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

by Othniel J. Seiden

  "Don't be afraid; I won't harm you. Please, let me help you. Who are you?"

  The boy remained silent. Tense.

  "Are you hungry? I'll fix you some food, something to drink. Please, tell me who you are-where do you come from?"

  He said nothing, but seemed to relax a little.

  "Please, what is your name?" Sosha coaxed. When he didn't answer she had a hunch about his concern. "Are you Jewish? I will still help you. Please, you must trust me. You can't hope to survive alone. Trust me, please. Start with telling me your name, please." She smiled sympathetically.

  "I-I'm Yosef-Yosef Dukowski. Please-help me-I'm very hungry-very tired-please..."

  Tears flowed from Sosha's eyes. She felt his fear and pain. His plea was so forlorn. She got him to follow her to the house. She heated water for him to clean himself, gave him soap. Gave him some clothing, from when her son was small, which was far too large for him, but at least clean. She had to cut off the leg and sleeve lengths and tied the waist with a rope. He looked ridiculous but less afraid as he ate cheese, bread, cabbage and tea. She didn't think him trusting enough to question him. She would have Ivan take him to the Jews in the forest.

  * * *

  Ivan took Yosef directly to the main camp via camp two, not fearing him a security risk. Rachel took him over, getting him some clothing that fit him better and feeding him. He could hardly believe that he found himself among his own people. After a few questions by Rachel his story poured fourth.

  When the Germans announced that all Jews were to leave their homes for deportation his parents decided to escape before the roundup. He was an only child, fourteen years old. They were fairly well off and his father took all the money and jewels they had. They left the city during the night, almost getting caught twice by patrolling Germans and Ukrainian guards. Finally, they escaped into the country to a farm that sold produce to his father's vegetable store. They hid the family in a small pit they dug under the floor of their barn.

  The hole was dug out two meters by two meters by a meter deep. Boards were placed across the top and hay was stored on that. His father paid the farmer for the protection and what food they would need. For the first few weeks it wasn't too bad because the Germans didn't go too far out of the city. They could get out as long as they stayed close to the barn.

  The Germans became more numerous in the area and they had to stay in the pit all during the day. The farmer fed them twice daily. If they had to relieve themselves of bladder or bowel during the day it had to be in the little pit. They could only come out during a few hours after dark. It was difficult and barely tolerable but necessary.

  The winter was miserably cold. They had only their clothes, hay and huddling together to keep them warm. Occasionally, the farmer would let them come into the house for a few hours to warm up, but only on the coldest nights for it was a risk that could have cost them all their lives. Spring finally came and they thought it would get better, but his mother got sick, her chest, pneumonia his father thought. They could not risk a doctor. After three days she died in the pit with them.

  All day they stayed in the pit with her body until they could bury her under cover of darkness. Yosef and his father could no longer tolerate sitting in the pit that took their wife and mother's life. They decided to take to the woods.

  His father became deeply depressed and could hardly function. His health deteriorated and one morning Yosef awoke but his father didn't. He found a board and dug a shallow grave with it. It took him all of a day to bury his father. Three days later, weak, hungry and terrified, he found Sosha.

  47

  Livery...

  Days passed. Father Peter operated the radio, having been taught by one of the newcomers still out but now in the second camp. No messages were sent. They had no one to send to; and, heeding Gregor's warning, they didn't send between the camps. All day long, people would drop into the radio room, which had quickly been added to the headquarters building. They listened to the signals, dispatches and newscasts that the priest continually monitored. Of course, all messages of importance were sent in code. The Jews had been starved for news. Now they could hear not only local transmissions but also broadcasts beamed into the area from unoccupied Russia.

  The news from Russia was not good. The Germans were beating the Russians on every front with superior weapons and crack troops but the Russians were fighting hard. The thing that most heartened the Jews was that the Russian broadcasts often referred to the damage being done to the German war effort by guerrilla activities.

