Ivan and Sol were still talking about the fire, which would indeed continue in Kiev for almost three weeks when Sosha interrupted. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to rest a while?"
"No, I feel quite strong. It is good to be out of that little room," Solomon said, "good to be alive." Sol fell silent a moment, wondering, then added, "But why me? All those others-why only me?"
Sosha refilled the tea glasses. "Are you sure you want to continue?"
"Yes, I feel I must tell it."
"When did the Germans single out the Jews?" Ivan asked.
"It was September 28th that the notice was posted. The Germans placed it all over Kiev. Its message spread like the plague. Little did we realize then that it would be far more deadly. Those who didn't see it themselves soon heard about it."
"What did it say?" Ivan prompted.
"As I recall, it said, 'All Yids living in or about the city of Kiev or in its vicinity, are to report no later than eight o'clock on the morning of Monday, September 29th, 1941, at the intersection of Melinkovsky and Dokturov. You are to have with you all documents, money, valuables. Bring warm clothing, changes of underwear. Any Yid not following this demand or who is discovered elsewhere, will be shot. Any civilian entering dwellings evacuated by Yids or looting their property will be shot.'
"Actually, the Germans had misspelled the names of both streets. They were supposed to be Melnikov and Deztyarev-but the message got across. The appointed location was near the old Jewish cemetery. The next morning, the intersection was a mass of humanity. Most people arrived very early. If they were to be deported, better to get there early and get a good seat on the train. Most of us expected we would go by train because the location was so near the freight yards, which would make loading easier.
"Some of us were very upset, assuming we were being deported because of the explosions of the Kreshchatik. Everyone knew that the partisans and the N.K.V.D. had planted those explosives in the basements of the buildings before the Germans arrived. Now, as usual, the Jews were being blamed. To be deported for acts of the Bolsheviks! But there was no arguing with the Germans.
"There was much speculation among us. The message had said to bring warm clothes. Did that mean a cold climate? It dispelled the hopes of some that we would be sent to Palestine-which most considered wishful thinking, at best. But that was just a rumor the Germans spread. How long would the train ride be? It did say to bring a change of underclothes. Why not more belongings? Well, obviously they couldn't expect to take all the belongings of a hundred thousand Jews. First they would move out the people, then the belongings. Besides, what did the Jews have worth taking? Most were poor as mice-in fact, mice lived better. The Germans allowed us to take what money and valuables we could carry. And it put many Jewish minds at ease that the Germans were not allowing homes to be looted. Of course, there were always the pessimists who assumed the Germans planned to loot the homes themselves."
They finished eating. Sosha suggested they continue their talk outdoors. "You need to get some sun and fresh air, Sol. Let's continue this outside." Before she left the hut, she picked up a comb and scissors and a small sheet.
Solomon shielded his eyes from the bright sun. He hadn't realized how dim the light in the two-room home had been. The main room was a living room, a dining room and a kitchen too. The cooking was done at a large fireplace which also served to heat the entire house. There was only one window and the outside door to the room. The other doorway in the room led to the bedroom, which was separated only by a curtain. It was a typical farm home in the Ukraine. Outside, near the back door, which provided an escape from the bedroom was the outhouse. The back door was an unusual feature, added by the Jew who had lived there before Ivan who feared for the lives of his family.
Ivan sat down on a tree stump and Sol on a bench next to it, tea glass in hand. Sosha laid the scissors, comb and sheet on the bench next to Sol and returned to the hut. A moment later, she came back out with the tray of cheese and bread and the chinik or teapot. Once more, she filled all the glasses, then wrapped the sheet around Ivan and began to cut his hair.
Sol went on with his story.
"We lived in the Podol-the poor, ghetto area of Kiev. It was early, still dark out when the noise of the first Jews to leave their homes woke us. It upset my mother. She was afraid all the seats would be taken-that our family might be separated. People who came late could not hope to be seated together, she told us. She rushed us along, my brothers, my sister, papa, grandpa and me." Suddenly Solomon broke down sobbing.
