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In New York, the largest city in North America, you can find people from all continents, countries and cities. Among them you can find people from our Koło.

The first people from our city to arrive in America came in the second half of the 19^th century. There are people that actually say it was 1870. If we don't find an earlier year, we can establish it has been approximately 90 years.

Like all immigrants in those years, they became Americanized in the eastern part of metropolitan New York, on the “East Side”. They were predominantly workers, common folk, searching throughout the continent for a better life. Although they were far from home, through suffering and hardships, they never forgot the city of their childhood.

In 1875 a group was organized by people from Koło and surrounding towns. They named the group “The Society of the love of Abraham, Sons of Koło” and with that, expressed their respect for the rabbi from Koło at the time whose name was Avrom (Abraham). The main purpose was, like all other immigrant societies, to provide mutual aid during illness, deaths and other events. At one of the first meetings, it was decided to open a prayer house for the members of the society.

They did not have a public premises. The first consultations took place in private dwellings, most often on Delancey Street, in the heart of Jewish New York. In order to see each other more often, the members of the Koło society prayed together on the Sabbath and holidays in the home of one of the members.

After a short time, the society, with great effort, acquired their own lot, a piece of terrain in the Washington cemetery. This did not happen easily and they were excited with this first step.

With the new wave of immigrants, among them Jews from Koło, the number of members in the society grew. At one meeting it was decided to build their own synagogue. Said and done. They bought a

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house in New York at 48 D Avenue. The prayer house was situated on the first floor and the apartments on the second floor were rented out.

A fire which broke out in the building destroyed everything. The members were extremely distraught about this incident and looked for comfort in renewal. Within a short time, at the spot where the burned building stood, a new one was built.

The struggle to exist led the Jews from Koło across the United States, where they searched for a livelihood. Besides the society in New York, a Koło society was founded in Chicago.

Jews from Koło in America did not forget about their brothers and parents in the old home. They supported them however possible: they sent money for the interest free loan fund, helped the Jewish high school, the “Tree of Life” school, and on holidays they sent packages for the needy. The help continued regularly until the outbreak of the Second World War.

Much of the aid activity was organized by the “Koło Ladies Society”. Unfortunately, this women's society unraveled a few years ago.

With the expansion of New York city, people from our town, like many others, left the city centre and gravitated toward the suburbs. Hardly anyone remained in the area near the synagogue. From time to time they came there for meetings, but not for prayers.

As a result, the society fell into a difficult financial situation. In 1945 it was decided to sell the synagogue building to the city administration of New York. The building was demolished and, in its place, a large apartment building was built.

The activity of our society continued. Meetings took place once a month in a rented hall in the Statler Hotel on 33^rd Street and 7^th Avenue in New York.

From 1935-1939, on the eve of the Second World War, a few young people from Koło arrived in America and became members of the society. The numbers did not increase since at the same time, some of the first devoted members had passed away.

After the war we received news about the few survivors from Koło who were now spread out in various countries. The younger members

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of our society organized a large aid campaign to help however possible. They joined the campaign to support various institution such as: United Israel Appeal, the Histadrut (Labour Union) Campaign, Israel Bonds, hospitals and others. They also sent packages and support to Jews from Koło around the world, the Jewish Aid Society in Koło, containing money and clothes.

Celebrating 65 years of the “Abraham Society, Sons of Koło” in New York From right to left: Yakov Karlinger of blessed memory, one of the founders of the society and president for many years; his wife; Peretz Brand of blessed memory; his wife; Mrs. Elsin Brand, Ruven Brand; Mrs. Natan and Rabbi H. Nata of blessed memory. Standing: H. Vilams, M. Roykh and S. Marisan. The celebration took place on December 29th 1940.

A few survivors from Koło came to America after the war. Today, the society of Jews from Koło, “The Society for the Love of Abraham” numbers over one hundred members. This is the only organized body of Koło Jews in America.

When the “Society of Descendants from Koło in Israel” decided to publish “The Book of Koło”, they also sent a summons to our society

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in America suggesting collaborative work.