  By June of 1942, the Germans moved troops and supplies at a feverish pace. They made every effort to advance on the Russian front before the hard winter returned. On the radio came appeals to sabotage the German effort. After the first appeal, Moshe sent out scouts to determine which roads and rails carried the most military traffic. They'd disrupt as many of those routes as they could.

  The new gentile arrivals were relied upon heavily in the scouting missions. It was an opportunity to further test their loyalty. On their return from one of the surveillance missions, six of the gentiles came upon three German soldiers grazing horses in a field. Two trucks were parked on the road to Kiev that bordered the field on one side. A fourth German was in one of the vehicles. He was skillfully and silently killed by a knife-wielding guerrilla. His weapon, ammunition, papers and money were taken. The other three Germans sat near a fence at the edge of the woods. They were in full view of the trucks, so the partisans had to crawl along a ditch on the far side of the road. They crawled until they were opposite the woods and out of sight of the three relaxing Germans. Then they crossed the road, entered the forest and came through the trees to where the soldiers sat.

  Their weapons had been set against the fence. They were smoking, talking and laughing. At a signal, two of the guerrillas went for the weapons while the other four went for the unwary Germans. Before they died one of them got out a horrified scream, but no one who could help would hear him. Each met death at the sharp edge of a blade.

  It took them awhile to round up the horses. Only one of the six was experienced with the animals. Once rounded up, they tied the horses in tandem. They made a quick search of the trucks and found saddles and other equipment. Papers in the trucks showed the horses were being brought to Kiev for the pleasure of the officers. They took their booty through the woods to the second camp. Two of the men covered the tracks the horses left.

  Horses would make it possible for the guerrillas to expand their area of operations. They were kept at either camp one or two, never at the family camp. The animals would leave too distinct a trail; and if camp two was discovered by the Germans, it was feared they could easily track them to the family camp.

  By the end of the first week in June, Gregor and his companions were approved to be residents in the community.

  48

  Dovka...

  In the weeks following the acquisition of the radios, horses and the first non-Jewish residents, the guerrillas carried out numerous raids on German troop movements and supply lines. Roads and rail lines were sabotaged and blown up daily by the many resistance groups operating in the Kiev area. The favorite method was to place homemade mines under roads and railroad bridges or tracks which detonated under the weight of a train or vehicle. When possible, the guerrillas scavenged for supplies and weapons.

  Dovka returned to the family camp from one of these missions. She had been out nearly a week, staying at camps one and two, doing several missions before returning home. It was typical for the groups to go out that frequently now. The Germans sent troops and supplies to the Russian front at a feverish pace. Another winter would follow this summer and the Germans knew they had to have their troops supplied and at full strength before the snow fell. The resistance groups knew this too. They felt that every convoy or train that got through lengthened the war. They received radio broadcasts daily and were encouraged that there would soon be a Russian counter-offensive.

  The pace was e
xhausting.

  No one thought much about Dovka's exhaustion. Everyone was exhausted when they came in. They took a few days of rest in the family camp before going out again.

  Dovka went to bed with a chill despite the warm summer temperature. She complained to Rachel of feeling cold but was fast asleep, unrousable, before her friend returned with a blanket.

  Rachel covered Dovka. As she did she noticed her skin was hot. She wondered if it would be better not to cover her, but Dovka shivered as she slept. Rachel placed the cover over her loosely. She wanted to give Dovka some fluids to drink and some aspirin, but she could not be awakened. Still concerned, Rachel decided to let her sleep. Maybe in an hour or two fatigue would relinquish its grip.

  Rachel checked Dovka several times over the next two hours. Her body would not cool. She awoke Sol, who had returned to the family camp with Dovka. They tried to wake her. Dovka was a little more responsive now and tried to resist their attempts. Together they moved her to the infirmary. Dovka winced with pain as they carried her, especially when her head moved. Her neck seemed rigid. Because of her fever they assumed she had something contagious. Fortunately there were no other patients in the infirmary.

