In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer

by Irene Gut Opdyke

  The grating was out in a matter of seconds, and Lazar boosted Thomas up into the opening. The duct creaked with Thomas’ weight as he snaked his way inward on his elbows.

  “Is there room for all?” Lazar asked.

  Thomas jackknifed around and stuck his head back out. “Yes, just barely. I think it will take our weight.”

  “I'll get the others,” I whispered.

  I dared bring only one at a time. One by one, I led them across the compound, our hearts banging with fear whenever we heard a noise from the street, or a branch tap against a window. Ida stumbled going up the last flight of stairs, but I hauled her up and we ran the last few yards to the major's bathroom.

  “Use the toilet before you get in,” her husband warned her. “We'll be up there for a long time.”

  I hurried away to bring Steiner, the last. The six of them debated among themselves the best way to distribute themselves along the length of the duct. Certain spots seemed to creak more than others, and I brought pillows and blankets from my room to dampen the noise. Finally, I brought up food and some bottles of water—enough to last them through the following day.

  “The major will probably be very drunk when he gets back, and he's hard of hearing anyway,” I said, peering into the darkened vent. “But even so, don't allow yourselves to fall asleep—you might make some noise.”

  “Don't worry—no one could sleep in here,” Fanka said with a quavery laugh.

  It was midnight when I replaced the grating and tiptoed downstairs. I was sweating, and my legs and hands quivered with nerves and adrenaline, but I had one last chore. I returned to the laundry room and tried to make the space behind the shelves look less like a hiding place and more like a closet: I put mops and a bucket inside, and a box of spare parts for the pressing machine. I didn't think it looked very convincing, but at least there was no trace that anyone had been there. At last, close to one o'clock, I staggered to my room and collapsed.

  But I did not close my eyes. I lay staring up at the darkness, where my eyes showed me phantoms and fantasies— terrible visions called up from the last few years, and dreadful thoughts of what could happen to my friends. After an hour of that, I was nearly beside myself. Then I heard the sounds of people returning.

  I tiptoed to my door and listened. Men's voices, women's voices—they were all drunk and clumsy, bumping into things and shushing each other with muffled screams of laughter, just as though they were teenagers sneaking back home from a kissing party. This went on for quite a while, and just when I thought everyone was settled there would be another burst of noise—a snatch of song, a curse, a slamming door. The periods of quiet grew longer, the interruptions less frequent. At last, the hotel slept.

  And finally, so did I.

  I was awakened by gunfire and explosions. I sat bolt upright in bed, looking around in confusion. When I moved to the window and nudged aside the blackout curtain, I was greeted by the dull clap of detonation. Rokita's men were doing their work, the final Aktion in Ternopol. I could not keep the tears from coming. They spilled onto the front of my dress as I tied my apron around my waist.

  Schulz was already in the kitchen when I arrived, wide-eyed and shaking. He handed me a cup of coffee and put one arm across my shoulders. “Irene, the pogrom will be over soon. You must compose yourself.”

  Through the window, we could see smoke billowing up beyond the roof of the factory, from the direction of the ghetto. Behind us, the door opened and the major came in, pale and sick-looking.

  “Schulz, something for a hangover,” he said, groping for a chair. He sat down, and with each explosion and burst of gunfire, his shoulders jerked. He was muttering to himself. “Stupid, stupid war.”

  In the dining room, the officers and secretaries were making their late appearance. Hardly anyone spoke, and when they did, it was with a sour, wincing irritableness. The entire German staff of HKP was hungover and in foul spirits. Beyond these walls, people were dying, but the officers and secretaries cared only that the noise hurt their heads, and that work would be hard enough today without disruptions from the SS. It was all I could do to serve those people breakfast, all the time knowing that my friends must be hearing the same terrible sounds I heard, and wondering about friends and relatives who had not escaped.

  Finally, all the late arrivals had dragged themselves off to work. I was desperate to get to the major's suite and check on my friends. The moment the door shut behind the last straggler, I raced upstairs. The bathroom door was wide open, and I hurried inside, shutting it behind me. Just as I was about to open my mouth to speak, the door opened again.

