In summer 1944 there was another action: selection. I was taken to the line of workers, and my aunt and grandmother were taken to the line for execution. Aunt managed to run to me, but Grandmother waved her hand hopelessly and remained in the line consisting of old and feeble women. We had to get on the train again and travel in the same tough conditions as on the way here. We came to the camp in the town of Kiliele, also located in Estonia. We had stayed there for a week before starting work. We were taken to the timbering works. It was very hard work.
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Displaying 44461 - 44490 of 50826 results
Dobre Rozenbergene
We got off on the platform and went to the camp. It was the labor camp of Goldfield, located in Estonia not far from Tartu. We settled in tents and started building a cantonment. Soon there were barracks. It was a camp with Gestapo security guards with German sheepdogs, trained to attack people. Each of us was given a number sewed onto our clothes. There were only Jews there, so there was no need in classifying us by nationality. It was the first time during the occupation when I took off my magen David. The camp was gradually growing. First there were only Baltic Jews, and in 1944 Jews from Hungary and Czechoslovakia were also brought here. We were involved in hard shoveling works, getting scarce camp rations: gruel and a slice of bread with sawdust and a slice of such bread with margarine for breakfast. We stayed in that camp for seven and a half months.
There were about 3500 of us in a car. We were packed like a tin of sardines. We traveled standing. Nobody gave us food, and it was impossible to get the things we had taken with us. We were thirsty, but we weren’t given any water. Soon we started to relieve ourselves on the spot without looking at each other. It was the first time when I felt on my own skin that one of the main tasks of Hitler’s people was to deprive people of human dignity and make them turn into stupid unreasoning cattle.
In October 1943 we were ousted in the street when the Kaunas ghetto was about to be destroyed. We decided that it was a regular action. In reality, we were classified in two groups as usual and one of them was to be executed. We were lucky: the three of us remained in the auspicious group of women. We were even allowed to take some warm things and food with us. We got on trucks and headed in an unknown direction. First we thought we were taken to the execution place – fort 9, and when they passed it we understood that we were heading for work. Policemen yelled and beat us while we were getting on the cars. Those policemen were Western Ukrainians.
I also became an angel. I worked on the aerodrome instead of a grown-up man. The work was hard: I dug ditches with a heavy shovel. In the morning I got a slice of bread and some sugar; if I had a good host, I could get a piece of sausage or pig’s fat. At times I was given frozen marmalade or a potato. I was happy to get anything. The person I was working for got a yellow working card, and was protected by it during the actions. Then my pals helped me be included in a good crew, which unloaded cars. We unloaded firewood and stacked it. Now I managed to bring some firewood home. It was the most precious commodity in the ghetto. In the evening Leya and I came home – it didn’t take me long to consider the room where we were staying home. When we came home, Grandmother would have already made scarce dinner from the food we could get. She was constantly praying and fasted when she was supposed to in spite of starvation. Leya became like a second mother to me. Before the war she got married. Her husband Yakov was in the lines. Leya didn’t have children, and her unused maternal instinct was directed at me. Leya was like a mother to me in many ways, as well as my best friend, as our disparity in years was not great. She never left me by myself. If during the actions I was taken to the wrong side, she came with me and it turned out as if either God or my parents from another world were protecting me.
In the second year of our stay in the ghetto we gradually adjusted to the dreadful conditions and tried to get acclimatized. Leya found a job. She left the ghetto with the working crew and came back to the ghetto after work. She even managed to bring us some food. I went to work in the children crew. We weeded gardens beyond the ghetto territory. We could stealthily eat a carrot, onion and bring something to my grandmother. Having worked in children’s crews for a while, I found out about the so-called ‘angels’ in the ghetto. ‘Angels’ were children, hired by rich Jews, who were living in the ghetto, to work instead of adult and healthy people.
The first year in the ghetto was very hard. We were cold and hungry. Leya set up a small stove in the middle of the room and stoked it the best way she could, as it was next to impossible to get firewood. We were starving: we got a little gray bread and grain. We lived in constant fear of actions, the frequency and purpose of which we could not predict. During one of the actions children and old people were taken, other actions were against those incapable of work and those who had no profession, sometimes people were chosen randomly, without any principle. During one of the big actions, I, being 13 and looking like an 18-year-old, and grandmother looking like an 80-year-old, were taken to the ‘good side,’ to the ones who were to live. Aunt also was with us as she looked very good. Many people were surprised how we could have been so lucky. At that time Leya had a very good acquaintance in the Jewish police, who was helping us. He must have helped us that time.