  With Sol's help, Rachel got Dovka's clothing off and covered her. She was moaning and mumbling now, her fever rising. Rachel started sponging her hot skin. Half an hour later, Dovka felt a little cooler to their touch. The shivering stopped. She was more responsive. Rachel doubted that Dovka knew what was being done for her. They did get her to take three crushed aspirin tablets dissolved in water. They also got a little tea down her before she again lapsed into slumber. After another hour, Dovka felt much cooler to the touch and Rachel was relieved. Her main problem seemed to be a very painful stiff neck.

  She asked Sol to go to each of the others who had returned to the family camp with them that afternoon. If anyone else had a fever, she wanted to know it. When Sol returned, he reported that no one else showed any symptoms. Most of the returnees had napped an hour or two, but none was ill. It appeared only Dovka came back sick. Probably her resistance was down from all the stress of the raids. She would have several days to rest and get over it.

  49

  Yorgi...

  Yorgi struggled through underbrush, after his escape from Darnitsa, crawled across fields and sloshed through irrigation ditches. He traveled any route that offered him cover. In spite of aching muscles and blistered feet rubbed raw by his tight shoes, he refused to stop. Distance was the key to his survival. He maintained a pace he knew he could keep up steadily. Until dusk, he continued his torturous, self-disciplined trek.

  During that quarter hour between day and dark when eyes adapt and visual acuity is poorest, Yorgi rested. He came out of the woods and found himself near a road. Across the way was a small farm. The house was well back from the road. A dim light shone through a window. Someone had just lit a coal oil lantern.

  "I wonder if they'll be friend of foe?" he asked himself." I'd love a warm meal-some fresh clothing-a chance to clean myself up-to rest. "Oh-just to rest!" It was no time to cast caution aside. Yorgi advanced carefully across the road. Odds were he'd find someone more than happy to turn a Jew or an escaped Russian officer over to the Germans. Even if they didn't know he was either-assuming the worst... he'd settle for whatever he could glean from the field. It wouldn't be the warm meal he dreamed of, but it would fill the emptiness that gnawed at his gut. How long had it been since he ate a warm meal? He couldn't remember. Would he ever have another except in his fantasies? He couldn't imagine it. He climbed the rail fence fronting the property.

  The greater part of the land was planted in grain, probably wheat. He crept over the property looking for the vegetable garden that most farmers planted for their personal use. As usual, it was near the home. If I can get to it without arousing the chickens or the dog, if they have one, he thought. If only they don't have a dog!

  Hunger drove him. He was only a few feet from the house now. Circumventing it quietly, he found a surprisingly large garden at the rear. This garden must raise more than this family can eat, he thought.

  Staying at the edges furthest from the house, he started digging at the plants. First he found potatoes. Pulling up a plant he started to eat, dirt and all. The fruit was not yet ripe, but he wasn't eating for taste. Ending his hunger and surviving was his only purpose. As he ate one, he slipped two into his coat pocket, all the time moving on to find some other foods to vary his diet. He did not see the man quietly approaching him, rifle cocked, finger poised, pressing on the trigger.

  "Fall flat on your stomach or I'll blow your head off!" Ivan Igonovitch barked at the trespasser.

  Yorgi Tzarof fell flat, as commanded, the cool soft dirt in his face.

  "I'm unarmed! I mean no harm! I'm taking only what I need not to starve! Let me go and I'll move on." Yorgi exclaimed rapidly.

  "Who are you? Where do you come from?"

  Yorgi's intuition prompted him to try the truth. "Yorgi Tzarof. My name is Yorgi Tzarof. I've escaped from Darnitsa. Last night. I escaped last night-and I was hungry. I'm trying to get as far away from there as I can."

  Sosha had now come up behind Ivan. She too held a gun.

  Ivan's rifle was pointed directly at the base of Yorgi's neck, between the shoulders. Yorgi sensed it, the hair at the back of his neck bristled.

