was now taking place with great rage.

Kudish was going around in the empty ghetto and conducted the work of cleaning up the ghetto.

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The women's screams and children's cries did not bother him at all, as they were being beaten. He would just go from house to house, and wherever he found an expensive item, or an antique, or material that he had just found, he would take it to the new office that had just been created in the new, small ghetto. The new ghetto consisted of some twenty small houses, where there were a few hundred craftsmen.

Each of the workers wanted to cajole Kudish, and presented an antic:

“Panie Kudish, what do you say to this plush leather. Does it appeal to you?”

Then Kudish would collect the better items on a separate wagon. He would give some of these things to the regional commissioner, and some he would give to his Polish friends as products that he had brought home.

“Destroy, rip up everything so that nothing should get into the hands of our enemies,” is what I would always say to them.

Our assistance work of bringing the few remaining ones into the other ghetto became more difficult every day. The gendarmerie found out what we were doing and more strictly investigated the workers when they left to work, and then when coming back. The numbers had to match. First we gave internal help, water and bread. Other than that, we disguised well those who were still being hidden, until it would be the time to bring them over.

In the other ghetto, where we now were, things were calm. New police were assigned by Kudish, and every day, they would send people to work. An office with two secretaries was created as well, and Kudish and Sheinkestel once again began to run things for those few hundred remaining Jews. Not each of those merited to get the identification card. We ran in all corners, and Kudish shouted alarmingly that he could not give any more cards, he had no more, all the cards were already used up and the regional commissioner was not giving any more.

This small ghetto, that was called “the handworker's ghetto,” was set up thanks to Kudish and the regional commissioner, but because of that, Kudish gave them a beautiful gift. The few thousand Jews who were left after the first pogrom were now being shot in Pietydin, and now the rest were collecting the few possessions, and the leftover small number of Jews were gathering together, waiting for the dark day of the third pogrom.

1. In Bokser's cellar, among others, were Bokser's family, the Bierman family, the Tuchshneider family, the Troper family, and more.

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