Stanislaw Wierzba
Before we went to the ghetto we got gestures of solidarity from many Poles – despite the fact that the difference in treatment [by the Germans] of Poles and Jews was already quite visible, everything was still alright. In any case, the Poles were also suffering far too much – but still, there was always some sort of help from them. Once we were in the ghetto, I was often thinking up ways to get out. Several times I did get outside, together with my sister, who was a blond, by the way. We would get something by begging, or else we would buy it with the bit of money my mother gave us – there would be Poles on our way, standing outside the town border, and they would have something, like bread or potatoes. And at first this barter went on fairly smoothly. But later everything changed. You know, it does not surprise me at all, because the Poles were living in a state of constant fear.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
There was this mechanical workshop, owned by a Polish man, and he hired me. I worked hard and soon I learned the trade of a turner, a lathe-hand. I was in good shape, because he was feeding me, and I could often take some food home, as well. My family was pleased, and I was pleased, and so was he, because he was paying me peanuts, and I was producing things on the lathe. He ran this workshop throughout the entire period of the ghetto. Every now and then German cars would come, and he would repair them. I was helping him, and so I could more or less make a living. There were no set hours, I would just go and work, and sometimes I would stay till evening, and later they would invite me to dinner. It was quite close, almost the same courtyard, in the middle of the ghetto. Before the war we didn’t know him at all, the owner of the workshop. I got interested in the work. As a boy, my dream was to learn a trade. I never dreamt of getting higher education, that was impossible. And so this turned out to be my fulfillment. But it is my habit to do well whatever I undertake. This is how I have been ever since childhood: I like to do things well or not at all. And I am quite sensitive that way even today.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
The Jewish circle was in Limanowskiego Street – that’s where the synagogue was. And this is where they set up the ghetto. In 1940, I believe it was at the end of 1940, I can’t remember exactly, but they set up the ghetto really quickly [8]. It was quite a large area. It seems to me that the ghetto covered about ¼ of Radomsko. But it did not reach as far as our home, and so we were kicked out. Awful things went on. There was a regulation: at such and such an hour all the Jews have to report at the ghetto. And we were resettled, all six of us. Anyway, we were ready, because news had been going around that they were setting up a ghetto. I remember the bundles my mother made. There was bedding, some clothes, and whatever food we had – and we were ready to go. Germans supervised the move, but mostly it was the Navy-Blue Police [9]. I remember their shouting: quick, quick, quick, and the Germans just standing off to the side, giving orders.
We were given space in a sort of shack and this is where we lived – a dark hole it was, really, with six persons, two makeshift beds, because we had left almost everything we had in our house. Right next to us there lived my uncle and aunt with their daughter, I mean my father’s brother, Henryk, and my mother’s sister, Zofia. They got a room in this shack right next to ours. I believe it was some Jewish community that helped arrange and prepare all this.
Once we were in the ghetto, I don’t really know what we lived on. My father kept on working until we were all ordered into the Sports Plaza [the resettlement action took place in Radomsko on 9th October 1942]. What did we eat? – it’s hard to say. We certainly did not have any meat or milk. Potatoes, then some more potatoes, a watery soup called ‘zalewajka’ some sort of borscht – all the same things you would eat 2 or 3 times a day, if you could afford it. It was terrible poverty. When my mother boiled potatoes, we would drink the water afterwards, so it wouldn’t go to waste. If she boiled some sort of noodles, she would also keep the water, and we would drink that, too. Mother... she was just a typical Jewish mother. She took care of us kids, as much as she could, and sometimes she would give up her own portion. There was a time when I would have liked more soup but there was not enough to go around. It was a gloomy fact of everyday life, this struggle for life, just to survive.
