Resistance: Jews and Christians Who Defied the Nazi Terror

by Nechama Tec

  His underground name was Dr. Twardy (which translates into “Dr. Tough”). Alexandrowicz was to come to the headquarters, where he was to be introduced to several forest commanders. At the headquarters, the pistols around the belts of the AK commanders greatly impressed Alexandrowicz. With the brief introduction behind him, one of his hosts asked him if he had any questions. “Yes,” he replied. “I am eager to know when I will receive my gun?” He was told that everyone supplied their own gun. Annoyed, Alexandrowicz replied that it was much riskier to smuggle the surgical equipment bags than a small pistol. “I came armed with that which for a physician, is most appropriate for the services he can render here. . . . Besides, the AK unit in Krakow assured me that you would provide me with a gun.”

  This brief exchange in no way improved Alexandrowicz’s chances for obtaining a weapon. Next came his transfer to the AK detachment in the forest. The Polish partisan responsible for this move warned him to be extremely cautious. A special guide took Alexandrowicz to what looked like the middle of the forest. There they came upon a horse-drawn wagon equipped with a peasant driver. This partisan asked Alexandrowicz to hop into the wagon, assuring him that he would be back in ten minutes. An hour passed. Alexandrowicz managed to take a nap. When he woke up, the driver, no doubt the owner of the horse and wagon, begged him to allow him to leave, assuring him that the others were about to come to fetch him. Feeling sorry for the peasant, the doctor consented to this man’s departure with his horse and wagon while he had stayed behind.

  Now, the doctor moved slowly around the area trying to make sure not to get lost. Soon, Alexandrowicz heard voices. “Where the hell is he?” someone asked. Another replied, “He probably changed his mind. What would you expect from a Jew, except cowardice?” This was interrupted by someone yelling, “Dr. Twardy, where are you!?” This, too, was followed by some cursing and a few derogatory assertions, that undoubtedly the doctor was a coward who must have changed his mind and escaped. They continued to call him names and curse. Convinced that these two tried to test his endurance, the doctor remained silent. Hiding behind a large tree, Alexandrowicz demanded loudly that the two should raise their hands or else he would shoot. They obeyed. The moon came out from behind the clouds and the guide who initially had brought the doctor into the forest and disappeared, recognized him. There was no point to continue the game. The Polish partisans decided that the doctor had passed the test very well. Alexandrowicz for his part told them that he would never forgive them for this prolonged and painful reception. After that, together, they moved in the direction of their partisan unit.

  For Alexandrowicz, partisan life was a strange mixture of good, bad, and everything in between. When the Polish uprising in Warsaw was about to begin, partisans were ordered to send as much reinforcement as possible. Some of them hoped for the emergence of Soviet-Polish cooperation. But the Soviet-Polish cooperation happened only sporadically and not in ways that benefited the Poles. History shows how the Polish Warsaw uprising led to tragic losses of lives and the destruction of the city, movingly described and examined by Norman Davies.28 Alexandrowicz noted how the occasional cooperative efforts between the Soviet soldiers and the Polish underground did happen, however. No matter how brief, this cooperation was on some level positive in its effects. Indeed, Alexandrowicz deplored the sporadic nature of these cooperations and blamed the leaders.29 The Warsaw uprising began with a willingness to sacrifice. It ended with grave losses and bitter disappointments.

  Still, the overwhelming sensation produced by Alexandrowicz’s life in the forest was that of freedom. “My life was in my own hands and not any more in the hands of my enemies. I felt that if I perished I would do it only by fighting and not like a helpless creature without any resources nor as those who were forcefully deprived of all freedom.”30 For most Jews, such feelings were the exception rather than the rule. Most were deprived of the freedom to perish in meaningful ways, such as by helping others. Only occasionally were they in a position to help those in need of protection. For the overwhelming majority of the Jews, their aspirations and dreams faced insurmountable obstacles.