  I whirled around. A young SS trooper stood with his hand on the doorknob. He was turning pink with embarrassment at bursting in on me in the bathroom.

  “Forgive me, Fräulein. I beg your pardon,” he stammered.

  My entire body had gone icy cold. “What are you doing here?”

  “I—we have orders—” He pulled himself together before I did. “What are you doing here?”

  “I'm Major Rügemer's housekeeper, and I'm about to clean his suite. You are in the major's bathroom. Will you please excuse me?”

  “Of course, Fräulein.”

  Looking quite sheepish, he turned and let himself out. Obviously, he did not expect to find any Jews hiding in the major's bathroom. If he had taken even a moment to look around, he would have spotted the vent. And he would have seen the shadowy form of Ida Haller, sitting cross-legged behind the screen.

  I closed and locked the door, and drew a shaky breath.

  “Irene!” Ida whispered. “You must turn us in. This is too dangerous for you.”

  “No! Just wait. I'll let you have a break when I know the SS are gone. Don't do anything until I get back!”

  I fumbled open the lock and slipped out the door, refusing to argue with them for their lives. I hurried back to my duties while the SS continued to search HKP. I was as conscious of their presence as a quail who knows a fox is nearby. My skin prickled with their movements around the hotel. By late morning, they had finished at the plant and gone away in their trucks, but detonations and gunfire from surrounding areas of Ternopol continued to break on the summer air all day.

  As soon as the SS had left the factory complex, I had snuck upstairs to give my friends a chance to stretch their legs and use the toilet. Then I ordered them into the vent again, ignoring their pleas to stop endangering my own life for theirs. I told them it was impossible, what they were suggesting, and that I would not hear of it. I shoved the screen back in place and left them still arguing with me in urgent whispers.

  After lunch, I went to the villa on foot. The tenants were just leaving as I arrived; they cursed at me and called me a whore of the Germans. I stood silently aside to let them pass me; the lives of my friends were more important than my own wounded feelings. I prayed silently for them to hurry up, to leave, to turn the corner of the street and be gone, never to come back.

  And then the house was mine. Perhaps the major thought it was to be his house, but I knew better. The house was mine, my treasure box, my sword, my hen house. I turned around and around in the front hall, owning the moldings around the door frames, owning the chandelier over the staircase, owning the door to the basement.

  I opened that door and went downstairs, taking the time to examine the space more thoroughly. As servants’ quarters, the basement rooms were outfitted with everything necessary—two bedrooms, a kitchenette, a bathroom, closets. All the windows up by the ceiling, windows at ground level, were covered with dark cardboard for the Verdunklung, the blackouts. No one could see into the basement from the outside. No light would show. I felt a surge of elation as I went into the furnace room and opened the coal chute. For a moment, as I stood clapping coal dust from my hands, I had a picture of my friends sliding down the chute like children in a playground. I even pictured myself, like a proud mother, catching them in my arms and setting them safely on the ground, while a blue sky embraced us from above. />
  Then the sunny picture faded, and I was left with one more question: How was I going to get them out of the major's bathroom and out of HKP?

  I would need a key. The street entrance of the hotel was not guarded, and was well out of sight of the guardhouse at the main gate. But the door was always locked at night, for fear of sabotage or murder by the locals, I suppose, or of unauthorized late-night rendezvous. All through dinner preparations I tried to think of ways to get the major's keys, trying out first one then another story to explain why I needed them. In the end, though, I decided simply to steal the keys.

  Everyone on staff was still suffering from the effects of their party the night before. The dining room was quiet during dinner. Voices were subdued, and barely a laugh rose above the sullen murmur. People tried to handle their forks and knives carefully to avoid clattering, and many officers and secretaries excused themselves early. There was little billiard playing or after-dinner drinking.

  I went to the major's table, where he sat alone, nursing a glass of wine and looking down at his uneaten dinner.

  “Can I get you anything, Herr Major?” I asked.

  He looked up at me, his glasses catching the light in such a way as to obscure his eyes; he regarded me with a round, blank stare.

  “I think perhaps I will take a glass of warm milk with me to bed, Irene. And I'll take something to help me sleep. This has been a terrible day.”