I would sometimes run into a boy or a girl, someone I had gone to school with , but everyone was so busy with their own problems, that there was no question of a friendly chat about school, like sharing a memory. Every one was so down, so depressed, even the kids felt it. I was 14, 15 years old, so I was already thinking, but it wasn’t exactly profound or specific thinking. I did not go into the street at all by then, and back in the barracks all the kids kept together, we did everything together, each one of us listening for some news. I would try to overhear what the adults were saying, and things were getting quite bad, but until the end there was still hope in people. The parents would try to keep us away from the misery, if they talked, it was among themselves, it did not reach us, they didn’t want us to sink deeper into desperation. But how can you keep a secret if you are six people living together in a tiny space? Now it is more clear to me, this feeling. There was talk, there were stories going around about Shoah, I can even remember the name of the town, Treblinka [10]... Maybe my parents were talking about these things, about possible escape from the ghetto, but none of it reached us kids. And we couldn’t have afforded to do it, to give someone a bribe. With what money? No, my parents did not have that sort of money.
We were given space in a sort of shack and this is where we lived – a dark hole it was, really, with six persons, two makeshift beds, because we had left almost everything we had in our house. Right next to us there lived my uncle and aunt with their daughter, I mean my father’s brother, Henryk, and my mother’s sister, Zofia. They got a room in this shack right next to ours. I believe it was some Jewish community that helped arrange and prepare all this.
Once we were in the ghetto, I don’t really know what we lived on. My father kept on working until we were all ordered into the Sports Plaza [the resettlement action took place in Radomsko on 9th October 1942]. What did we eat? – it’s hard to say. We certainly did not have any meat or milk. Potatoes, then some more potatoes, a watery soup called ‘zalewajka’ some sort of borscht – all the same things you would eat 2 or 3 times a day, if you could afford it. It was terrible poverty. When my mother boiled potatoes, we would drink the water afterwards, so it wouldn’t go to waste. If she boiled some sort of noodles, she would also keep the water, and we would drink that, too. Mother... she was just a typical Jewish mother. She took care of us kids, as much as she could, and sometimes she would give up her own portion. There was a time when I would have liked more soup but there was not enough to go around. It was a gloomy fact of everyday life, this struggle for life, just to survive.
I would sometimes run into a boy or a girl, someone I had gone to school with , but everyone was so busy with their own problems, that there was no question of a friendly chat about school, like sharing a memory. Every one was so down, so depressed, even the kids felt it. I was 14, 15 years old, so I was already thinking, but it wasn’t exactly profound or specific thinking. I did not go into the street at all by then, and back in the barracks all the kids kept together, we did everything together, each one of us listening for some news. I would try to overhear what the adults were saying, and things were getting quite bad, but until the end there was still hope in people. The parents would try to keep us away from the misery, if they talked, it was among themselves, it did not reach us, they didn’t want us to sink deeper into desperation. But how can you keep a secret if you are six people living together in a tiny space? Now it is more clear to me, this feeling. There was talk, there were stories going around about Shoah, I can even remember the name of the town, Treblinka [10]... Maybe my parents were talking about these things, about possible escape from the ghetto, but none of it reached us kids. And we couldn’t have afforded to do it, to give someone a bribe. With what money? No, my parents did not have that sort of money.
After the war began we couldn’t afford to celebrate Sabbath, to buy challah or fish. Life went on from day to day, it was just bare survival. There was no question of obeying religious rules. My father prayed at home, and all those things...[ tallit, tefillin, phylacteries ] – they were stored safely in some special place in the house. The conditions were so bad that religious practice was not possible, except that my father would pray silently, in his soul, and my mother did the same.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
It seems to me that my father was wearing a star when he went to work even before we were all sent to the ghetto [7]. Except that at that stage the rules were not quite so strict yet. I did not, but my father did wear an armband on his right arm all the time. I was 15 then. Anyway, I was a small-sized kid, so I didn’t wear one. My mother did. But she only left the house when it was really necessary, when she had to take care of some business, otherwise it was too dangerous to go.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
My mother stayed a home, she never worked. A lot changed in our family life, because we were not going to school any more – not just us Jews, our Polish neighbors didn’t go either, because the schools were not opened right away. There was no question of studying, nothing was the same as before.
