The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (Boomer Book Series)

by Othniel J. Seiden

  Solomon couldn't believe the amount of food he saw stored here. Sol was from the poor part of Kiev, where life was a hand to mouth existence; some days the hand never reached the mouth. Bread and potato soup were often all his family had to eat for days on end. Eggs were a luxury, milk a delight saved for the young. Tea was always available. Meat was on the table perhaps once a week and only on the first Sabbath meal, in very good times. Various vegetables were to be found steaming on the table when they were in season and so plentiful that their price was forced down or if they had been grown in the little garden his mother had labored over. But often the vegetables grown in the garden could not be eaten by his family. If they would bring a good price at market, like the eggs their few chickens laid, they would have to be sold and cheaper foods would be purchased for the household.

  "Come on; my wife Sosha will have food ready for us." Suddenly Solomon realized he was very hungry. When had he eaten last? He had no memory of having had a meal. Why have I no memory?

  They climbed the steps and came out into the light. Sol was temporarily blinded. The last daylight he could remember was the day he and his family were taken to Babi Yar. Babi Yar and suddenly horrible images flooded his mind. He felt a weakness momentarily, thought he might fall, staggered slightly and looked up to Ivan who didn't seem to notice.

  "See," Ivan said, "You should be safe here for the time being."

  As Sol squinted his eyes slowly became accustomed. The storage cellar had been dug after the house was built. Its entrance was about three meters from the house, so in bad weather they didn't have far to go for supplies. It was located at the rear of the house, so if trouble came from the road, about two hundred meters distant, the family could enter the cellar without being seen; the house was between the cellar entrance and the road. Its location had been selected for security, not for convenience.

  The house was small, built of native stone and wood. It wasn't a large farm he inherited from his employer. Jews weren't allowed to own much property and Ivan had not needed to add more land. In Solomon's eyes, Ivan was a man of means. He had two cows, several pigs, chickens and geese. Most of the land had been tilled and now the animals were free to wander in the field and eat what was left after the harvest. The land was surrounded on three sides by forest and on the fourth by a dirt road.

  "I've never seen such a big place. Is it really all yours?"

  "All that's been cleared. It represents years of hard work. We are proud of it, Sosha and me.

  The Germans will confiscate all your animals and stored food I'm told. They obviously haven't gotten out here yet. We haven't even seen a German yet. Come, let's go in..."

  "It's good to see you up," a woman said as they entered the house. "I am Sosha. Ivan tells me you are called Solomon."

  "Please, Sol."

  "All right, Sol. Now you two sit down here and start eating. I hope your strength will return quickly."

  "I feel quite well. Hungry, but well. A little stiff. I don't know how to thank you sufficiently."

  "Thank later, eat now," Sosha insisted.

  Sosha was an attractive woman. Her blond hair, highlighted by the whiteness creeping into it, was pulled back and rolled into a bun. She had a round, full face, skin reddened from hours of work outdoors. Her skin would have been as brown as Ivan's had her complexion not been fair. Instead of tanning, her skin had a blush to it. Tall for a woman, she had a typically big-boned Slavic build. Though her hands were rough from years of hard work, next to her huge husband her warm smile made her look almost girlish.

  She ladled out two wooden bowls of potato soup from a pot that constantly simmered on the wood stove and placed them on the large, rough-hewn timber table before Sol and her husband. In the middle of the table, she placed a large plate heaped with black bread and cheese. She took a glass of tea for herself and sat down to join them.

  Sosha realized that she'd never seen Solomon in full daylight. His hair was light brown. When Ivan had carried him home that first day, he took him directly to the cellar, where the dim light made his hair look nearly black. I must have washed it a half dozen times to get the filth and blood out, she thought. Now she could see the uneven patches where she'd had to cut out some of the tangles.

  "I'll trim your hair later this afternoon," she said to Solomon, "Ivan is due for a trim, too. I can do you both today while it is still warm outside."

  "Thank you, but that's not necessary," Solomon answered, apparently surprised by her proposal.