  I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice as I began clearing his dishes. “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Herr Major. I'll be happy to bring some milk to your room right away.”

  He pushed himself away from the table. “Good. And tomorrow I will send some men to paint inside the house. If you could just watch over them, see that they do the job properly…”

  “Of course.”

  I practically hauled him to his feet and shoved him out of the dining room, so anxious was I to see him in bed and unconscious. At the bottom of the staircase I left him and ran to the kitchen to heat the milk, and in five minutes I was knocking on his door.

  Major Rügemer took the glass from the little tray and put a small white pill on his tongue. While he gulped down the milk I glanced at his dressing table. His keys were there.

  He handed back the empty glass. “Thank you, Irene. Good night.”

  “Sleep well, Herr Major,” I said as he turned away.

  “Hmm? What's that?”

  I smiled and raised my voice. “Good night, Herr Major!”

  I left the door slightly ajar and hurried back downstairs. Now, for the second night in a row, I had to keep my vigil, waiting for the hotel to fall asleep. I sat on the edge of my bed, not daring to lie down while I waited, for in spite of my state of nervous anxiety, I was as weary as if I'd been juggling bricks all day. So I sat, staring out my open door into the hallway, listening to the sounds that came further and further apart. At last, the place was still. I kicked my shoes off and tiptoed up to the third floor.

  At the door to the major's bedroom I stopped to listen; from within came a labored snoring. I remembered the sensation of waiting in the wings offstage in high school, then taking a deep breath and walking out into the lights. There was the same fluttering in my stomach, the same twitch of muscles between my shoulder blades as I straightened my back. And so, I took a deep breath and went in.

  The light from the hallway slanted in across the room and illuminated the dressing table. I gave a quick glance to the bed, which was in shadow. The major snored on. I closed my hand over the bulky set of keys to keep them from jingling, and then backed out, locking the door behind me. I don't know what I was thinking, for if the major had woken and tried to leave his room, he would have raised a commotion. But I could not have him walk into the bathroom until I'd gotten my friends out.

  They were stiff, cramped, and tired. One at a time they lowered themselves from the air duct and stood rubbing their aching muscles. Fanka swung her arms in circles to get the blood moving, and Steiner's back let out a crack as he stretched himself.

  “Let's hurry,” I said, opening the door to peek out. I waved them after me, and we went single file down the staircase as fast as their stiff legs would allow. They stood behind me, watching anxiously, while I found the right key from the ring in my hands; then I had the street door open, and they were stepping out into the fresh night air.

  “You know the address,” I whispered. “Go through the coal chute on the left side of the house and wait for me in the basement. I'll be over first thing in the morning. Go! Stay in the shadows, and God bless you.”

  In a moment, they had disappeared into the darkness. I locked the door again, returned the keys to the major's room, and then threw myself onto my own bed, telling myself that they would make it. I did not allow myself to imagine otherwise.

  Before I fell asleep, I felt a surge of triumph: Rokita thought Ternopol was judenrein tonight, that his Aktions had rid the city of Jews once and for all. But I had taken action myself. There were at least six Jews left in town. As long as I could help it, Ternopol would never be judenrein.

  The Villa

  The instant I was able to get away after breakfast, I walked to the villa as quickly as I could—quickly enough to put a stitch in my side and to break a sweat in the heat. I unlocked the door and burst inside, dreading the sound of painters bumping ladders against the furniture. But it was silent. I was in time—assuming that my friends were indeed waiting in the basement. The smell of cabbage and potatoes lingered in the air.

  Almost fearing what I might find, I opened the basement door and clattered down the stairs, my shoes making a racket on the wooden steps. “Hoo-ee! It's Irene!” I called out.

  The first room was empty. Trying not to worry, I opened the door to the furnace room, praying to find my six friends— and Henry Weinbaum. The door creaked as it swung open into the gloom, and I called out again.

  “It's Irene!”

