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

by Othniel J. Seiden

  "Now that is the second lesson for you to learn today. Your lives mean nothing to me! I would as soon shoot you all. One wrong move out of anyone and all your pleading will do no good. Also, if one of you does wrong, I might have your entire barracks eliminated. We can easily replace one or all of you, so it is up to you to keep each other in line."

  He paused for emphasis, then continuing spoke, "I am Strumbahnfuhrer Paul von Radomsky. I am the camp commander. Also I want you to know Rex, here."

  He pointed to the animal at his side.

  "Rex, as you can tell, is a very well trained dog. He is especially trained to rip the flesh off a man at my command-especially genitals. So make sure you do nothing to provoke me."

  With that, he turned and strode to the car. The dog jumped into place, the interpreter into the back and they drove off.

  The first officer now took over again. "All right, find yourselves places in that building over there." He pointed to the row of huts similar to those that served the Jewish resistance in their forest community. Ivan hurried to the dugout hut as quickly as he could, realizing the bunk space would be first come. As he entered, all similarity between this and the family camp ended. Here, the stench was unbelievable. It went right to his stomach; he thought he would be sick. But he couldn't turn around. He had to find himself a bunk; he took one as close to the entry as he could. That was the only source of "fresh" air in the entire dugout.

  The horrible dwelling was illuminated by a solitary kerosene lamp that hung from the ceiling near the rear. It took Ivan a few moments to get accustomed to the semi darkness. The hut was only two meters from dirt floor to sod ceiling, but in that shallow area the Germans had arranged to get in three levels of bunks. The bunks were shelves on which straw had been thrown. There was a ragged blanket for each space. The odor in the stuffy room was a combination of mildew, vomit, urine, feces and sweat.

  When Ivan chose his bunk, he lay down on it in hopes of getting a moment's relief from his fatigue. He lay there in misery, trying to figure out how a day so beautiful could end so tragically, when suddenly he came up off the putrid straw.

  "Damn it to hell! This place is full of lice! The straw, the blankets, the entire hut is infested!"

  "What did you expect, a maid to clean this dump?" a man replied out of the semi darkness.

  "Everybody outside!" came a command in perfect Ukrainian.

  Ivan was only too happy to get outside again. Everything about that hut repelled him. They all fell into formation outside the dugout. It was turning dusk. Ivan realized he had not eaten since he shared breakfast with Sosha. Oh God, he prayed, please see over my dear Sosha.

  "My name is Timtov. I am responsible for you. If you cause trouble, I might suffer for it, so it is up to me to see to it that you do no wrong." He brandished a whip with leather tails, each strand tipped with metal.

  "Disobey and I will be the first one you will have to deal with. If it goes no further than that, you will consider yourself lucky. Now you may sit here on the ground until the remainder of the dugout residents return from today's work detail. Then you will be lined up with them for the roll call before you are locked into your hut.

  "Tomorrow at 3:00 a.m. your day will start with roll call and breakfast. At roll call, you will bring out your dead-those who died during the night-and lay them in front of your ranks. Everyone must be accounted for or the entire group goes to the ravine. I don't care how many of you die during the night-and some of you will try to kill yourselves... That is your business. But in the morning, everyone-dead or alive-must be accounted for."

  Everything seemed clear.

  75

  Feelings...

  A week had gone by. The Jews at the family camp had found out about Ivan and Sosha's arrests. They had no idea about their fate, but Ivan had been seen and recognized on the open back truck headed for Babi Yar. They knew of the concentration camp at Babi Yar, but no one knew what the layout of the facility was. There had been much discussion of making a raid on the camp and freeing the inmates. It would be a risky mission and there was no guarantee either Ivan or Sosha was still alive. Besides, the men and women's concentration camps were separate. It was doubtful both could be liberated.

  "We have to try," Sol argued. "Even if they aren't there... We'd still be freeing many other prisoners."

  "Solomon, you are overly involved because they saved your life. Maybe you're right, but we can't let our decision be an emotional one," Yorgi warned.