  "Nonsense, I enjoy cutting hair." I'll have to fatten him up a bit, she thought, though he's huskier than he appears in those baggy clothes. He's a rather handsome fellow. How penetrating his brown eyes are. Thoughtful. Even now they sparkle. We'll get the stubble off him too. It makes him look gaunt. He certainly doesn't have Slavic features. His ancestors must have migrated from the south, perhaps Italy, Spain or Greece-someplace Mediterranean.

  "Tell us," Sosha said, "what do you recall now?"

  Glancing at Ivan, Solomon replied, "It's all come back. It was horrible. I find myself wondering if it really happened. But it must have happened. I could not dream such horrors." Solomon paused for a moment, apparently trying to organize his thoughts, fighting the tears that welled up in his eyes.

  4

  Kiev...

  "The shelling was almost constant in our part of Kiev, as it was all over the city and the surrounding villages. We lived with it day and night," Solomon began. "The earth shook. Many families dug trenches in their yards and moved into them. The city officials even recommended it. We stayed in our home. My father insisted that God would see to our safety, if He meant for us to survive. 'If we Jews have nothing else, we have faith!' my grandmother used to say, always." There was a sadness in his moment's pause as he sat remembering.

  "We could hear the explosions from here," Sosha interjected. "But it never came here."

  "That's because we're almost fifty kilometers from the city. It's a wonder you got this far, Sol," Ivan added.

  Solomon took a deep sighing breath and continued, "I only remember part of that - getting here, I mean." He hesitated. A tear formed in his eye. He cleared his throat. "For several days, we began to see an increasing number of Russian troops running from the front. They occasionally stopped and begged for civilian clothes. Anyway, out of the growing retreat came rumors that in a matter of days the war would end for us and the front would pass us by. The Communists and their officials left the city along with the retreating soldiers. Most of us that remained felt that living under the German occupation would be better than life under the Bolsheviks. We certainly preferred it to the constant bombings! We were-if not openly, at least secretly-looking forward to occupation. Not that we weren't afraid, but only afraid as one is when he awaits a new experience that he knows nothing about. Afraid like children on their first day of school.

  "I recall my father telling us about the Germans, 'They are the most enlightened civilization in the world,' he told us. 'The Germans have given the world the greatest scientists, writers, poets, musicians, philosophers-and in Germany, Jews could become doctors, lawyers, shopkeepers-they could go to the university.' He didn't make it up. He'd heard that from others. Everyone talked about it, on the streets, in stores, everywhere. Compared to life under the Bolsheviks, it sounded like a dream come true. And for us Jews, well, there was an additional incentive-perhaps the Germans would end some of the anti-Semitism we'd known here for so many centuries.

  "On September 19th, everything stopped. The quiet was almost frightening. For the first time, I realized how relentless the explosions had been. For a long time we sat paralyzed by the silence. Was it a lull? Would it start again? Were the Bolsheviks gone forever? How soon would the Germans be here? Perhaps the Russians would counterattack. We doubted that, but no one knew."

  Sosha looked to the 1941 calendar on the wall, "The 19th of September-yes, that was the day we noticed the shelling stopped. We could stand in our field and watch the smoke around and i
n Kiev. We saw the airplanes fly over the city. On the 19th it all stopped."

  "Yes," Sol continued. "September 19th, 1941-I'll never forget that day. Later that morning, we heard first one, then another voice and another, 'The Germans are here!' 'Bolshevik oppression is over!' 'Come out everyone-greet our liberators!' 'Hooray! The Germans are here!' We could hear people running outside. Everyone cheered as the Germans entered.

  "Once outside, my family and I heard the noise of trucks. We ran toward it. The crowds grew as we approached the main road through Kiev. It was breathtaking! As far as we could see in both directions-trucks loaded with soldiers-none marching or walking. There were military pieces in tow and occasional motorcycles with sidecars. And, every so often, a polished, open roofed car with officers went by. How different from the Russians who'd retreated through Kiev over the previous days! This was an army. They didn't even look like they'd been in battle. We cheered our liberators." Solomon hung his head thoughtfully for a moment. He shook his head, then raised it and continued.