  For example, when Zvi Shefet was accepted into the newly created Detachment 51, he was separated from his beloved family, which was placed into a special camp. Separated from them, Zvi, with a group of partisan fighters, was searching for places in the forest that would be suitable to spend the winter. While searching for such a place, Zvi and his fellow partisans were attacked by Germans. They were close to the marshes in Polesie. Soon Zvi’s group ran out of food. The Germans burned large portions of the surrounding forests. During the battles that ensued, many comrades fell, including their commander, a Jew named Fiodorowicz. He had been a brave fighter. Reduced to forty-two partisans, Zvi’s unit was leaderless. Fortunately, they met another Soviet partisan group, headed by Dziadzia Vassia, which welcomed them into their detachment.

  Attacks by other partisan groups followed. Many concentrated on the destruction of family detachments. “Even early on, in 1942, a large Jewish family camp was destroyed. My family survived this raid. They perished in the next assault upon their family group, in 1943. My sister died with the rest of the family.” It was not unusual for Russian partisans to attack family camps in the forests. Initially, when Zvi had joined his fighting unit, he had been assured that their partisans would concentrate on protecting his family’s camp. These assurances were unfulfilled. It was common for anti-Semitism to trump obligations. Starting with the summer of 1943, rumors began to circulate about Jews. Some claimed that the Germans were sending Jews into the woods specifically to poison Russian partisans. Accordingly, rumors had it that the Germans were dispatching Jewish women infected with venereal diseases into the forests.31 Behind these and similar accusations were assumptions that Jews would willingly let themselves be used as agents for the destruction of the Soviet partisan movement from within.

  Such accusations met with opposition from powerful quarters. Among the staunchest supporters of the Jewish partisans was Hersh Smolar. Born in 1905 in Zambrow, a small town between Bialystok and Warsaw, Smolar was obsessed with the Soviet Union even as a young boy. He convinced himself that the USSR was free of anti-Semitism and would be an ideal place to live. I asked Smolar how he reconciled his Jewishness with his attachment to communism. He replied that at age eleven he became an organizer of a socialist youth organization—the Poale Zion. He was the youngest delegate his party ever had, and though he knew that in Poland involvement with communism was illegal he continued. His party’s code name was “Henryk.” And when he came to visit his “shtetl,” the people would call him affectionately Henryk “Shmendryk.”

  Determined to make the Soviet Union home, Smolar’s dream was thwarted. On the way he was arrested, then set free, only to try again. Eventually, at sixteen, he moved illegally to the Soviet Union. He was equally determined to work in a Jewish environment, so he relocated to Kiev, a place which had a well-established Jewish population. There Smolar immersed himself in journalism. He was particularly interested in writing for and about Jewish youths.

  When I asked why, as a devout communist, he was so deeply immersed in Jewish life, he replied that he always had been. “I was a publisher of a Jewish youth newspaper, Gwardia, in Kharkov. This was a well-known publication for youths. At that point I met a substantial number of Soviet writers. It seems that many of them had also wanted to express themselves through youthful publications.”

  During the seven years he lived in Russia, Smolar continued to expand his journalism. After that the Communist Party sent him to Poland, where being a part of the party was an offense and could lead to imprisonment. Smolar indeed ended up in a Polish prison, which is where he was when the Germans invaded. All the prison administrators and guards simply abandoned the inmates. The prisoners broke down the doors and smashed windows, saving themselves.

  On the outside these ex-prisoners faced more problems. Those who came from places other than the USSR knew that the Soviet authorit
ies would not be welcoming foreign-born prisoners. Anyone who crossed the borders into the USSR without an official permit was unwelcome in the Soviet Union. Stalin refused to accept them. Throughout his life he remained suspicious of all foreigners, and at various stages of Stalin’s rule the Russians were ready to deliver foreigners into German hands.

  A day before Germany attacked the Soviet Union, Smolar and a coworker agreed to put up copies of the famous Molotov speech, which laid out the terms of agreement between the Russians and the Germans, all over Bialystok. Somehow it did not matter that at that point Bialystok was a deserted city. An order had to be obeyed.

  At that stage, Smolar was the secretary of the association of writers for all of Western Belorussia that consisted of fifty writers, forty-six of whom were Jewish. These writers were provided with special trains to remove them to safer places. Smolar refused to avail himself of this opportunity. He and his coworker were left behind. Eventually they, too, decided to leave the deserted city. On the way they were joined by a few Polish friends. It was safer to walk in groups. They arrived in Minsk on August 1, 1941.