Sosha handed her comb and scissors to Ivan and tried to comfort Sol. "Please, why don't you rest a while? You needn't go into any more..."
"No, I want to go on. I have to tell it all. You must know what these Germans are really like." He gulped down more tea, hoping it would wash down the lump that had risen in his throat. His glass emptied, Sosha picked up the chinik and poured the glass full again.
"Each of us carried a bundle we'd made up the night before. There was nothing of any value left behind-and nothing of any real value we took with us. We had only sentimental treasures with us. We certainly had no savings or jewels. All that we earned went to feeding our large family. We wore most of our clothing. Our furniture, the Germans or looters could have. Our home, I realized as we left it, had only been what our family made it. I mean, without us it was a terrible run down shack. When we walked out of it only an empty shell remained. I'd never seen it as the hovel it was. We all felt that if we could stay together..." he had to swallow hard to keep on, "...we could make as fine a home wherever they sent us." He paused and wiped an eye. "Except for me, they are all together now." There was a pause as Solomon sobbed again. Sosha, too, was silently crying. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I feel compelled to go on."
Ivan put his arm around Sosha. His left hand, in a gesture disguised to look like scratching, wiped away moisture beneath his left eye.
"The streets were terribly crowded. Everyone headed toward the designated intersection, slowly, because of the congestion. Not all were Jews. Many were just curious citizens. Others were neighbors and friends helping us carry our belongings. Some had their things piled high on wagons or pushcarts that jammed up the streets even more. There was no hope of reaching the corner by eight o'clock. Our only concern was to stay together. We selected points along the way where we'd wait for anyone who accidentally got separated.
"From the Podol, we had to cross the Dnieper. It was half past eight before we arrived at the bridge. After crossing the river, the crowd became even more impossible. There were often such bottlenecks that we couldn't move at all. Frequently, we just sat down on our bundles, waiting for the crowd to move on. Sometimes, it took thirty minutes or more. A hundred thousand people are a lot of people to move out. It occurred to us that there would be no way that all of us could be loaded on trains that day. We tried to think what other ways we could be moved, trucks? Walking in procession? We were perplexed. Others sat down, too. Many, out of frustration, ate food they had packed for the trip.
"The torment of deportation deepened and was made more terrifying by the acts of some of the citizens who came to see us off. What Jew has not been stung by the barbs of anti-Semitism? But that day! That day the bigots had no inhibitions. They spat on us from balconies. I saw several people empty chamber pots on the procession below their windows. Rotten vegetables, stones, bottles-insults, laughter-all plunged down on the stream of Jews. Now and then someone would dart into the crowd, grab an elderly or weak Jew's bundle and run off with it. At first, other Jews would tried to stop the thief, but the Germans stationed all along the route soon brought that to a halt. The pursuers were struck down with gun butts.
"It was late in the afternoon before we got to the appointed spot. A barrier had been placed at Melinkov Street and a number of Ukrainian police and German soldiers stood about to see that all traffic passed the barrier in only one direction. They didn't seem to care who went beyond the barrier, but they checked everyone w
ho tried to come back. To come back, papers had to be in order. You had to have proof that you were not Jewish. All the Jews had their papers, as instructed by the Germans. But many of the other Kievites didn't carry theirs. Those who couldn't prove they weren't Jewish were detained. Non-Jewish men, of course, could show they were uncircumcised and were passed back through. Women had a more difficult problem."
Sosha blushed.
"I'm sorry," Solomon realized, "I shouldn't have been so blunt..."
"Don't be silly. You forget, I've raised a son and Ivan's no saint. Tell your story however you must."
"I guess there's no delicate way to tell it." He paused. "It only gets worse."