  "Might I suggest that we discuss the idea with Diadia's group," Father Peter offered. "They've carried out a raid on a small concentration camp once; they can speak with experience. And besides, such an endeavor would probably require a joint effort."

  "A good suggestion," Yorgi agreed. "I appoint you and Solomon to go to their camp and make the inquiries. Dov, why don't you go with them and see if you can barter with them for some medical supplies. Besides, it will do you some good to get out of that hospital for a while. Rachel can handle things while you are gone."

  An hour later, Father Peter and Solomon and I headed out through the forest toward Diadia's encampment. Sol was quiet, thoughtful. Traveling through the forest now, he was reminded of his own escape from Babi Yar-that flight through the woods for his life, so very long ago. He remembered few of the details but could still feel the terror as he ran blindly through those woods. Now he wanted to return to that ravine to save his friends, to avenge his people. He wanted to strike a blow at the one place that was to him a symbol of all that the Nazis stood for. Father Peter was sensitive to Sol's torment.

  "I suppose that next to Rachel, Ivan and Sosha were the most important people in the world to you," Father Peter said. As soon as he spoke he was sorry he'd used the past tense.

  "Are the most important to me..." Sol corrected, but without anger.

  "Of course, I didn't mean..."

  "I guess they became my second family when Ivan pulled me from that ditch and took me home to his storage cellar. It's kind of ironic, too, when you think about it."

  "Ironic? How?" I asked.

  "In a lot of ways; I don't think I know if you can understand them all."

  We came to some rough, thickly overgrown terrain that required considerable effort to traverse, so none of us spoke. When we finally got through, they had to sit down and rest.

  "Tell me what you were talking about," I reminded Solomon, "the ironies, I mean."

  "Well, it's just that being in a camp of predominantly Jewish resistance fighters, I'm so close to three of the few gentiles among them. You must realize, as a Jew I have always been leery of gentiles. Now my greatest concern is to get them out of the very place where I would have perished. If anyone would have told me, when I was a boy, that someday I would have been traveling through the forest with a priest to save the lives of two gentiles-well, I'd have considered it inconceivable."

  "I guess we Christians have never done much to endear ourselves to the Jews. But there are many Christian faiths. Granted the Church-the Catholic Church-has treated the Jews badly through the centuries with expulsions, forced conversions, the Crusades, Inquisitions. It is painful for me to have to confess this-and the position of the Church in this horrible time-there are other types of Christians. And all Catholics are not in agreement-"

  "Father Peter, until Ivan and Sosha took me in, my idea was that a Christian was someone to be avoided. I think most Jews feel about Christians the way mice feel about cats.

  "And yes I know that there are other Christians. And when I speak of the Church I speak mostly of the Roman Catholic Church. But -I've not seen too many Lutherans speaking out or Protestants or Russian Orthodox. And granted, it is risking one's own life to speak out in these times and perhaps in unoccupied countries perhaps there is an outcry against the treatment of the Jews. However, I doubt it. I only know that the Lutherans have condemned the Jews to hell since the time of Martin Luther. I know the Protestants in England burned hundreds of Jews to death a few centuries ago
and then expelled us form the British Isles when that inhuman act didn't scare us off. The Russian Orthodox, I only know, to have raped, looted and killed Jews in their pogroms- seemingly their favorite way to celebrate Easter.

  "I know, Father Peter, there are probably other Christian churches that are tolerant of the Jews, but in other places far away-in America perhaps. And I know there are good and tolerant Christians here too. But they are too few for any Jew to trust at random."

  I had to agree. We got up and started to walk again. Solomon checked a captured German pocket compass. Without trails to follow, direction was all we had to lead us to the constantly moving camp of Diadia Misha.

  "Did you still really think all Christians were anti-Semitic?"

  "Aren't they?" Sol replied.

  Father Peter looked at Solomon in surprise. "What do you mean, 'Aren't they?' You still feel that way?"

  "It's a matter of degrees, but anti-Semitism has been drilled into Christians from infancy. I think if sufficiently provoked, ninety-nine percent would fall back on their anti-Semitic indoctrination."