  In Minsk, Smolar could not find the writers who had earlier departed from Bialystok. Instead, he was confronted by German policy toward the Jews, which forced him into the newly created Minsk ghetto. Here, he devoted himself to the establishment of an underground. A gifted organizer, he was gratified that by the end of August 1941, he had established the first Jewish underground in the Minsk ghetto. When I asked him what political parties were involved in establishing this underground, he assured me that the ghetto inmates were not interested in politics. Most were simply eager to enhance their military skills.

  According to Smolar, the goals of the underground emerged only gradually. Initially it had concentrated on saving as many Jewish lives as possible, particularly the lives of children. Only secondarily were they interested in fighting the enemy. The organizations concentrated on destroying everything that was of value to the Germans, and this meant anything that might interfere with the promotion of Nazi goals, especially the annihilation of the Jews. The Minsk ghetto underground had identified itself as an urban partisan group.

  In Western Belorussia, most ghettos lasted only for a short time. The Minsk ghetto was an exception. Smolar is convinced that the presence of skilled labor was responsible for the prolonged existence of the Minsk ghetto. The Germans relied on this labor and temporarily protected the inmates. Smolar lived in the ghetto until July 1942,32 which coincided with the time of the big Aktion. There was nothing he could do to help. His enforced invisibility in the Minsk ghetto prevented him from helping Jews. As the head of the underground, he had to be careful. A transfer to the forest promised more cover and greater safety.

  Toward the end of the summer of 1942, Smolar escaped from the ghetto. His departure was prompted by a Belorussian request that he help them create an underground in Minsk. Smolar knew that the invitation was due to his familiarity with the area, with the people, and with his fluency in several of the local languages. Smolar spent a year in the city of Minsk, helping the non-Jewish Belorussians to establish a functioning underground. Only when he was satisfied with the quality of this newly emergent resistance group did he depart for the surrounding forests. His presence in these forests was closely connected to his determination to help the neediest and most vulnerable forest dwellers: the Jewish fugitives and especially the children.

  In the forest, Smolar urged members of his underground to help him transfer Jews from the ghetto into the forests. With their help, some Jews did manage to escape from the ghetto, though perhaps not as many as the 10,000 Smolar claimed that he was responsible for transferring from Minsk.33 Initially, the underground members had no direct contacts with Russia, and they tried to work with both Jews and non-Jews. “We were responsible for the creation of an underground organization, for diverse Minsk populations. In the city, the Belorussian natives awaited orders from above. They were reluctant to act on their own.” Smolar elaborated that the man in charge of the Minsk underground was a Jew, not a Russian, as some believed. “His name was Slavek. Early on, he was caught and killed by the Gestapo. As a group the underground followed my suggestions. They themselves took no responsibility for the decisions which were being implemented. Indeed, with time, we managed to create a substantial underground both in the city of Minsk and in the forest.”

  Tuvia Bielski (figure 3.1), about whom I have written before, was a central forest figure whose efforts resulted in the survival of over 1,200 Jewish fugitives. I was fortunate to interview Tuvia in 1987, at his home in Brooklyn, two weeks before he died. This meeting brought me closer to finishing my book, Defiance: The Bielski Partisans,34 which focuses on the history of the Bielski detachment, and the largest armed rescue of Jews by Jews. I add him here because we can see in the context of other groups and individuals how extraordinary Bielski’s achievements were.

  The story began in 1943, in the Lida ghetto in Western Belorussia, which at the time was the center of Soviet partisan movements. Occasionally, it also served as a refuge for some of the Nazi victims. During the liquidation of the Lida ghetto, a woman named Hannah Rabinowicz was forcefully separated from her husband. He told her that she and the baby must survive: “Save yourself, run!”

  FIGURE 3.1 Tuvia Bielski, Commander of the Bielski partisan unit. (Courtesy Yad Vashem)

  Not quite sure how, with an infant daughter in her arms, Hannah soon found herself on a deserted country road heading toward a farm owned by a Belorussian friend. Avoiding people, she walked, hardly stopping for a rest. Only when the day was coming to an end did she knock at the familiar hut of a Belorussian woman. Though glad to see this mother and child, the woman was scared. Had anyone seen them enter the hut? If neighbors had caught sight of these newcomers, denouncement and death would follow. The entire host family would be executed. This was the German law.