The writer of these lines, recognizing the indifference among the leading members, called a meeting of the Koło society in New York and created a Memorial Book committee which brought desirable results.

The committee issued an appeal in Yiddish and sent it to Jews from Koło in America and Canada. The appeal was good. The artist Harry Daniels donated one of his paintings for the cause and it was sold through a lottery.

Advertising for the “Koło Book” appeared in the Yiddish press in New York and Chicago. The committee also sent copies of interesting historical documents about the Jewish past in Koło for the book.

A banquet for our member S. Marisan during his visit to Israel

Reb Eliyahu Friedland of blessed memory

The author of the appeal was unfamiliar to me at the time and therefore, I did not believe there would be a response. A short time later I read a second request from this same E. Friedland. That is when I decided to call upon the Jews from Koło living in England to do something for their city of birth.

I communicated with some of my friends about activity in the society and they agreed on the content of a new appeal which was immediately published in the London Yiddish daily “Di Tzayt” (“The Time”). The first meeting was called with people from our town, and among the first, of course, was Reb Eliyahu Friedland,

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who came from Manchester. He was in seventh heaven.

Those gathered were convinced there was a field of interest in this activity and a lot could be done. The following were on the elected committee: Moishe Veber (chairman), Morris Kurtz (treasurer), Rotbard (secretary), Daniel Bernshteyn, Resler, T. Verber, A. Zlotnitsky, E. Brukshteyn and others.

The society ran very good activities, carrying out successful undertakings. Larger and older societies were envious of our successes. Significant sums of money were sent to Koło to various welfare institutions.

I would like to mention that the success of our society was largely due to Reb Eliyah Friedland of blessed memory. He was the pillar of strength that drove us to act. I also took advantage of my work at the newspaper “Di Tzayt”, writing weekly notes and appeals calling upon Koło Jews in England to come together. Our townspeople showed interest in following the program of the society. It is worthwhile adding that the ads in the newspaper were done for free.

The meetings where Rabbi Friedland and his wife attended attracted a large crowd. No one from our town now living in London stayed home when it was announced there would be a meeting with our guests from Manchester. The hall and the corridor would overflow. It gave us great pleasure to see Friedland among so many Koło Jews, and his face shining from joy.

The contact among Jews from Koło became stronger and warmer. Many Koło Jews living not far from Manchester would visit him. They were received with friendship and love.

The society continued its activities until the outbreak of the Second World War.

Reb Eliyahu Friedland was known for his generosity and donations to various welfare institutions. He never refused an appeal and donated large sums to all, but first and foremost to Jewish institutions in Koło. It gave him great joy to help Jews from our town. Before the outbreak of the war, he brought the Kutzer family to England,

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(a son of Gershon Kutzer, who was in Germany). During the war, Ezra Reykhert's grandson came to London with the Polish army. I wrote to him about this and received a prompt reply: food packages and money were sent to him. Reykehert's grandson spent every furlough with Friedland in Manchester. He was treated as one of the family. He was not the only one to benefit from Reb Eliyahu's generosity.

As already mentioned, the work of the society was stopped by the outbreak of the Second World War. As a result, Friedland suffered immensely and many times turned to me to once again to wake up our townsfolk to act. The harsh air attacks by the Nazis disrupted all our plans. London suffered greatly from the hateful bombings. Since the population was spread throughout the country, it was difficult even to assemble a quorum (ten men to pray). Friedland was not satisfied with my arguments, he encouraged activity under all conditions.

After the war, Friedland once again raised the question: when will we renew the work of our society? We tried but without success. A few of our townsfolk remained in London, and the rest were badly affected by the great Jewish tragedy. Everyone lost their nearest and dearest from our old town of Koło.

Friedland began to work with his own hands. He wrote to the Koło city hall to send him a list of Koło Jews who were saved and survived. It was then that we found around thirty people who returned from the camps or had escaped to Russia. Packages of food, money and clothing were sent to them. Reb Eliyahu was not very rich, but he had a good heart and was very generous: he helped those in need and displayed great self-sacrifice toward Jews from Koło.