  "I can't believe you feel that way!" Father Peter exclaimed, shock in his voice, an expression of hurt on his face. "Do you feel that way about Ivan, Sosha-me?"

  "Ivan and Sosha told me long ago that they didn't consider themselves Christians. He considered the Church a hypocrisy from the time he witnessed a pogrom that local churchmen didn't condemn. I really think he and Sosha were not anti-Semitic. But I don't think a person can embrace Christianity without embracing some degree of anti-Semitism."

  "Then you must think me one," the priest said, obviously hurt."

  "Father Peter, I think the world of you-and honestly could feel toward you as a brother." Solomon spoke slowly, pausing to choose the right words. "If you were captured, God forbid, I would want to do all I could to help you-would risk my life for you. And I know you'd do the same for me-and with less reservation. I know what risk you took when you helped save Jews who sought you out. You'd have laid down your life for any one of them." He stopped and looked Father Peter straight in the eyes. "I appreciate the enormous sacrifice you made when you left your parish. But in a way, you are the most dangerous type of anti-Semite-the one who doesn't realize he is one-and certainly doesn't try or want to be one."

  The words cut at the priest like the slashing of a knife. "Solomon, what are you saying? I can't believe... Is this some ugly joke? How can you say that?"

  We had come to a complete stop in the forest. The expression on Father Peter's face was shock, dismay, hurt. Solomon interrupted, "Please, hear me out. Maybe the word anti-Semitic is a bad one to use, but I use it for lack of another. Let me put it differently. The difference between you and Ivan and Sosha is that they were not practicing Christians. You are. And my grandfather ...blessed be his memory-told me from the time I was a child that every practicing Christian is to some degree anti-Semitic. In my lifetime I've not seen proof otherwise."

  "Solomon, how am I anti-Semitic?"

  Solomon could see how his words were hurting his friend. "You are a good friend, Father Peter-and I know I could trust you with my life. I take no pleasure in telling you these things, but I think you really want to understand how we Jews feel-why we feel the way we do." He looked deep into the Christian's eyes. They held tears, as did his own. "Don't you believe that for salvation-to be accepted in the eyes of God-to keep from spending eternity in Hell-not to be damned for all time, a person has to accept your Christ?"

  "Well, it is basic..."

  "And didn't you teach that to your parishioners?" Solomon interrupted. "In fact, do not all priests teach that to all Christians, from infancy on?"

  "Yes, but..."

  Again Solomon interrupted. "And how else do you think anti-Semitism is handed down from generation to generation, from century to century? What does the Christian think of the Jew, who does not accept your doctrine? In the eyes of the practicing Christian, the Jew is an evildoer, the non believer-the damned-condemned to burn in hell. Your faith propagates hatred of the Jews. If at any point in history society has needed a scapegoat, Christianity has helped provide it. And priests have paved the way."

  Father Peter was speechless. I felt sympathy for him-his feelings, but I had to agree with Solomon. We began to walk slowly. Solomon began to realize he had been a little over zealous. He'd gotten carried away, had spilled over much pent-up hostility-had hurt a friend.

  "I'm sorry, my friend. I shouldn't have said all that. God knows, you have done much for us. It is just that we Jews have been made to live in mortal fear of Christianity. As children, we put up with daily taunts and beatings from Christian children who always outnumbered us. As adults, we feel the oppression of the Christian community. It's not only passed from fathers to sons, but from Church to parishioners. I know there are others who deserve the blame far more than you, but, nonetheless, you must realize that most Jews are going to be forever mistrustful of all Christians and the one in a hundred like you will have to bear some of the blame, rightfully or not."

  We continued a little further in silence. Then Father Peter quietly said, "I'm truly sorry for my part in this catastrophe."

  Solomon stopped in his tracks and embraced his friend.

  76

  Logical & Rational...