This is when the gehenna began. As soon as the Germans came, immediately – they sent us off to work. Maybe not me, but my father – yes. He had to work. It was tough, he was earning close to nothing. There was a sawmill nearby, this is where he worked, they were making wagons for the army. I remember him returning home once, he was all bloody, all beat up. What happened? He was doing his job and he did something wrong, and one of the Germans beat him up and let him go. He came home all bloody – his back, everything. My mother started dressing his wounds, applying a compress, this and that. Mind you, it happened before the ghetto was closed.
,
During WW2
See text in interview
We lived in the outskirts of the city. The noise, the screams, going down to the basements, gas scares and so on. The news was going around that the Germans were on their way, so my mother prepared these bundles, and my father, all six of us – we all escaped, heading eastwards. We did not get very far, because we were moving on foot. The Germans caught up with us and we had to go back. We must have walked a dozen kilometers, and we collapsed in a barn. I remember it was September and there was a huge orchard there, really beautiful, the apples were ripe, and so we survived by eating these apples for a few days, but then we returned home. Our house was untouched, everything was in perfect order. We were not the only ones that had run away – a number of other families went off with us as well. And then for about half a year we went on living in our house, right until they created the closed ghetto. Because our house was not in the ghetto, it was outside.
,
1939
See text in interview
He was taking flour to the bakery where we bought our bread. From the mill. The mill was in the opposite end of Radomsko. Anyway, later, during the occupation, it was burnt down. So I stopped and I said ‘Mother, look...’. And she said ‘Everyone has got to live – and so they make their living any way they can.’ So there was a bit of Jewish poverty in Radomsko.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
At home we would also talk about Palestine, and I even remember a group of Jews who were planning to go to Palestine at the time. Some really did go – it was the young people from that organization [Hakoah]. But it was an option only for someone who was not burdened with a family.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
A bit later, right before the war, people began talking – papers were also writing about it, though almost without commentary – about what was going over there, in the Reich, what Hitler was doing with the Jews. But we never mentioned the possibility that it could be a danger to us here – nobody was thinking of that. As if we believed it would just stay in Germany. Sure, people felt sorry for those Jews over there, what it had come to, and all, but the Jews thought of it one way and the Poles another way. The word ‘fascist’ or ‘hitlerist’ – these words were not used, not even by us. But of course the Jews were talking among themselves. My father and my uncle would talk about these matters. As for me, I did not ask too many questions, but I was old enough to understand more or less what it was all about. The war was coming, and we were all... I for instance, was quite an optimist as a boy, repeating slogans like ‘Leader, take us to Latvia!’ [actually: ‘Leader, take us to Kovno!’ – slogan of Jozef Pilsudski’s Polish Legions]. Or thinking of Zaolzie [the Zaolzie region was temporarily occupied by Poland in October 1938]. These were real successes at the time, it filled us with pride, we were boys after all.
Soon terrible things began to happen. The real peak came in 1938. You really had to watch out in Radomsko, not to be caught alone in the street after dark, because these young thugs had basically taken over the streets. I myself remember this awful fight – it was really something! – because the Jews were putting up some resistance. Later my father explained to me that by that time there was this Jewish youth organization, made up of 19- and 20 year olds, it was called Hakoah [6], right? So they had a meeting somewhere in town. And the Poles attacked them, and began the fight. Finally, the police came and put an end to it. By that time I did not go to the cinema any more.
I have no idea how many families such as this one came to Radomsko, but I am sure there must have been others – after all, many of them were leaving Germany, and I believe Poland was the only country at that time that made no problems for Jews who wanted to come.
This was a period [the 1930s] when one had to be really careful, because of the anti-Semitic riots. These were really horrible things happening before the war – these campaigns [5]. My mother’s brother had a fruit and vegetable shop in Radomsko, and they broke the glass in his windows, destroyed the display, threw rocks.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
When the fall-winter season came around, we would go to the cheder at dusk, and it was all dark by the time we went home. Once I had this unpleasant adventure on my way home, even though it was still light that day. I was walking home from the cheder, I might have been 12 or 13 years old, and I had by book-bag with me since I had gone there directly after school. And these brats my age attacked me in the street. They started shouting ‘You Jew!’, this and that and the other, they started grabbing me, and choking me, and they jerked at my bag so that all the books fell out – I had both Polish and the Jewish ones with me – and I started crying. Finally someone was walking by, and told them to leave me in peace. I remember how I got my things together, and that was the end of it. Fortunately, it was not wet that day, it was dry, but still I went home crying. But what could I have done, when I was just by myself, and there were several of them, and anyway I was a bit of a weakling, and rather small – even today I am not much of a superhero.