His only son, P. Friedland, inherited all these great qualities from his father.

London.

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We are presenting here excerpts from a pack of letters, sent by members of the Himmel family to their brother Mikhal HaKohen Himmel in Israel. The letters were all written in different places in the Soviet Union where they were during their wandering.

…I will describe a little about the cruel time when we were still at home (in Koło), before we left for the Soviet Union.

The entire summer of 1939 we sensed war was approaching. As far as earning a living, there's nothing to discuss. We ate what was prepared. Friday, the first day of the war, at 11 o'clock in the morning, Hela and Manya were at the “market” and heard an air raid siren. Police and civic militia dispersed the crowd.

The next morning, Saturday, there was a notice in the newspaper which confirmed everything we had been talking about for months. The war was happening. The same day there were three alarms, however, we did not see any airplanes. At noon, while eating, we heard the air raid of the bombardment. There was no siren and as a result, many people said, it was the Poles. We went out to the street and saw how they came from Kalisz Street and were flying toward the train station. We clearly saw their numbers: twenty-one bombardiers. When the first arrived at the train station they dropped a few bombs. That's when the alarm sounded. There were many escapees at the station and 160 casualties.

Sunday was a day of airplane attacks. Every other hour – an alarm. It was chaos. Everyone asked: where can we escape? The only response was: to Warsaw! One could not find a droshky. A trip to Klodova

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cost 260-300 zlotys. The air attacks continued on Monday.

Around midnight, Lola Shubinska came to wake up Hela and Moishe – Mendl. She told them to get dressed and leave town. The civil administration including the police already left.

I went out to the street. It was crowded in front of every house. From the cobblestones of the old marketplace until the Warsaw Bridge it was impossible to pass. We decided to go to Pshaysht (Pshedetch). It was a small town that did not have any strategic value.

We woke the children and started packing. We took two suitcases and a few knapsacks. The expedition was composed of: Hela and Moishe – Mendl and their children; me, Manya, my mother-in-law and Manya's brother.

We left around five o'clock in the morning. The flow of walkers and wagons was larger than at night. When we arrived at Gutman's house, in the Warsaw suburb, we heard an alarm: six bombs fell in the direction of the train station. In Izik Khaim's dwelling which was in the above-mentioned house, we sorted our things in our baggage and left some stuff behind to lighten our load on our journey.

When we arrived at the cross-roads of Klodova – Dambia, there was a new alarm. Standing there were Polish soldiers ready for battel. The alarm lasted a long time.

We decided to go through the villages to avoid the highway. We walked toward Khoyne. As we walked, we heard constant bombing. The villages near the highway, we were told, were completely eradicated. When the highway was bombed, those escaping ran to the fields and the pilots pursued them.

At night we slept in a village. The next day at noon we arrived in Pshaysht. The town was over crowded. With help from Manya's family, we rented a flat for one month.

After a few days people began to return to Koło. Moishe and I wanted to know what was doing at home. In the city they already saw the beginning of the destruction: where Zlate's house once stood,

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there was now a deep hole from a bomb; in front of Hirshbeyn's house, another. At Reykhert's granary, a third. Half of Hirshbeyn's house fell, Nakhe- Ite's house remained. At Danilevitch's house, the scaffold of his roof was broken. At our house, the plaster inside and out fell off. All the widow panes were shattered. Indoors, not a lot was missing. They removed mainly foodstuffs. I remained at home for two days and then I left. Moishe-Mendl remained. One day after Rosh Hashana I returned to Koło with Hela, the children, and Manya. We took the sewing machines and small objects and returned to Pshaysht and immediately began to work.

On the way we met German soldiers who were heading to Koło. (Until then the Nazis had not entered our city). Wednesday morning, we heard what the soldiers had already done: Tuesday they chased Jews with force from their work. On that day my uncle Yosef and Shloyme Biezshvinsky were killed. Around 11 o'clock, when everyone was working, the city synagogue was set on fire. They did not succeed in extinguishing the fire.