  Indeed, early next morning a sympathetic neighbor sounded the alarm. There was talk among the villagers that Jewish fugitives were hiding on this farm. Someone was likely to report this to the authorities. Hannah and the baby had to move on.

  On leaving the village, Hannah stayed close to the edge of the woods. From time to time, she would enter a peasant’s hut to ask for food and shelter. Some people fed her and let her rest a while. Others were afraid to let her in. Still others angrily chased her away. None wanted to let her stay. Those who had shown some compassion advised her to go deep into the forest and search for the Bielski partisans, a Jewish group, which they knew would take her in. But, no one could tell her their exact location.

  Hannah continued to walk in the forest, heading toward an unknown destination. At night the branches offered only a semblance of warmth. Cold prevented sleep from coming and deprived her of the much needed rest. Soon the little food she had was gone. Unaccustomed to these woods, Hannah had a hard time finding nourishment. Neither the berries and mushrooms she had managed to collect nor the dew from the leaves could possibly satisfy her hunger and thirst. The baby was quiet. Perhaps she was too weak to cry. She continued to suck on her mother’s dry breasts.

  Hannah lost track of time, distinguishing only between night and day. Her early resolve to stay alive was slowly evaporating. Death, she began to think, might be the only solution. But, even to die she needed help. There was no one around and Hannah had no idea how she could get out of this place. Exhausted, dejected, she would spend more and more time leaning against a tree, listening, hoping, and dreading at the same time. During one of these rest periods, her ears registered the sound of breaking branches, then the rustling of leaves. These sounds were followed by a voice: “Who is there? Don’t move. If you do I will shoot!” Spoken in Russian, the words had a familiar tone. Could the voice belong to a Jew? Without bothering to answer her own question, Hannah heard herself saying in Yiddish, “I am Hannah Rabinowicz from Lida. I escaped during an Aktion with my baby.” A reassuring answer came, also in Yiddish. “I am here to help you, don’t be afraid.” S
oon Hannah faced a man, who turned out to be an acquaintance from Lida. He was followed by another man, a stranger. Both carried rifles. They introduced themselves as Bielski partisans, scouts, on a mission to find Jews.

  Hannah had a hard time grasping what it was all about. Even the bread and water they gave her she took without a show of enthusiasm. She let the men lead her to the Bielski encampment. There, following the custom of Jewish forest arrivals, this newcomer was introduced to the commander of the partisan detachment, Tuvia Bielski. To my question of how did Tuvia Bielski look to her, her answer was: “Like God!”

  Many others must have had the same reaction.

  By July 1944, when the Bielski detachment was liberated by the Red Army, it included about 1,200 Jews. Most of them were older people, women, and children, precisely the kind of fugitives who had the smallest chance of surviving the war. All of those who made it had a miraculous story to tell.

  Hersh Smolar and Tuvia Bielski met in 1943 in the Nalibocka forest, a place filled with jungle-like enclaves that served as a refuge for partisans and ghetto runaways, all of whom were trying to elude the Nazi occupiers and their collaborators. Smolar and Bielski both were preoccupied with the protection of Jews from German threats.

  Tuvia Bielski was the head of the Jewish partisan detachment, known for its open-door policy, admitting all Jews into its unit, regardless of age, sex, and state of health. Smolar heard that the Bielski detachment had difficulties with partisan groups that grew out of some internal and external quarrels.

  The Soviet Major Vassily Chernishev, now known as General Platon, came to the Nalibocka forest in 1944, as the newly appointed head of the partisan movement for the entire Baranowicze region. Platon’s and Smolar’s friendship was sturdy. In the forest, Smolar had the opportunity to test this friendship, when he was warned by a Polish partisan that Soviet partisans were plotting against him. They wanted to kill Smolar by sending him on a dangerous expedition. In the forest this was a commonly used way of getting rid of unwanted enemies. Smolar dispatched an urgent message to Platon, informing him that he was being targeted for murder. Platon dispatched two partisans with orders to immediately deliver Smolar to the Platon’s brigade, which saved Smolar’s life.