  There was an almost audible sigh of relief. One by one, figures emerged from the shadows: Ida, Lazar, Clara, Thomas, Fanka, Moses Steiner, and a young, handsome fellow I took to be Henry Weinbaum. I shook hands with them all silently, suddenly overcome with emotion. They were all there; they were safe and alive. And then, to my surprise, I found three strangers, who greeted me with an odd mixture of sheepishness and defiance.

  “I'm Joseph Weiss,” the eldest of the three said. “And this is Marian Wilner and Alex Rosen. Henry told us.”

  For a moment I was at a loss. I had ten lives in my hands now! But there wasn't time for lengthy introductions. The soldiers from the plant were due any minute to start painting.

  “Hurry, everyone,” I said. “You'll have to stay in the attic until the house is painted. I'll check on you as often as I can. I don't need to tell you not to make any noise at all.”

  This was met with grim nods all around. Then we made our way upstairs. The attic was musty; dust swirled in a shaft of light from the high window, and the air smelled of mouse droppings. “Shoes off,” I said. “Don't walk around unless you absolutely must.”

  I locked them in just as trucks ground to a halt out on the street.

  I kicked the basement door shut on my way to let in the soldiers, and then unlocked the front door.

  “This way,” I said, stepping aside to usher them in with their painting equipment and drop cloths. When I glanced outside, I saw the major climbing out of a car.

  “Guten Tag, Irene,” he called cheerily.

  I bobbed my head. “Herr Major.”

  “This is splendid,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he came inside. “I'll move in in a week or so, when all the painting and repairs are finished, but in the meantime, I'd like you to move in right away, so that you can oversee things. Don't worry about your duties at the hotel—if you can serve dinner, Schulz can manage without you the rest of the time.”

  As he spoke, Major Rügemer strolled back and forth across the hallway, glancing into the rooms and nodding his approval. His footsteps echoed off
the walls, and he muttered, “Ja, ja, ausgezeichnet,” under his breath. Then, when another truckload of soldiers arrived, he went outside to meet them and show them around the garden: There were renovations to be made on the grounds, as well. I stood at the dining room window, watching him point out the gazebo and indicate which shrubs and trees should be removed and where new ones should be planted. Behind me, I could hear the painters beginning to shove furniture across the floors, exchanging jokes and commenting on the weather and the sour cabbagey smell left behind by the previous tenants. I heard one of them say “…the major's girlfriend.”

  I gritted my teeth and prepared to spend the day keeping the soldiers away from the attic.

  For the next few days, while the soldiers swarmed around the villa—painting, repairing, replanting—I contrived to smuggle food upstairs to the attic. I took fruit and cheese, cold tea, bread and nuts. I also took up two buckets to use for toilets. The attic was stuffy with the heat of summer, but we were reluctant to open the one window high on the wall. The fugitives had accustomed themselves to much more discomfort than this. They were willing to sit in the stifling heat, not speaking, just waiting. At night, when the workmen were gone and I had returned from the hotel, I was able to give my friends some minutes of liberty. They used the bathroom, stretched their legs, and bathed their sweating faces with cool water. But we did not turn on any lights, and we were still as silent as ghosts.

  It wasn't long before the servants’ quarters had been completely refurbished; I had seen to that. Telling the workmen that the major had ordered the work to be done from bottom to top, I directed them to start with the basement. Then, when it was finished, I waited until dark and triumphantly escorted my friends to their new quarters, fresh with the smell of sawdust and new paint instead of old cooking.

  It was the start of a new way of life for all of us. Several of the men, being handy and intelligent, were able to rig up a warning system. A button was installed in the floor of the front entry foyer, under a faded rug. From it, a wire led to a light in the basement, which would flicker on and off when I stepped on the button. I kept the front door locked at all times, and when I went to see who might be knocking, I had ample opportunity to signal to the people in the basement. One flash would warn them to stand by for more news. Two flashes meant to be very careful, and constant flashing meant danger—hide immediately. We had also found the villa's rumored hiding place: A tunnel led from behind the furnace to a bunker underneath the gazebo. If there was serious danger, everyone could instantly scramble into the hole and wait for me to give them the all clear. The cellar was kept clear of any signs of occupation. Once the men had killed all the rats living in the bunker under the gazebo, it could accommodate all ten people without too much discomfort.