In Pshaysht as in Koło, they took the Jews to forced labour. We went every other day or twice a week. When the commandant was mean the terror was harsh, when he was in a better mood, it was a bit easier. Here as well the synagogue was set on fire on the night of Shemini Atzeret.

We lived in a Polish house and the head of the household was the mayor of the town. I did not go to work, they sent someone else in my place. In total I worked once, digging out gusset.

Wearing the yellow patch was compulsory in Pshatsht as well. The last week we lived there we had to wear the yellow patch on our backs. For a few days I did not go out on the street in order not to wear this humiliating mark. Later we got used to what we had to do.

We travelled from Pshaysht to Shedletz by train. Then from there until the Bug River, the border between the Russian and German occupation, by wagon. In the middle of the night, we crossed the river on a small boat and walked a few kilometers to a train station.

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We arrived in Bialystok. I wandered and could not find a threshold to step over. All the synagogues were overflowing and all the private homes were already lacquered with refugees. Close to ten thousand people arrived in the city each day. Everyone was looking for acquaintances.

My wallet was too weak to remain in the city. After a week we decide to move on, to Rovno, where Yakov Klaper lived. In order to get a train ticket, you had to be an artist or a giant. At 5 o'clock in the morning Manya and I climbed a fence and with great effort reached the train. We travelled on the next train to Rovno.

Yakov Klaper's house looked like a hotel. Relatives from his side as well as his wife's family, and friends from Kalisz found him. There were approximately 15 people.

We also found a place there to sleep. At the time there was a tailor's cooperative which Yakov belonged to. He gave me the key to the premises and said I should spend the night there. I slept there for eight nights, until I found work in a candy factory. I lodged with a family, on a couch in a corner.

The new housing was also brought to a head. When Mikhal -Aron arrived, it became more difficult. There was nowhere to find shelter.

There was a notice saying that if you wanted to work in a village deep inside Russia you should sign up. We were among the candidates.

The trip to “Sovkhoz” where we were heading took 17 days. The winter was very harsh, -40 degrees, however, we arrived in good health.

March 3, 1940

…We were still getting organized in “Sovkhoz”. Mendl, Manya and I live in a sunny warm dwelling, which consists of one room and a kitchen. Mendl and Manya are taking tractor lessons. I am the director of the local club and the “Sovkhoz” library (which has around 5,000 books). My salary in 300 rubles a month. Besides that, I am a teacher in a school,

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where I teach two subjects: 4 hours a week I teach German language and 7 hours, arithmetic. I receive a separate salary for my school work. I still do not know how much; I estimate around 140 rubles a month. I am learning fluent Russian, I read a lot, review the school course and do what is necessary. I hope that this year, after the school vacation, I will begin studying at university. Today I sent a letter to Moscow to the education commission, asking for information and permission.

Finally, I got rid of my job as “collector”, measuring the streets in Lodz, climbing up to the fourth and fifth floors, from early in the morning until late at night. Here, studying is considered a job, where you receive payment. Every student, without exception, receives accommodations and a stipend which can support him.

…on August 30^th and 31^st in Lodz there was a mobilization. Th Poles who were mobilized left singing: in two weeks' time they would be in Berlin.

Friday, September 1^st, in the morning, we heard on the radio that Wielun and other cities had been bombed and it was hard to believe. I, as usual went to collect. My boss told me not to buy a monthly tramway ticket, because who in the last few days gave money. I walked. At 11 o'clock in the morning I was in the Widzever suburb and the sirens begin with an alarm signal. The streets emptied. This was not a test alarm. It lasted an hour, this time without victims.

The next day, very early on Saturday, when I was still asleep, new alarms. We jumped out of bed. Suddenly the earth shook and the house as well, as we later learned, a bomb fell on a new house on Bandurskyego Street. The house was cut through like butter, from the fourth floor to the ground. There were many killed.

My bosses raised my proviso 25 percent. There were fools who gave money in “hot days” …

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During my work there were many air raids and I had to hide in the shelter of the houses. At every house stood a civil guard of renters and identified everyone who entered. It was difficult but we began to get used to this new situation.

