[Page 507]

1938 … It is a frosty winter night. Everyone is indoors asleep. Somewhere, a dog is barking miserably. Suddenly, there is a mob in the streets with torches in their hands, and knives, iron bars, and sticks. Their eyes are dripping with murder and they are looking for victims. They steal, they burn, and they beat. Here a Beis Medrash [study hall] is burning; Torah scrolls are rolling in the streets; Jewish blood is running loose; possessions … Police are watching, satisfied. They along with the bandits, await the end of all the Jews…

The night is almost over. The day begins to break, and the perpetrators are still beating and beating…

In these difficult hours, I search for a comfort for my people, and my heart fills with belief that the day is nearing when there will be an end to this cruelty, to the madness. They will no longer break our doors down, not destroy the shutters. They sun will shine again on the Jewish streets…

Be strong, my nation, do not be dejected…

The worst is over, my town is destroyed. My nation has been slaughtered, and the murderers have been freed from the millions of victims … The world has so quickly forgotten, and forgiven the sins…

But I cannot forget, I cannot remain calm. The final testament of our martyrs is holy to me. In their pain and in their woe, they cried: “Do not forgive and do not forget!”

[Page 508]

I was still young when I left Suchowola, and for many years I did not stop yearning for my little town and for my mother and father.

In 1938, I traveled to Poland and I had the privilege to still see my elderly mother and father, Chatzkel and Henne Rochel, and my dear sister Yehudis, and to meet friends, neighbors, and other close people.

How did Suchowola look in my eyes in 1938?

It looked very different than it did 1910 when I left, without a memory of deep mud puddles and dark nights. There was electricity now, and the streets were swept clean. There were now tramways. But you can feel a gloom, one doesn't hear any laughter, you can feel a fear of tomorrow. The anti–Semitism is intensified – especially among the “fanatics” – the Polish intelligentsia. There is talk of Israel. In the town, there is terrible poverty. It is difficult to support the burden of the taxes and of the laws. Earnings are dropping because every second store is already in non–Jewish hands. There are many non–Jewish craftsmen. There are still people who earn a livelihood, but many don't even have anything on which to live. Those that used to go to the village and get their livelihood that way, have completely lost their means of earning. They live with hope that American friends will help them out: They are waiting for a package of things, or some dollars to cover the debts for taxes. The kind–heartedness of the American relatives practically keeps the town alive. Everyone asked me to bring back their good wishes to America.

In these dark days, I see a little light in the town: the shul. This is the pride of Suchowola. In the shul, the children get not only Jewish knowledge, but also a European education and a structured upbringing.

Every year, the children plant a green garden. They sell the greens and the profits go to Keren Kayemet [organization in Israel that buys land and plants trees].

The committee tries with all its efforts for the shul to be self–sufficient, but in this time of great poverty that ruled the town, this was simply impossible because well–to–do children were a small percentage, and poor children were in general exempt from paying any school fees.

That's what it looked like in 1938. Who could have imagined that the end was so close, that the children would not grow up, and along with their parents they would all be horrifically destroyed at the hands of the Nazi beasts.

[Page 543]

Caption: Sender Pribulski

Sender Pribulski – died in New York in 1952

In 1919, Sender and a group of young boys left the town. They wandered through Germany, Belgium, until they finally arrived in faraway America.

He did not Americanize easily, and the English–speaking atmosphere caused him to be pulled to the Jewish word and culture.

His life in America was a hard one. He always yearned for his home town, and especially for his mother Yehudis. He dreamed of going to see her, but he did not merit doing so…

For years his heart suffered in grief, until it finally stopped beating forever… He left behind a wife and a daughter. One of his letters:

New York, August 15, 1945

My dear sisters Velke and Chana'le,

As I write to you now, the radio is blaring and blazing with the news: the bloody war is over.

America is celebrating, the world is celebrating. The accursed Fascism has come to an end, and the bloodiest of all wars in the history of humanity, this war has ended too.

Millions of hearts are beating with joy, and soon a joyous life will begin for all, but not for us.

Thoughts and feelings hit us that confuse the joy with sorrow about the fate of our brothers. A shudder goes through the body just with the thought of what happened to our dear mother. Here and there come greetings from those who were saved, and some days I muster some hope that others have remained alive… How much I would like to see you, dearest, and share our feelings together. Are they really no longer here?

Your Sender

Monday, January 22, 1945, Belgium

My dear sisters,

Where should I begin? Where? But what does it matter, now we have an opportunity to write it all down.

I am a soldier in the American army, I am a sergeant. I volunteered more than two years ago. With the consent of my wife and with a blessing on her lips, I left to fight the enemy. It was difficult for me to leave my home, but it was even more difficult to quiet the feeling of revenge against the accursed enemy, the murderers of our people, the embarrassment to humanity.

I am now in Belgium. On Christmas night, our division threw itself into the slaughter. Now the enemy is being hit by huge armies in the West and in the East. Soon the beast will be squashed between two walls.

The human imagination cannot envision this. The human mind cannot absorb or understand the bestiality, the murderous acts of the bloody Nazis. How could an entire nation have fallen to such horrific depths?

[Page 545]

Soon Berlin will be in flames. Let Berlin burn, may they all burn and go into darkness! The thieves and slaughterers! May they burn as the rage burns in the hearts of our people, as the feeling of revenge burned in the hearts of the tortured millions.

Revenge burns in the hearts, a fist balls itself in rage, for the American soldiers, for the millions of my brothers, the tormented ones in the countries where the German left his boot marks…

August 14, 1945

My dearest ones,

Both when I read your letter and when writing this with a clamped up heart, the tears are choking me. The three years have hardened me, have turned my heart to stone. Not for nothing have I looked death in the face, not for nothing did I see how my fellow soldiers fall around me. It's hard to smile. It is embarrassing to laugh out loud when you think of the bloody days in Europe. Your letters, dear sisters, have clammed up my heart. It became easier for me when I cried myself out. Oh, it's been so long since I've cried.

My home appears before my eyes, my mother, the strict, dear grandmother, the good, kind, grandfather. Suchowola! How legendary the name sounds. Have you noticed on the list of those saved a name from Suchowola? Maybe one of ours did manage to save himself?

Who knows if I will see someone ever again. But you have to hope. If not, then you can't go on living.

I embrace you both with love.

2.9.45

Dearest sisters,

It is Victoria Day today. The war is officially over. The victory is not only about stronger powers against weaker powers but it is a victory of freedom over tyranny. The side that won, as a winner, presents, as a brotherhood of nations, hope and fortune. It is a day of joy and limitless fortune for the millions in the world; for the parents whose sons are returning; for the men who stood in the killing fields and stared death in the eyes.

For me and for those survivors of my nation, this joy is mixed with a different, terrible anguish, with pain, sorrow, at the sacrifices that we brought. Ours did not return. They will never, never return.

Your Shloime'ke

Caption: Shloime'ke Pribulski (Chicago) standing, and Avrohom Golub the first on the right and his friends in town (all perished) the second on the right: Chatzkel Stucinski, Yisroel Grodnicki, Leizer Marinberg, Shmuel Tsaban, Iczy Babri, and Leibel Franckowski

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