  The news of Ivan and Sosha's arrests reached Diadia's camp. What had happened and what could be done about it provoked long and serious discussions. In the end, Diadia summarized his position. "Father Peter, Solomon, I hope you will understand the only position I can take in this matter. I hope you and your group will not think we do not want to help or that we wouldn't help if there was a chance for success. But under the circumstances, the risk would not be justified. To begin with, your comrades were arrested in what has all the appearance of a retaliation roundup. That being the case, they were probably executed the same day."

  Solomon bowed his head as he listened, not wanting to admit to himself that what Diadia Misha was saying was probably true.

  "Now even if by some miracle one or both of them were spared-it has already been over a week since they've been interned. That is longer than the average human being can survive in such a place."

  "They are not average! They are both strong, tough!" Solomon interjected.

  Diadia continued - a little deeper sadness in his eyes. "If we were successful in raiding the camp at Babi Yar, chances are we would not find them alive. Maybe we could save some others. To my knowledge that camp holds a maximum of three hundred prisoners. If we were lucky, we might be able to break out ten percent-maybe thirty. Believe me when I tell you that's the most we could hope for.

  "To assault such an installation, almost in the middle of Kiev and the German army-especially since we know nothing of its layout and defenses-we would have to expect to lose almost twice as many of our people as we could contemplate saving. It would have to be a major assault." He paused a moment, looking at Solomon, his head still bowed.

  "And after the raid-the Germans would probably kill everyone left in the camp and pick up a thousand more people in Kiev as reprisal." Diadia didn't like having to turn his friend down and paused to give the matter a last thought. "No, there is no way I can see to justify such a mission. It would be suicide. Only my emotions tell me to do it-and they are clearly wrong this time."

  Solomon and Father Peter and I knew he was right. They didn't argue the points Diadia made, but Sol asked, "What would you say to a small party-all volunteers-trying to break in, sneak in, under cover of darkness and try to steal them out?" He knew as he asked it was foolish, but he had to cover all possibilities.

  Diadia thought long on the question then asked, "Solomon, if you were the prisoner in the place of Ivan or Sosha-would you want anyone to risk such a mission to get you out?"

  "No." His voice could hardly be heard.

  "How can you ask anyone else to join you in such a hopeless effort? Who of these people or of your group would you commit to the action?"

  * * *<
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  It was late. We spent the night in Diadia's camp. We started back the next morning. I was able to barter some needed medical supplies. It was actually mid-morning before we started back to our own encampment. The day was warm, but the forest kept us comfortable. We forced ourselves to make the best possible time the day before as we were going to Diadia's camp. Now that we had resigned ourselves to the fact there was nothing we could do for Ivan and Sosha, we made our way back home in an almost leisurely pace, depressed at the situation. The forest quiet was disturbed only by the chatter of squirrels, the incessant chirping of the birds and the sound of our own footsteps on the leafy floor.

  We were still a long way from home, perhaps three hours at this slow pace through the difficult terrain, an estimated eight kilometers yet to walk. We sat down by a small spring to rest, refresh, to take some pleasure from the forest and its sounds and the intermittent silence.

  "I feel bad about yesterday," Sol said to Father Peter. "I hope it won't destroy our friendship."

  "Nonsense, your points were well taken. I had never really understood before. It was something that needed saying-especially between friends."

  "But I feel I let out a lot of pent up anger on the wrong Christian. Actually..."

  "Shh!" Father Peter interrupted. "Did you hear that?" He had his ear cocked to the wind.

  "What? I don't hear a thing." Solomon said. He automatically drew his pistol which had been untouched in his belt for the past days.

  "Yes, I hear it. Explosions - gunfire!" I agreed, "From that direction." And I suddenly realized I was pointing in the direction of our camp.

  "Listen! It's that horrible sound that haunted me in Kiev. I haven't heard it in all these months-that terrible sound of gunfire from Babi Yar. The wind must be carrying it all this distance."

  Solomon slipped the pistol back into its place. He cocked his ears as the priest had done and concentrated. "Yes, I do hear it. But that wind is from the wrong direction. Babi Yar is southeast of us. That wind is from due south."