Tuesday, September 5^th, at night, I was on duty in the shelter until 2 o'clock in the morning. When I went to sleep, I was awakened by the telephone: they informed me from the shelter that the street was black with people. I was to wake up my landlords and go to the shelter.

There was chaos in the street. People were running in all directions, with packs and bags. We could not find out where they were going. With difficulty, we learned from them, that the army, police and officials had left Lodz. They ordered the men to follow them to Bzhezshin and for women and children to remain. Others were saying that the Germans were close and the fear was great. More than once the Polish radio told of their brutal attitude toward the civilian population.

I ran down to the apartment, threw everything out of my valise leaving only two pairs of underwear and socks. I put on my best suit and went out to the street with my valise.

Running with all the others running, I arrived at the Bzhezshin highway. Some headed in the direction of Strikov. All roads were filled with people, wagons and soldiers. Just as day was breaking I heard the hum of airplanes. The masses ran toward the fields, distancing themselves from the military, throwing themselves in the potato patches, and I, together with them.

I did not return to the highway. Through fields and forests, I arrived in Bzhezshin, hoping there I would find redemption. My plan was to continue. To walk to Lublin or Warsaw, as far west as possible. I had money, 500 zlotys.

Bzhezshin was crammed with people. You couldn't even insert a pin. I could no longer drag the valise and threw it away. I put my underwear in a pack which I bought there. I ate something and continued on my way.

Where do I go? Rawa lies 50 kilometers from Bzhezshin and some are walking there. We walked through fields, far from the highway.

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We walked about two kilometers and again heard the noise of airplanes. Back to the potato patches. The ground under our feet continued to tremble. When we glanced at Bzhezshin a shiver went through our bones: the town was covered in smoke.

On the way to Rawa, 16 kilometers from Bzhezshin lies to town Yezhov. I decided to rest there and then continue. The entire time I walked through fields and roundabout ways. It was difficult in the sand, but safer. On my way I met the entire staff of the “Lodz Folksblat” (People's newspaper), led by the poet Moishe Broderzon. Among the contributors was the humorist Oberzhanek, who made all of Lodz laugh. Now he was exceptionally serious, I did not hear one joke from him.

The above-mentioned group decided to go from Rawa through Pulov and Demblin to Lublin, and from there they would decide where to go next. I walked with them for half and hour and once again we had to lie down in the potato patches. The bombing continued, with short breaks, for a few hours. On the highway nearby explosives and incendiary bombs fell. Yezhov was on fire. I saw the great devastation caused by the Nazis that night and a few days later read the mourning notices in the streets of Lodz.

In the commotion I lost the editorial personnel. A few minutes later a neighbour from Narutovitch Street arrived. He was in a group of four men. I went with them.

On the road we picked carrots, kohlrabi and ate from the vegetable fields until we were full. Our plan was: to follow the paths through the fields until dark, and at night continue along the highway. There was no food to be had in the villages, all the cottages were as if dead. All the inhabitants ran away. Even finding water was difficult. If we found a well, there was no pail. If there was a pail, the well was dry or full of mud. The heat during the day was as hot as the middle of the summer.

On the road we picked carrots in the vegetable fields, kohlrabi and Mendele Moykher Sforim's^[1] mare.

On the wagon: men, women, children and bundles. All Jews. “Where are you going?” they asked me. “To Lodz” was my reply. They looked at us as if we were crazy. “We are running away from

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the city, and they're going there”. We asked them: “Where is the most direct road to Rawa?” They said: “Rawa is finished! Rawa no longer exists! We are running from there”.

We continued. The highway was filled with dead horses and, not to be compared, people. The asphalt is smashed to pieces. Here and there lie turned over field kitchens, fallen telegraph poles, the wires block the way, tangled under our feet. Despite the barriers and piles of stones, tanks, military wagons and trucks roll by, all escaping from Lodz. Then come the waves of civilians, the majority on foot, and some on rovers and wagons. The wide expressway was densely crowded. We had to walk one after the other.

