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[Column 586]
by Pessi Brener–Biterman, Canada
Translated by Yael Chaver
Early in 1943 fights began to break out between the Polish and Ukrainian gangs, mostly at night. At that time, we were in a bunker at Bronek Skzhak's, in Viekhov, 12 kilometers from Ludmir. [1] One morning he told us that he had to leave the village because of roving gangs. We had to make the decision whether to stay or go into the Ludmir ghetto.
We decided to enter the ghetto. It was a difficult 12–kilometer trip to the ghetto, as we were easily recognizable by our shabby appearance. Our group included Ethel the seamstress (I don't remember her last name) and her two daughter Tsupe and Sore. They went to a different place, where the third daughter and her husband were hiding. They left me with a non–Jewish acquaintance of theirs, named Stakhe; I did not know her at all. She wanted to try me out and ordered me to do all the housework. I exhausted my strength trying to please her, and waited for night, hoping to lay myself on the floor and rest my weary bones. As I waited for sleep, Stakhe let me know that her husband, who was in the police force, came home drunk every night and might shoot me. She also assured me that she would hide me under the cabinet before he came in. Meanwhile, I stretched out on the floor but couldn't sleep, for terror. The moment I started to doze off out of exhaustion, I heard footsteps: her husband and a policeman friend. They were standing by the cabinet, laughing and describing how Jews were pulled out of their hiding–places, in return for a bounty. Then Stakhe's drunken husband turned to her and shouted wildly, “If I find a Jew here, I'll shoot you both.” Such were the torments in which I spent several nights under the cabinet. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I begged Stakhe to lead me to the ghetto. I finally convinced her, and she took me there, risking her own life.
When I got to the ghetto, Kadosh and Ringel from Hruibyszow, who knew me well, started to question me about where I had been. The orders stipulated that every newcomer be taken into custody for a few weeks until he was legally registered in order to get work and food. I was not arrested, but as I was not legal I had to hide in an attic day and night, together with others in my situation, under terrible sanitary conditions. Conditions were unbearable, and I decided to sneak out of the ghetto, although I had nowhere to go. The only road out of the ghetto ran by the prison. The watchman on his rounds noticed me, though I was already far away, and yelled at me to stop. I pretended to ignore him and went on. I'm sure he thought I was non–Jewish, because I was barefoot and had a white shawl around my head. I cannot express the terror I felt.
I noticed a house on the way, and, not knowing who was inside, I saw a non–Jew with a crutch; with his shock of white hair, he looked like a robber. I stood at the door, petrified with fear. When he asked me who I was and what I wanted, I burst out crying, and told him everything I had been through. He was silent for a long time, thinking, and then asked me to wait until he talked with his wife. They decided to take me as a servant for their children. They themselves were refugees from the village of Stepakovitch, and destitute. [2] While they were preparing bread and potatoes, I made myself at home with the children, especially with the five–year–old girl Genia, who took to me with all her heart.
[Column 587]
Once the harvest was over, they did not need me anymore. At the same time, more posters started to appear, announcing that anyone hiding a Jew would be shot along with his family. As I was packing my poor bundle and preparing to leave, the little girl burst out crying loudly to her family, and started shrieking in spasms: “If Polya goes away I will go with her, and let them shoot me along with her.” The child's voice was so powerful that her parents took pity on me and decided to let me stay. Sometime later I convinced a non–Jew to dig a bunker and a stable, and hide a few more Jews, in return for pay. This enabled 13 people to stay alive, including Shlomo Shtern from Zamosc, Shiyeh Shtemer, Moysheleh (I don't remember his last name), Rivele Rayz and her three children, Dr. Landau, and a few more Jews whose names I can't remember. One Saturday morning our landlord, Piotr, called us to the window, close to the ghetto, and showed us that the third pogrom had started. From a distance, I saw the terrible scenes: young and old were taken out, naked, and loaded onto trucks. They were taken away to the nearest stand of trees past the bridge, drenched in kerosene, and burned alive. Anyone who tried to run away was shot. The stench of the burned bodies persisted for a long time. The people I mentioned above, who had previously been in the ghetto, hid in “my” non–Jew's bunker, survived the pogrom, and went their separate ways. This was in the early winter of 1943, because as I remember there was already frost and snow.