  "As more and more of our citizens came to watch, the procession took on the mood of a parade - a circus parade. The soldiers waved and smiled, at first at the girls and children. The children cheered and the girls laughed, blushed and then waved back. Soon everyone cheered and called out words of welcome."

  Sosha asked Solomon whether he wanted a glass of tea. He nodded and went on.

  "It took a long time for all of the trucks to pass by and then the marching troops came. Then there followed enormous supply wagons pulled by the largest draft horses I'd ever seen. The wagons were loaded with food and ammunition. Looking up, I realized that this was the first time in what seemed like ages that no German planes were dropping bombs-no shells dropping out of the sky! It seemed a glorious day. My father kept saying it was the beginning of a new life." A sudden frown crossed Solomon's brow and his eyes began to water. He swallowed hard, then continued.

  "Everyone was curious, the Germans included. I'd never in my life seen so many cameras! The Germans took pictures of everything-the people, our bomb damaged streets where houses and buildings still smoldered, of each other..." Solomon paused. "I still can't believe it all." He shook his head.

  "It was fascinating. There was a feeling of wonder and freedom! It was as if we had been transported to a new and different world. Even the surroundings, those that weren't bombed out, seemed different. We were liberated-freed from our former existence. Now everything would be-was different and we felt it. We celebrated it.

  "On Kirillovskaya Avenue, a number of buildings had Soviet flags waving in front of them and as the crowds moved past they pulled the flags down and trampled them into the ground. Some flags were burned and their burning cheered. Had the Russians counterattacked to retake the city, I think we would have all fought against them beside the Germans-and you know, I believe the Jews would have fought the hardest to keep them from returning." He took a long drink of his tea.

  "Can I refill your glass?" Sosha asked.

  "Yes, thank you. I guess I'm still very thirsty from the ordeal." He reached the glass across the table to her. "As the day passed, there was more and more activity. The Germans were busy establishing headquarters. They were all over the city now. Many went about fully armed, seeking out foolish Bolsheviks-partisans who stayed behind. They had help from the citizens pointing out Communists. I'm sure many who weren't Communists were picked up simply because they'd been pointed out. It was a bad time to have enemies. We had no idea where they took those people. They were rounded up and taken away-vanished. I suspect now they also went to the ravine, Babi Yar."

  Sosha placed the tea back in front of Solomon and another glass before Ivan.

  "As the fervor of the crowds grew, they became a mob." Now that Solomon was telling the story, he couldn't stop. It flooded out - a catharsis. "Mobs frighten Jews. They have a way of turning on us. Most of us withdrew to our homes at that point. I think it came with the pulling down of the Soviet flags, most of which were on stores and buildings owned by party members."

  "Who else owned businesses but the Bolsheviks?" Ivan asked a sarcastic tone in his voice.

  "Right!" Sol continued. "Soon the mob started breaking windows and looting. Then it didn't matter who owned the property. There were goods of all kinds to be had for nothing-for the taking-by people who were used to having nothing. In minutes, stores were stripped of goods, fixtures, equipment-everything. People fought over things they couldn't even use. It was insane. The Germans watched and laughed. If there was something they wanted they just took it from the looters."

  Solomon sipped his tea. He couldn't keep his story from pouring out now.

  "Not everyone who was in the city stayed when the Germans came. Over the next few days, a good number of people left with what they could carry, most in the middle of the night. Their abandoned property was quickly claimed by those who remained. Of course the better homes and buildings were taken over by the Germans, whether the owners abandoned them or not. If the Germans wanted a headquarters, they requisitioned it, meaning they kicked the owners out. The same happened with livestock and food. Cows, pigs, grain, chickens, ducks, geese-anything the Germans wanted, they took. If the owner argued, the Germans gave him a slip of paper telling what was taken, telling him to take the paper to the commander for payment. That usually satisfied the owners, until they found out the receipts were useless. Of course, by that time their property was long gone-probably in a German stomach. But no one was terribly shocked by this treatment. It wasn't really any worse or different from treatment we'd received from the Bolsheviks for years. And after all, 'to the victors go the spoils.' Everyone knows that.

  "September 19th came and went. Most of us went to bed that night happier, full of hope. Before then, I think only party members might have known that feeling. How soundly you can sleep when you go to bed with hope!"