My father was not much into politics, I don’t think so. His one political involvement was that he had been in the legions [4]. But other than that, I think not. I remember the cap [so called ‘maciejowka’ – cap worn by soldiers of the Polish Legions] that hung in the closet – a military hat from World War I, that my father had kept as a souvenir. In any case, my father did take part in World War I. He was a war veteran in those days. So on 11th November, the national holiday [on 11th November Poland regained its independence], he would put this cap on his head, and dress up in a suit, and he would take part in the celebrations. He was quite proud of this. And he had great respect for such things: the tradition, Poland, all things military, even the photos. I remember seeing pictures with my father in uniform, but I don’t know what became of these photographs. But on the other hand, he also knew he was a Jew, and he never concealed it. Whether or not he was proud of it, that I do not know.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
I did not read Jewish books. First, because I wouldn’t have managed to get through them. And second, because there weren’t any around, or maybe there were, but I didn’t know about it.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
I must admit honestly, I think I was saved in part because I did not ‘jew’ my speech [Pol. ‘zydzenie’- the tendency to incorporate into one’s spoken Polish certain words, bits of grammar, syntax and intonation that were characteristic of Yiddish]. It was not until later that I realized I did not sound Jewish, like the others did. Because in our neighborhood I had these Polish friends that I played with. And at home, too, I spoke mostly in Polish. Sure, we spoke Yiddish at home, I could speak it, but not as well as I spoke Polish, because Polish was my everyday language. And it was also thanks to the fact that I knew about certain catholic rituals that I ... [was saved]. But that was much later, during the occupation. Nobody spoke Hebrew at home. In fact, I even doubt it if my mother and father knew Hebrew. They read the papers, but these were written in Yiddish.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
It wasn’t a particularly wealthy life we lived, I don’t think my parents could afford to give parties.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview
I had my Bar Mitzvah, it was done at home. It was in 1938, just before the war. In 1938 my father bought all these things [tallit, tefillin, phylacteries], they were all stored away carefully for me. I didn’t use them every day, of course, and soon the wore broke out. I don’t remember the names of all these objects, all this is a bit of a blur to me know, the details have evaporated.
I can still sign my name, that’s all I can still remember, I can write ‘Ajgenberg’ in Hebrew, right? I can understand nothing else, because it has all evaporated right out of my mind since then. What I learned at the synagogue was, I believe, useful sometimes. He [the melamed] would translate, he would sometimes read fragments of the Torah, and before the holidays he would explain to us how all these holidays needed to be celebrated. He explained in Polish or mostly in Yiddish. So I was quite up to date on the issues of Jewish tradition. I really enjoyed these lessons.
A bit later I started attending the cheder. My brother did not go there, and neither did my sister, because they were much younger than me, so they did not get a chance to begin their studies before the war. My cheder lessons were not every day, but, I believe, 2 or 3 times a week. But on which days – that I don’t remember. There were 4 or 5 of us attending, all boys. I don’t remember my friends from the cheder, so obviously I would not be able to recognize them today. I only know that two of them were twins. They were identical, and sometimes we would amuse ourselves guessing, trying to figure out which one was which. The cheder was right next to the synagogue. So we would spend an hour there, maybe two at the most, and the teacher taught us the Hebrew alphabet, reading, and he tested us on what we knew. It was not some sort of systematic education, more of an occasional thing, it seems to me. My parents could not afford for me to leave home, drop out of school, and go somewhere, to a Jewish school outside Radomsko. And in Radomsko there was no such school – I mean one that would teach exclusively Jewish things. I do remember that a Jewish newspaper was printed in Radomsko. And I remember that they described the cheder, and that my name was mentioned, among others, as one of its students.
On the other hand, when there was a special celebration on the day of a state holiday, they would organize a gymnastic show, a sports competition, and then we would also participate, along with all the Polish kids from other schools. Before the war I would also go to the Sports Plaza when there was a soccer match, because, you know, they had these teams there, and I had a great interest in ball games.
,
Before WW2
See text in interview