to warn us of what we could expect: âCrystal Night,â when Jewish shops had been smashed, the concentration camps, allhad been well publicized. At the very least, all Jews would suffer great hardships, with beatings, confiscation of property, even atrocities, and some would certainly be sent to concentration camps.
A minority, of whom I was one, had a sense of much more serious danger: perhaps great numbers of Jews would actually be killed. But these forebodings were not clearly defined, and no one certainly, seriously considered the possibility of mass killings that would include old people, women, and children. Most of us believed too that, however harsh, the occupation would be brief; perhaps a few weeks would be enough for the Allies decisively to defeat Hitler.
But attempting to escape presented many problems as well. In the first place, transportation was virtually unobtainable. The Polish army had requisitioned all the horses. In defiance of the orders the peasants had kept some, but they were unwilling to sell any because the future of the Polish zÅoty was so uncertain. To the owners of the few horses still remaining in the area, a horse was worth more than almost any amount of paper money. Besides, we could see that even those few fortunate refugees who had horses had the greatest difficulty keeping them moving in the mud. Many animals were collapsing on the roads, weakened from lack of fodder and from being forced to pull enormous loads day after day.
Nor was there any clear escape route to follow. The Germans were approaching from three directions, leaving open only the east, toward the Russian border, and the southeast, toward Rumania. The Russians were very unpredictable, and there was no telling whether they would open their borders to refugees. Certainly we couldnât count on any compassion from Stalinâwe knew all too well how many millions of innocent people had been deported to Siberia, and how cold-bloodedly he had murdered most of his closest associates. Rumania was more likely to open its borders, but it was much farther away. The speed of the German advance and the slow pace ofmovement through muddy roads with horse and wagon meant that our chance of reaching the border before the Germans overtook us was almost nonexistent.
Both options were risky, but time was running out and we had to make up our minds. In the end we decided to join the tens of thousands of refugees. Father went all over Hrubieszów looking for a horse to buy, but found that even his Polish so-called friends who still had several horses were unwilling to sell him one. Eventually he managed to buy a horse from a peasant whom he had helped many times before the war, but not before the man demanded and received in gold coins much more than the horse was worth. We decided to head east, toward Russia. The Soviet border was nearer, and time was running out.
On the morning of September 15 we loaded the wagon with a few belongings, mainly food and clothing. Having seen so many refugees get stuck in the mud from overloading their wagons, we were careful not to take too much. Mother supervised the packing to make sure we didnât leave behind anything essential, such as Fatherâs asthma medicine.
We took the road to WÅodzimierz, but it soon became obvious that we were going to have trouble with our horse. We already knew that he was underfed; now we discovered that he lacked spirit as well. We walked alongside the wagon, from time to time climbing on to ride for a while. The roads were full of refugees. Fortunately it wasnât raining. Even so, the ground was muddy, but most of the traffic was moving, more or less. Our horse was capricious; from time to time he would stop without warning and look defiantly back at Father, who was holding the reins. I hated to see him whipped, but it was the only way we could get him going again.
By midday we had crossed the river Bug and stopped to eat. With all her other
A minority, of whom I was one, had a sense of much more serious danger: perhaps great numbers of Jews would actually be killed. But these forebodings were not clearly defined, and no one certainly, seriously considered the possibility of mass killings that would include old people, women, and children. Most of us believed too that, however harsh, the occupation would be brief; perhaps a few weeks would be enough for the Allies decisively to defeat Hitler.
But attempting to escape presented many problems as well. In the first place, transportation was virtually unobtainable. The Polish army had requisitioned all the horses. In defiance of the orders the peasants had kept some, but they were unwilling to sell any because the future of the Polish zÅoty was so uncertain. To the owners of the few horses still remaining in the area, a horse was worth more than almost any amount of paper money. Besides, we could see that even those few fortunate refugees who had horses had the greatest difficulty keeping them moving in the mud. Many animals were collapsing on the roads, weakened from lack of fodder and from being forced to pull enormous loads day after day.
Nor was there any clear escape route to follow. The Germans were approaching from three directions, leaving open only the east, toward the Russian border, and the southeast, toward Rumania. The Russians were very unpredictable, and there was no telling whether they would open their borders to refugees. Certainly we couldnât count on any compassion from Stalinâwe knew all too well how many millions of innocent people had been deported to Siberia, and how cold-bloodedly he had murdered most of his closest associates. Rumania was more likely to open its borders, but it was much farther away. The speed of the German advance and the slow pace ofmovement through muddy roads with horse and wagon meant that our chance of reaching the border before the Germans overtook us was almost nonexistent.
Both options were risky, but time was running out and we had to make up our minds. In the end we decided to join the tens of thousands of refugees. Father went all over Hrubieszów looking for a horse to buy, but found that even his Polish so-called friends who still had several horses were unwilling to sell him one. Eventually he managed to buy a horse from a peasant whom he had helped many times before the war, but not before the man demanded and received in gold coins much more than the horse was worth. We decided to head east, toward Russia. The Soviet border was nearer, and time was running out.
On the morning of September 15 we loaded the wagon with a few belongings, mainly food and clothing. Having seen so many refugees get stuck in the mud from overloading their wagons, we were careful not to take too much. Mother supervised the packing to make sure we didnât leave behind anything essential, such as Fatherâs asthma medicine.
We took the road to WÅodzimierz, but it soon became obvious that we were going to have trouble with our horse. We already knew that he was underfed; now we discovered that he lacked spirit as well. We walked alongside the wagon, from time to time climbing on to ride for a while. The roads were full of refugees. Fortunately it wasnât raining. Even so, the ground was muddy, but most of the traffic was moving, more or less. Our horse was capricious; from time to time he would stop without warning and look defiantly back at Father, who was holding the reins. I hated to see him whipped, but it was the only way we could get him going again.
By midday we had crossed the river Bug and stopped to eat. With all her other
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