It became dark and the movement grew. Every minute we were in danger of being run over by a vehicle, which for obvious reasons did not turn on its lights, or from receiving a bump from a wagon shaft, or stumbling over a corpse lying on the road.

The pitch darkness was from time to time lit up by a hellish fire. As we walked, we passed burning villages. Everything in the villages was burning: the houses, the huts and the barns. In order not to get lost, one held onto another's jacket, at the bottom. No one thought about resting: as soon as one might sit down for a while, he may not be able to get up quickly. Not a minute could be wasted. We postponed rest for daytime when we would have to hide in the potato patches.

We dragged our feet. They did not move from strength but from necessity. Around 11 o'clock at night we arrived in Rawa. The town was covered in fire and smoke. It was hard to walk through. The smoke hurt our eyes and scratched our throats, almost suffocating us. There was no living soul around. It was rare to see an undamaged house. All around, destruction, smashed houses.

When I left the city limits, I met some people. With despair, they said the highway which goes to Lublin was cut off by the Germans. There was no choice but to go toward Warsaw. I had no desire to go. What awaits me there? The capitol is most probably the center of hatred. I went there and thought the from there it may be easier to head east. I continued

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walking until 4 o'clock in the morning, without stopping. At daybreak, we left the highway and with a roundabout route we walked through fields. At 6 o'clock in the morning we arrived in a small forest and lay down for to rest for a while.

After a half hour rest a soldiers ordered us to leave saying it was a military position.

We obeyed although our feet protested and refused to walk. With great effort, we walked like never before. Our closest destination was Amshinov, a town 30 kilometers from Rawa. We were to arrive there at 2 o'clock in the afternoon and rest there. We were already used to the air raids, like old soldiers at the front. As soon as we saw an airplane we fell to the ground. Once, during an air raid I slept, even though it pounded and thundered. My friends had to wake me: “we can continue on our way!”.

Due to great fatigue, I could not keep up to their marching tempo. My travel companions distanced themselves from me. I simply lost them and had to continue on my own.

A lucky find encouraged me a bit: a sack of rye. I filled my pockets and nibbled, but my feet barely carried me. I was in pain. Around 5 o'clock in the evening I was not far from Amshinov. Here the pilots welcomed me and once again and I had to lie in the potato patch.

This time the air attack was not a joke. A whole orchestra: noise from the bombings, explosions of the bombs, bangs from machine guns. One could go mad from this devilish music. Right near me lay a Christian and a Jew. One whispered the prayer: “Hail Mary!”, the other, “The Shema, Hear O Israel”! I blocked my ears, making myself deaf. I had one wish: if a bullet finds me, let it kill me as a do not wish to lie here wounded in the field.

When I stood up, there was no one around. I was alone it the field. After walking a few dozen steps an airplane came toward me. I looked for shelter in the area but there was only sand, you could not even see a blade of grass. I took off my coat and ran toward the closest potato patch. The airplane was flying so low, I was able to see the pilot.

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I barely managed to jump into the potato patch as the machine guns shot automatically. My ear drums practically exploded. The airplane flew over me. When I stood up the hairs on my head were wet, as if someone poured cold water on me.

Once again to the highway. My feet marched on as if they hadn't walked all the way from Lodz. I strode like this until 2 o'clock in the morning.

I heard moaning from wounded coming from the ditches along the highway. They were asking for a drop of water; however, everyone was worried about himself. On the ground we saw scattered valises, coats, bedding and treasures of money which refugees threw away.

Suddenly someone said: I hear the noise of an airplane! If it was true or he just assumed, I don't know. A few people left the highway and looked for a path in the field, I among them. I don't know how long I lay there. Who looked at a clock? I fell asleep. Someone gave me a poke and I woke up. I did not have the strength to stand up but the one who woke me did not abandon me.

The Polish army was driving down the highway. They did not take any civilians into their wagons. I turned to one and prevailed upon him: take as much money as you want and permit me to ride with you! He agreed and said: Twenty zlotys!

I climbed onto the wagon. Suddenly I heard a cry. In the darkness I did not notice that a wounded man lay on the wagon and I stepped on him. It was a bandaged soldier.