"Dusk came and we were stopped at the barrier. 'That is all for today,' a German officer shouted. 'The rest of you will be put on tomorrow's trains.' 'Does that mean we have to go back to home and start all over again tomorrow?' my mother asked papa, but before he could say anything the German officer went on. 'All you Jews will remain here, in the street, until we start again in the morning!' A mummer passed through the crowd. 'Here, in the street?' someone yelled to the officer. 'I am not used to repeating myself,' the officer shouted back to the crowd. 'You will all remain where you are until morning. Anyone trying to leave will be shot on the spot! This is your only warning! I suggest you make yourselves as comfortable as possible.'
"The streets were cordoned off and we spent the night there on the roads-thousands of us-guarded by hundreds of Germans and Ukrainians with dogs, clubs and machine guns.
"The night was cold and sleep was impossible. All night long dogs attacked those who tried to escape. Shots rang out all along the road, throughout the night. There was no way out-no way to resist. Old folks moaned-children cried. We shivered from the cold-and with fear, too.
"At dawn, the procession started again. We passed the old Jewish cemetery. Many of us wanted to stop and bid goodbye to the graves of our loved ones, but a German soldier blocked the gate, which was closed off with barbed wire. So, as we passed the long brick wall of the cemetery many stopped to pray. A last Kaddish, our prayer for the dead. The elderly knew they would probably never return to Kiev. 'Who will visit the graves? Who will care for them?' my grandfather moaned. 'We cannot even say goodbye. My children, promise me you'll return and visit the graves. Tell my dear Sara that I wanted to say goodbye. Tell her they would not let us.' He cried as I had never seen him cry before. Even when his Sara, my grand-mama, died, I did not see him cry as he did that day. Now they are together...
"He leaned against the brick wall and started to pray. 'Move on, you old Yid!' a German soldier shouted, giving him a shove that knocked him down.
"'You German bastard!' my oldest brother shouted, lunging between the soldier and grandpa. 'Keep your filthy hands off him. I'll teach...' He was felled by a blow from a club wielding Ukrainian. The German and the Ukrainian laughed. 'That'll teach the Jews a little respect,' the German said and walked away.
"My mother and father jumped to my brother's side. We all thought he was dead. He lay there, the back of his head bleeding. Grandpa stood up, too stunned to know what had happened. We had to struggle to contain my other brother from going after the German.
"Finally my fallen brother moaned and moved his head. 'He's alive!' my mama exclaimed. 'Oh, thank God, he's alive!' She took a handkerchief and pressed it over his wound. He hadn't fully come back to his senses when another German came along and herded us on. My brother and I had to half-carry him along, at first. Then enough strength for walking came back, though we had to guide him. He was dizzy and sick to his stomach.
"In the excitement, my sister had her bundle snatched. We looked about and saw a Ukrainian woman running with it toward the barricade. We had no hope of getting to her through the crowd. As she ran, a German soldier grabbed her. He demanded her papers, I suppose, for there was much animated conversation between the two. Apparently she had none with her. Carrying the bundle, she was even more suspect. A German officer was called over, but he didn't seem to believe her either. Finally she was dragged back into the crowd, swearing and shouting until one guard slapped her hard across the face. There was still no chance to get to her through the crowd, but we tried to keep an eye on her, hoping for a chance later.
"The crowd moved faster now. There was less noise and talking-more Germans stood about, aiming us in one direction. We assumed we were nearing the train. We wanted very much to get on board-to put all this behind us. Then perhaps we could rest. Mama could attend to my brother's injury. We could eat a little of the food we'd been saving. Though hungry and exhausted, we were happy we'd stayed together.
"But now, that there was less noise we could hear gunfire in the distance-machine gunfire. Not continuous gunfire interspersed with explosions, like in battle. It was intermittent, at almost regular intervals. There were perhaps twenty seconds of shooting, followed by a few minutes of silence, then another twenty seconds of firing. As we moved the gunfire got louder. We became nervous. 'It's just maneuvers,' the Germans told us. 'We are having troop maneuvers further up in the ravine. You need not be concerned about it. It's only a training exercise.' And we believed them. What else could it be?
