Papa, Mania and meâagainst the Third Reich.
Even before a representative came to our house to ask for a contribution, the news that the SS were asking for a ransom for the lives of the Kahala members had spread. When Mama told me how many kilograms of gold and silver they wanted, I couldnât believe there was that much money in the entire world. Mama donated our silver chanukeah, her wedding band, silver trays and candlesticks. The ransom was carted in wheelbarrows to the SS headquarters. They took over the town hall, which was in Sobieskiâs castle. Their offices looked out on the fountain of Madonna and the two big churches. But the piety of those buildings had no effect on the SS. The men were released and informed they were to run the Judenrat, which was responsible for all Jewish affairs. But their most important responsibility was making sure that all the SS orders were carried out to the letter.
The Nazis postered the town with the racial laws printed in the Gothic script that had become a weapon of hate. But we had already known them by heart well before the Nazis arrived. We werenât allowed to go to school or the park. We had a curfew. We werenât allowed to walk on the pavement, but had to walk in the street. My father, like every Jewish business owner in town, had his business confiscated by the Nazis. We had to wear the white armband with the blue Jewish star above the right elbow. Any offence was punishable by death. The day the order for the armbands came down, none of us could leave the house untilmy mother had embroidered them. It took Mama over two hours to do one armband. I was furious as I watched my proud mother compelled to fabricate the emblems of our humiliation, as well those of Giza, Josek and poor Uchka, who couldnât sew a stitch. How would she explain them to Zygush and Zosia?
My dear friend, Helena Freymann, was killed one day as she walked out of her door and down the street. A Pole, someone whom she smiled at whenever she saw him and who had known her family for years, pointed her out to a soldier who was not even SS. He simply took out his pistol and shot her as if he were lighting a cigarette. She had forgotten her armband. This happened right down the block from our house one day after the edict came down. In this way we learned that the Pole or Ukrainian who might turn us in would not be a stranger. They would know us. Their children would be our classmates, their fathers would know our fathers, and their grandfathers would have known our grandfathers. I suppose, in the end, it made no difference if you were betrayed by a friend or an enemy. It really only meant that your heart might break a little more in the moment before you felt the bullet.
It was almost impossible to keep up with all the orders and edicts that came from the Nazi command headquarters. All the men were ordered to report to the town plaza for an examination by a doctor. Able-bodied men were designated A; those capable of light work were designated B; those who were sick, old, weak or crippled were designated C. Mama told Papa that many of our friends were paying off the Ukrainian doctors to get the C designation. She suggested my father do the same. His response was, âFor the Nazis, believe me, I donât want to be a cripple.â He didnât know then that this would save all our lives.
Â
We had become a race of recluses, depressed by the news from the Nazi papers and radio stations as much as by what we were facing in our beloved little town. During the summer of 1941, the Nazis had taken Kiev, Karkhov, Minsk and all of the Crimea, with little opposition from the Soviets. From our living-room window, hidden behind the curtains, I watched young Jewish boys my age and younger as they struggled down the street, pushing carts and wheelbarrows filled with crushed stones. Papa came home and told us that they had been smashed into tiny pieces from the grave markers in the Jewish
Even before a representative came to our house to ask for a contribution, the news that the SS were asking for a ransom for the lives of the Kahala members had spread. When Mama told me how many kilograms of gold and silver they wanted, I couldnât believe there was that much money in the entire world. Mama donated our silver chanukeah, her wedding band, silver trays and candlesticks. The ransom was carted in wheelbarrows to the SS headquarters. They took over the town hall, which was in Sobieskiâs castle. Their offices looked out on the fountain of Madonna and the two big churches. But the piety of those buildings had no effect on the SS. The men were released and informed they were to run the Judenrat, which was responsible for all Jewish affairs. But their most important responsibility was making sure that all the SS orders were carried out to the letter.
The Nazis postered the town with the racial laws printed in the Gothic script that had become a weapon of hate. But we had already known them by heart well before the Nazis arrived. We werenât allowed to go to school or the park. We had a curfew. We werenât allowed to walk on the pavement, but had to walk in the street. My father, like every Jewish business owner in town, had his business confiscated by the Nazis. We had to wear the white armband with the blue Jewish star above the right elbow. Any offence was punishable by death. The day the order for the armbands came down, none of us could leave the house untilmy mother had embroidered them. It took Mama over two hours to do one armband. I was furious as I watched my proud mother compelled to fabricate the emblems of our humiliation, as well those of Giza, Josek and poor Uchka, who couldnât sew a stitch. How would she explain them to Zygush and Zosia?
My dear friend, Helena Freymann, was killed one day as she walked out of her door and down the street. A Pole, someone whom she smiled at whenever she saw him and who had known her family for years, pointed her out to a soldier who was not even SS. He simply took out his pistol and shot her as if he were lighting a cigarette. She had forgotten her armband. This happened right down the block from our house one day after the edict came down. In this way we learned that the Pole or Ukrainian who might turn us in would not be a stranger. They would know us. Their children would be our classmates, their fathers would know our fathers, and their grandfathers would have known our grandfathers. I suppose, in the end, it made no difference if you were betrayed by a friend or an enemy. It really only meant that your heart might break a little more in the moment before you felt the bullet.
It was almost impossible to keep up with all the orders and edicts that came from the Nazi command headquarters. All the men were ordered to report to the town plaza for an examination by a doctor. Able-bodied men were designated A; those capable of light work were designated B; those who were sick, old, weak or crippled were designated C. Mama told Papa that many of our friends were paying off the Ukrainian doctors to get the C designation. She suggested my father do the same. His response was, âFor the Nazis, believe me, I donât want to be a cripple.â He didnât know then that this would save all our lives.
Â
We had become a race of recluses, depressed by the news from the Nazi papers and radio stations as much as by what we were facing in our beloved little town. During the summer of 1941, the Nazis had taken Kiev, Karkhov, Minsk and all of the Crimea, with little opposition from the Soviets. From our living-room window, hidden behind the curtains, I watched young Jewish boys my age and younger as they struggled down the street, pushing carts and wheelbarrows filled with crushed stones. Papa came home and told us that they had been smashed into tiny pieces from the grave markers in the Jewish
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