Around 6 o'clock in the morning I arrived in Warsaw. The walk from Lodz took forty-eight hours.

This is where a new chapter begins. The march, which took two days and two nights is just the beginning of what would happen next.

In Warsaw I looked for Yisroel Himl, my aunt Hendl's son, who until the war was the auditor of the Central Cooperative banks. The city was bombed non-stop. There was resumed running from house to house: perhaps it is safer there, not compromised?… I wandered around the city for three weeks.

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I mainly ate: herring, cucumbers, pumpkin seeds and candy.

Tuesday morning, October 4^th I left for Lodz. It was already “after the war” …the route was: Warsaw, Bloyna, Sochotchev, Lovitch, Glavna, Strikov and Lodz. When the pilots finished their work, the weather took over. It rained and the highway was full of mud.

In Sochotchev, 55 kilometers from Warsaw, I went to my relative Zaltzman. His house was one of the few not destroyed by fire. There I found Yokheved's sister. She lost everything: the house, machine and merchandise.

The next day I left for Lovitch and Thursday night I arrived in Lodz. This is when I learnt that people also ran away from Koło.

I rested a bit in Lodz, came back to myself and decided to return to collecting. My bosses gave me 50% proviso and made me an equal partner in their business. One day I received news that the Gestapo was looking for me.

Lodz was emptying of Jews. People were once again leaving: on foot, by train or with cars. With the latest news I did not wait to liquidate the business with my bosses. I sent some of my money to Hinde and Rivke and some I sewed into my clothing and left.

On November 30^th I left Lodz and on December 2^nd I was on the other side of the Bug River. I arrived without clothing or underwear; the Germans took everything from me. However, I did find myself under a new sky and found another attitude of man to man.

Trnaslator's footnote:

1. Mendele Moykkher Sforim, Mendel the Book Peddler is considered the grandfather of Yiddish literature. One of his best-known works was called “The Mare”. Return

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Where were the Jews of Koło not flung during the dark and bloody war years?

From December 2^nd 1939 until June 22^nd 1941 my family and I were in Magnitogorsk. My livelihood came from industrial work named for “Stalin”. Since I was not a specialist, I was employed as an unskilled laborer.

On the day the German-Soviet war broke out I left Magnitogorsk with my family and went to Tashkent. Our first station was Chkalov. We lived in barracks for three weeks and then they mobilized all the refugees and sent us to a kolkhoz “Krasnaya Zviezda”. The work was mainly agricultural: in the field and bringing wood from the forest etc.

The further station was Chelyabinsk. Here they recruited us for the work legion. The conditions were very difficult, worse than in prison. In principle we received money, like all workers. The salary was so small, we finished every month with a deficit, owing money. When I think about the food, I wonder how we survived those hunger days. Every day we received 500 grams of bread and twice a day nettle soup. The weakest actually died; people dropped like flies.

We were tormented like this for half a year. A few men, including me realized that we would not be able to endure this. We decided to escape although we knew we would be tried as deserters. There was no other way and we decided to carry out our plan.

We came to a factory where they needed working hands. The director of the factory greeted us with the following words: “I know you left the work battalion because you do not have the strength to do difficult physical work. Given that I now need workers,

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I'm ready to take you”. He also provided us with temporary documents.

Here is where we returned to being ourselves. We went to the bathhouse and removed the filth of a few weeks. The group, which numbered 10 men, received 5 rooms and enough food to be satisfied. Henekh Hirshbeyn from Koło was with us. He worked in a factory as a material supplier.

In 1945 I received a letter from my wife and children who had remained in the kolkhoz. When I got there, I only found one. I took my son, and with the help of “Zvionzek Polskikh Patriotiv” (The Polish Zionist Patriotic) I arranged to place him in a children's home. The society was founded by the Polish writer V. Vashilevska.

The work in the factory was satisfactory. There were many Polish citizens working there. The collective showed trust in me and elected me chairman of the “Z.P.P”. My frequent meetings with Hirshbeyn brought us closer to our far away home town Koło, from which we had been torn away.