"After we'd gone-I don't know how far-the crowd started to slow. And then we stopped. We stood for a few minutes then moved on again and stopped again and then moved on again. 'They're taking us a train car load at a time,' someone said. It made sense. And it excited us to know we were near the end of this-hardship. The rails were just ahead around the bend. We still could not see the train, but neither could we see the front of the crowd.
"We continued to move and stop, move and stop.
"At last, we came to a spot where the number of Germans nearly tripled. There was a bend we couldn't see around, where we'd have to go. We moved again and this time a German stopped us, letting the group ahead of us disappear around the bend.
"Germans and Ukrainians passed among us. They tried to take our coats, jackets, sweaters, our bundles. 'We will return them to you on the train... You must board quickly. These things will slow down the process. Give them to us now; you will get them back on the train.' At first, some people resisted-they were beaten until they relented. After the first few beatings, we realized it was stupid to resist. For most of us there was little in those bundles to fight for. What would the Germans want with them anyway? We probably would get them back. We had no choice anyway.
"They told us to move on. It was chilly now. The long late afternoon shadows fell over us. A brisk breeze had begun. Most of another day had been spent in this slow-moving mass of people. At least tonight we'd be on the train, not sleeping in the open.
As we approached the bend the breeze grew stronger, bringing with it the measured sound of the intermittent gunfire. The sound was much louder now. And then we heard music being played loudly over speakers, coming from around the bend.
5
The Gauntlet...
Solomon's voice lowered. He was silent. He put his head in his hands, closing his eyes. A very low moan came from his throat. He shook with sobs. Then he cried openly. Sosha came to his side and put her arms about him, pulling his head to her chest. "Please, Solomon, rest now. Don't try to go on."
Sol couldn't stop crying. Sosha sat with him for a long time. At last, she released her embrace. He wiped his wet face on the sleeves of his shirt.
"Please, Solomon, don't try to go on," she repeated.
"I must," Sol flatly insisted. "I must tell it all now!" He took a long drink from a fresh glass of tea Ivan handed him, wiped his eyes once again and cleared his throat.
"As we rounded the bend, we saw that there were even more Germans, Ukrainians also. Just ahead of us-a corridor formed by soldiers-perhaps two meters wide, through which we'd have to pass. As we entered the narrow passage, we saw Germans with dogs on short leashes, about every ten meters, on both sides. Between them, the rest of the soldiers and Ukrainian police-they had clubs, whips and some German officers held pistols in their hands. We
had to pass between them. There was no way out, nowhere else to go. No way out! They made us pass over the empty tracks into the narrow corridor. Now the music was very loud.
"When we were into the gauntlet, we were made to run. 'Run, you Jews!' came the command. 'Run! Show us how fast you Yids can run!' Whips and clubs came down on us. We were stunned-but we ran. My God, we ran. Children-elderly-women-we all ran to stay ahead of the blows. The whips hissed through the air and tore at our flesh. Clubs crashed down. The screams and cries pierced the ears and all the while they yelled commands at us-laughed at us. And the music kept our cries from those who would follow soon.
"Many fell. One would fall under a blow or slip on the sandy ground, toppling others who would trip over him. The dogs were set on those who went down. Many couldn't get up and the dogs ripped at them, ripped them open. There was blood on everyone.
"We ran as hard as we could. Some were trampled to death, I think-small children and the old. Some parents carried their children through. We tried to pick up separated children as we ran, but they beat anyone who tried to help. It was impossible.
"A few tried to break out. They were shot in the attempt. By the time we were a few meters into the corridor most of us were dazed. The run seemed endless. Once I tried to look back. It was horrible. Bodies lay the entire length. Dogs biting, whipping, clubbing, shooting, I think a third of us never got through.
"I don't know how long that corridor was, but at the far end we stumbled into a large clearing. Stunned beyond pain-and worse, beyond any chance for resistance-we stood in that clearing, bewildered, bleeding, uncomprehending-like cattle.
The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII Page 3