  How sensitive he is, Sosha thought. "Where were you educated? You express yourself so well."

  "Yes, you speak as if you went to a fine private school," Ivan added.

  "Very private," Solomon replied. "Since the government never saw it necessary to provide an education for the Jews who lived in the poor section, the Podol, we had our own school. It's as it has been for centuries, either by tradition or necessity, we are..." Solomon frowned as he remembered, "...we were taught by our own scholars. And my grandfather, blessed be his memory-that's the first time I've ever had to say that-my grandfather was a learned man." A sad, reminiscent look came to Solomon's eyes, "How many hours he spent with me, nights, weekends, reading, tutoring..." Solomon took a drink of his tea, wiped a tear.

  "When we got up on September 20th, the German flag was everywhere. It too is red-only the swastika replaces the hammer and sickle. September 20th was a day of settling in-the Germans into Kiev and us into our new situation. That night we again went to bed hopeful.

  "I think it was the next day that we saw the first notices posted. They announced that all property looted had to be returned to the Germans. All surplus foods had to be turned over to them. All radios, weapons, military equipment and supplies had to be given up as well. The disturbing part of the notice stated that failure to carry out the instructions, immediately, was punishable by death. 'Anyone not carrying out this order will be shot!' it said."

  Sosha pushed the bread and cheese toward him. "Wouldn't you like to rest a while?" she asked.

  "No, I want to go on. I must go on. I need to get it all out."

  "What happened on the afternoon of the 24th?" Ivan asked. "Late that afternoon we heard some tremendous explosions from the direction of Kiev and that night the sky was aglow. We thought for sure the Russians were counterattacking-that the war had started all over again."

  "Let me think-the 24th-yes, it was the 24th that Kreshchatik Street was blown up." Sol took a bite of bread, then a larger one of cheese. "The Germans had taken over the fine buildings on Kreshchatik, in the area of Proreznaya Street. They had taken over the Continental Hotel, t
he Doctor's Club and the party offices deserted by the Bolsheviks. The Bolsheviks must have anticipated the Germans' grand taste. After all, Kreshchatik Street was the finest area of the city-ideal for the needs of the occupation.

  "As soon as the Germans were settled in the partisans blew them up. On the 24th, around four o'clock in the afternoon, there was a series of explosions at measured intervals."

  "That's right, one after the other, a few seconds-maybe ten or fifteen between each blast-boom!-boom!-boom!..." Ivan interrupted, slamming his fist down on the table with each "boom" he imitated. "It was in the late afternoon and we heard explosion after explosion."

  "You heard them blow up the Kreshchatik?" Solomon nodded vigorously. "The explosions continued through the entire night and all of the next day. In fact they didn't stop until the 28th of September. It looked as if all of Kiev would be blown up-burn to the ground."

  "It must still be burning," Sosha said.

  "Still burning?" Sol asked, surprised.

  "Yes," Ivan answered. "At night the sky is red over Kiev-from the flames. They must not be fighting the fires, just letting it burn itself out. Probably too dangerous to fight-maybe nothing left worth saving."

  Sosha studied Solomon. He seemed to be just under six feet, slim, but strong looking-athletic looking. Maybe he played soccer in happier days. I'll put a little weight back on him and he'll be as good as new. Even now he moves with grace and conviction-not the least bit clumsy. He still showed some weakness. The telling of his story must've be difficult for him. How horrible! He does have a handsome and sensitive face. He's pale now, but I can tell his complexion is normally dark. Goes with his brown eyes and his light brown hair. I wonder how old he was, looks nineteen or twenty. "How old are you, Sol?"

  "Eighteen-I turned eighteen just last May. May 17th."

  Those eyes-they want to say so much, Sosha continued speculating. He seems so well educated, in spite of the poverty he speaks of. People of the book... Yes, he looks Mediterranean, but not so much Jewish. Maybe among Jews he would look Jewish, but he could be Greek Orthodox as well. Among Italians he'd look Italian. He has a square chin and jaw, high cheekbones-a thin face. May not fill out even after I fatten him out a bit. He stands straight. Full of pride.