In 1946 I returned to Poland and settled in Nidershlezien. I spent almost 10 years there. I worked in many jobs beginning as an official on the Jewish committee (from 1946-1948), then in a brush making cooperative and the last, a tailor cooperative (hygiene inspector).

In April 1957 I immigrated to Israel. I came to Kibbutz Afek (United Kibbutz Movement), where I live together with my family.

[Page 202]

These lines will try to shed some light on the last days of tens of people from my town who fled to Warsaw during the Holocaust and are missing. I shall start from the place I lived in- the home of Yitzhak Izhbitzki. He was the concierge of a large house at 29 Gjibovska street. Many were jealous of him because concierges were not taken for forced labor. The home was near a metal-bed factory where non-Jewish Poles worked, and these people helped us by smuggling food. Each day they brought foodstuffs which we paid for with our gold and jewelry. Some of the food we ate and some we passed on to grateful friends. The food was not hygienic but it was better than eating waste scraps.

Yitzhak's home became a center for the Ghetto Jews. There we heard what had happened in the expulsions from Koło, Izhbitza Lubelska and other places.

I think about 100 Koło Jews took refuge in Warsaw. I can recall Izho Frankel, his wife and son Kova (who supported them), David Fernikez, his wife, and daughter Halinka,Moshe-Leib Levin, his wife, their daughter Genia and son Adjo, Tempelhof and his wife, Israel Czeczinski and family, Yedza Bijzvinska, Paula Zaitzek, Yehezkel Vahulder and family, Adek Schlechtov and wife, Regina Schlechtov and husband, Mrs Schmuklerska and family, Binyamin Kuninski and family from the New Market, Rabbi Shlomo Rotfeld and daughters, Brunek Silberberg and family, the son of Sinai Brockstein, chankovitch, Itzhe Neumann and wife Olek Neumann and wife,Ignasz Neumann, wife and son, Gittel Neumann Nashelska, Ezra Izbitzki, the Futter family, Naomi Kirschbaum, Sala Kirschbaum and her sons.

The Jews of Koło came with a few belongings and sought work. Ignasz Neumann and I stitched uniforms for the army, this saved us from deportation.

…our relatives: Itzik Czezinski was a policeman with the Jewish “militia” Adek Schlectov and his wife were dentists, Ezra Izhbitzki was a metal worker.

One day Regina Schlectov and her husband visited me. Their knapsacks indicated a lengthy journey. Regina showed me a German handbill that said: “If you want bread and work, come to Umschlagplatz and you will be sent to a place of work”

They complained about their bitter life, they were tired and hungry. At that time nobody knew of the Nazi deception. The Nazis tricked thousands of Jews, and so they were in the first “transports” to the crematoria.

The family of David Firnikazh were killed in Warsaw. His wife was killed when an SS officer entered their room and told them to stand up. She was paralysed and could not move so she was shot on the spot. David tried to move to the Aryan side of the city and with him went the families of Szezinski, Wachelder and Bizhvinski. They were all captured and shot and nobody knows where they are buried.

In Warsaw also died the wife and three daughters of Arthur Nashelski, Kazik Yoel and his wife (nee Wartski). Fabian Yoel, his wife and daughter, Abraham Feldman, his wife and daughters, Aharon Ritschke, his wife and their daughter Zoshia. His son Shaya Rassler returned from Russia and was killed in Warsaw.

Tempelhof refused to go to Umschlagplatz and commmitted suicide with cooking gas.

The rest of our fellow townsmen mentioned above were caught in the Selections and sent to Maidanek and Treblinka.

As the ghetto area was reduced, Yitzhak Izhbitzki was dismissed and found work as a concierge on Niske street.

He was killed in the final assault on the ghetto as he smuggled weapons through the sewers into the ghetto for the Jewish fighters.

The years 1941-42 in the Warsaw ghetto were cruel and bitter. Each day we waited in vain for deliverance. Those who found work became slaves, but we did not lose hope, we tried our best to hold on.

Nobody who was not in that Hell can imagine the slow death of our community in Koło.

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