Translator's footnotes:
by Pessie Brener–Biterman, Canada
Translated by Yael Chaver
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One Wednesday afternoon Before sunset, A truck came by, full of police – The disaster took place.
They shot my husband,
I lay further away,
Oy, oy, babies, |
Translator's footnote:
by Rabbi Sh. Zukerman
Translated by Janie Respitz
One Shabbat, when the Polish authorities arrived in Ludmir, I was sitting by an open window with a book in my hands. My neighbour Shloyme Bardakh of blessed memory brought to my attention the emergency act the Poles wielded that night in town. Hearing this, I immediately bolted the large gate in the courtyard and closed all the doors of our house. It did not take long before 4-5 riders arrived wanting to enter the courtyard. I greeted them politely and opened the gate. Displaying rude behaviour, they arrested me and took me away.
When my wife saw they were arresting me, she wanted to give me some food. The soldiers told her this was not necessary as I would be dead within the next half hour. At the city square, I met Yisroel Shulman and they soon brought Yisroel – Issar Tzeilingold. The also brought Dovid the cantor of blessed memory and other Jews to sweep the courtyard. When they finished sweeping, they were freed, the cantor as well. I asked him to convey to my wife where I had hidden money, so if they killed me, she would have what to live off…
My wife understood what that meant, and she immediately ran, perhaps still able to see me. The road went by the Polish church, beside which the priest was unexpectedly standing. She cried as she told him about my situation. He immediately took a more Poles and begged pity from them. Meanwhile, a few young guys went to Lublin and from there telegraphed to Pilsudsky. For the moment they changed the death sentence to a large monetary fine. They also took away a few of my good horses.
Pilsudsky sent 3 large men to investigate the whole story. I told them everything correctly and they told to police to return my horses immediately.
[Column 590]
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I was also obligated to travel to Warsaw to as a witness to testify against the irresponsible Polish officers.
Translated by Janie Respitz
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Undzer Lebn (Our Lives) Fourth Year No. 3 (89) Price 20 groschen
Ludmir Non-Partisan Democratic Weekly |
[Columns 593-594]
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Translated by Janie Respitz
Mendele was forced to write this postcard in 1911, to Avrom Libers from Ludmir, Vladimir – Volinski, in connection to the question of “love”.
The young man Avrom Libers, from Ludmir, at that time, met a girl (later she would be his wife) and “allowed himself” to fall in love. However, both sets of parents did not agree with this match. The young man decided to write about his problems to Mendele, with the hope of receiving a handwritten response from Mendele about his question, and that he wrote to such an important writer, would help him obtain more respectability in the eyes of his parents, and it would impact their decision to agree with him. However, afraid Mendele would not respond, the young man also threatened suicide. This explains what Mendel wrote to him:
“I don't know how good honest people in your city behave towards you” and if “life and death of a person depends on my pen…I must respond to you”. The Grandfather's card, and most important, his advice had a good effect on both sides.
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| (Facsimile of postcard- illegible) The young man calculated well… Sh. Krishtalka, Montreal (Canada). Published in the collection “Yiddish Culture”, December 1946, New York. |
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[Columns 597-598]
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[Columns 599-600]
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| First row seated: Lekritz, Shragi, Shteyner, Bardakh, Yokhnezon, Fridlander, Kiproser, Apter Second row standing: Vagman, Goyrtzman, Shapiro, Vilnetzky, Vidro, Shtiglitz, Kam Third row standing: Mrs. Kosovsky, Loyznboym, Shturis, Labkovsky, Rius |
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[Columns 601-602]
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(The Young Guard – Zionist Group) Seated from right: Zosya Zinger, Zelig Katz Standing from right: Kahas Goldshteyn, Yikhiel Birman |
[Columns 603-604]
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[Columns 605-606]
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Translator's footnote:
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JewishGen, Inc. makes no representations regarding the accuracy of
the translation. The reader may wish to refer to the original material
for verification.
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Volodymyr Volynskyy, Ukraine
Yizkor Book Project
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