  "Sosha-hand me your pistol and search him. Make sure you don't get between him and the end of my gun. If he as much as takes a deep breath, his head's coming off with one blast!"

  Sosha approached Yorgi from the side opposite Ivan. Keeping away from his extended arms, she swept her hands skillfully over his body.

  She's trained, Yorgi thought as he felt her search.

  Her search disclosed only the papers he'd stolen from the corpse that morning. Handing them to Ivan, she lit a match to reveal their message.

  "These papers do not say you are anyone named Yorgi Tzarof!"

  "Those papers came with these shoes and this coat, neither of which fit Yorgi Tzarof!" Yorgi said, trying to make a point. "I took them off a dead man in the city this morning. I tell you I am what I said I am."

  Ivan was satisfied with the answer. Had the man intended to deceive, he would have given the name on the papers. But he kept the gun trained on Yorgi. Taking the pistol from his belt and handing it back to Sosha, he told her to keep the man covered. He stepped back a few paces and told Sosha to do the same and move to her left a few meters so the prisoner couldn't lunge at them both at the same time.

  "All right, get up very slowly and move toward the storage cellar-that mound outlined by the moon-to the left of the house."

  Yorgi did as he was told.

  When Sosha opened the door, she lit the lantern that hung just inside and went down the stairs ahead of the two men. Inside, the captors and captive got their first good look at each other.

  Yorgi was every bit as tall as Ivan, but not as massive. He was muscular but trim. Whereas Ivan had the build of a wrestler, huge-Yorgi looked more the part of a discus thrower, his muscles more defined. The stranger was filthy, not only from his travels this day, but filth accumulated over weeks of being a war prisoner. His shoes were wet with blood from his feet. His hair and beard were matted and dirty, giving no revelation of its reddish brown color. The lantern light did reveal the deep brown of his eyes. His face was square, handsome, but with an expressionless set. He had thick eyebrows and thin lips. His nostrils flared slightly as he breathed; otherwise little about his face moved except for his eyes, which moved constantly, quickly. Sosha thought him extremely observant and acutely alert.

  After considerable interrogation, both Sosha and Ivan were satisfied that this man was a safe guest. Yorgi's fantasies were to be realized. He had a warm meal, a bath and received some clothes and shoes from Ivan. They were at least too large rather than too small. Best of all, he slept that night on a cot. It was the nearest he had come to sleeping in a bed in the ten months since the German occupation. He slept free
of fear for the first time in as many months, on a little cot in a secret room under the stairs of a storage cellar.

  50

  Quarantine...

  Dovka's fever started to climb again. Her sleep changed to delirium. She thrashed and threw off her covers. They tried to force fluids down her. It was impossible. Again they dissolved aspirin, but she spit them out. They tried again with better success. Her temperature dropped a little and she settled down. Her breathing was noisy, though, as she had fluid in her chest. They wanted to make her cough to clear her lungs but couldn't. Every move seemed to cause her severe pain. Her fever spiked again and her breathing became labored.

  And then she was dead.

  Before the sun set, she was dead. Dovka was dead. The whole course of her illness had taken less than six hours. Dovka was dead and no one knew why. The Jews were prepared for sudden death in battle. That they could understand. That they could accept. It was painful but understandable, acceptable. But this was an unseen enemy...

  Was Dovka's illness contagious? Would there be an epidemic? If so, how could they fight it-defend against it? If only they had a doctor.

  Sol decided to do several things immediately. Dovka would have to be buried. Two men were sent to dig a deep grave. Since he and Rachel had already been exposed, they alone would take Dovka to the grave and bury her. It was a horrible task, but they could not risk anyone else contacting the disease. Secondly, everything in the infirmary would be burned. Since the infirmary was a dugout, everything was piled at its center, doused with coal oil and ignited. All of Dovka's possessions were also burned. It was done that night so smoke would not be seen over the trees. They prayed there would be no flyover aircraft to see the flames which they tried to keep low with sprays of water from buckets, balancing the amount not to put the flames out, just to keep them low.