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

by Othniel J. Seiden

  "Solomon, my dear friend, I fear you're right," Peter admitted.

  Over the next few months into 1945, conditions grew worse for the Jews of Poland, the Ukraine and in the liberated areas of Europe. There were few left after the Holocaust, but their minority position only encouraged harassment. Father Peter's disillusionment with the Church was deepened. He could get no meaningful response from anyone.

  "They'll make no commitment until the war is completely over," Solomon kept saying, "Though to tell the truth, I can't believe they could still think about a Nazi counteroffensive anymore."

  "I just don't understand it," Father Peter said. "But I know I can't continue like this. Even if I get Church support, I'll no longer respect the hierarchy. Such hypocrisy! Too much has happened. Too much has changed."

  "What else can you do?"

  "I can teach. I could teach history. I would like teaching. But that has its problems, too."

  "Which are?"

  "I certainly could not teach in a communist state." Father Peter shook his head and laughed bitterly. "I am still Catholic. I can't give that up!" He paused, "I'm intolerant of both and for the same reason. The Church and communism-they both make the same intolerable demands of dogma!"

  "What if you were to move to a non-Communist country?"

  "I have considered it. A big step, there are language problems-and I would have to leave everyone I know."

  "Have you ever thought of going to Palestine?" Sol asked.

  "You mean on a pilgrimage? Of course."

  "No, I mean to stay!"

  "To stay? Of course not!"

  "Well, think about it now. After all, your faith began there! Surely there must be opportunities for a man like you-to teach-to do research-to write... I think it might be your answer!"

  91

  Travel Companions...

  By the time the war ended in mid 1945, the idea of leaving totally absorbed Father Peter. He'd talked it over with his friends and several reluctantly agreed he should make the move. Father Peter would accompany Solomon to Palestine.

  The first problem facing them was getting out of the Ukraine. Exit visas were not easy to come by. Even applying for one was risky because it alerted authorities and put one on a list of possible enemies of the state. Finally, Father Peter and Sol agreed to slip out of the country secretly. One advantage they had was that much of the country was in transit. Soldiers and refugees were returning, displaced persons were trying to find places to settle. The Jew and the priest joined the flow of transients toward the border towns of the Ukraine.

  They made for the mountain town of Glybokaya in the south. From there, they crossed the border at night to the Romanian Mountain town of Putna. Father Peter had several priest acquaintances, friends who willingly helped them to cross the country. Security was not strict and they had no problem getting into Hungary.

  As they traveled west, the number of people in transit increased and security was even more lax. The two men traveled now as priests-as members of the clergy, they escaped scrutiny. They left Hungary and crossed into Austria under the protection of the forests. Once in Austria, they considered their problems behind them.

  The first thing they did was present themselves at the headquarters of the U.S. and British occupation forces. They had no difficulty proving their identities from papers they had brought with them out of the Ukraine. They were given asylum when they announced they were defecting. They received new papers allowing them to stay in the west, work permits and a list of all available aid societies that had been set up for refugees and displaced persons. They were sent to a special office for those who wanted to resettle in other countries of the non-Communist world. Austria was the major staging area for resettlement.

  "Your papers, please," the official requested, "You want to go to Palestine? You wish to live in the Holy Land, Father?"

  "Yes, we seek a new life in the place of our beginnings," Father Peter replied as he handed the man his own and Solomon's papers.

  "Let's see-you're from the Ukraine-the Kiev district. That should be no problem. We have few requests from Ukrainians to enter Palestine. The quota should be far from filled." He searched a loose-leaf book before continuing. It contained columns of countries and figures. "Ah, here it is. Oh my, they have never filled their quotas. Since the war not even two percent of it. You'll have no problem at all." The man seemed to develop an immediate rapport with the priest and addressed all his comments to him. Father Peter took over the role of spokesman.

  The official took some papers from a drawer in his desk and handed them to Father Peter. "Each of you must fill out one of these forms completely-accurately-then bring them back to me. We'll process you together so you won't be separated."

  "Thank you," Sol replied. "You're a great help. I never dreamed it would be so easy."

  The form asked a multitude of questions: date of application, place of birth, date of birth, family name, given name, middle name, father's name, mother's maiden name, citizenship, race, religion, education, profession, skills, political convictions, criminal history. There was a section on health history, family history, personal history and a section on the whys of wanting to resettle.

  When both he and Solomon finished the chore, Father Peter gathered all the papers and returned to the room where "their" official worked. He'd just finished a family group, so he turned his attention immediately to Father Peter and Sol.

  "Ah, you are finished. Let me see your forms. This is only the first in a tedious series of steps, but it is the most important of all-and if it's not properly done you'll have difficulties later." He scrutinized each form, point by point and gave an affirmative nod after almost each item. He mumbled, "Fine-fine-very good-fine..." intermittently and, "Seems in order..." and initialed each page in the proper box-until he came to one answer on Solomon's. His face grew stern.

  "Oh my!" he shook his head, reopening his book of countries and figures, "Oh dear me!" He turned a few more pages and checked in another place. "This presents a problem. Mr. Shalensky-being with the priest, I assumed-well-I assumed you were with him."

  "I am!" Sol said with some irritation.

  "Well, yes, of course. But I mean to say, of his religion-aaaah-his religious conviction."

  "What are you getting at?" Father Peter demanded.

  "Well, Father Rochovit, Mr. Shalensky comes under another quota list. It is the way the British have set up the quota. Jews are under a different quota listing!"

  "What are you saying? We are Ukrainian! We are both from Kiev!" Father Peter was almost shouting. "You yourself said the Ukrainian quota was far from filled!"

  "For Ukrainians, yes, but not for Jews. I am truly sorry, but I have no control over the matter. Jews are under a separate quota system. The British will not let you in, Mr. Shalensky. The Jewish quota is small ...filled-and the waiting list is very long."

  Solomon was disappointed, angry, but not surprised. "It is as I said, nothing has changed. We are separate in the eyes of the non-Jewish world. You distinguish between Ukrainians and Ukrainian Jews. The Nazis did, too."

  "I don't," the official quickly pointed out, "the system does. Your friend can be on his way within the week-but you-as a Jew-well, that will take a long time, I'm afraid."

  "Just how long, specifically how long?" Solomon demanded.

  Father Peter couldn't restrain himself any longer. "This is not possible!" he shouted. "We-the whole damned world just suffered a war because of this same bigoted attitude and you have the audacity to..."

  Solomon put his hand firmly on Father Peter's shoulder to calm him and redirected his question to the intimidated official, "How long?"

  "They take a few thousand a year," the man shrugged. "And the waiting list seems endless."

  "My God! What madness this is!" Father Peter raged. "It's the Jews who need the refuge of Palestine! There is no place for them in Europe or Russia. I can go there-I who could go anyplace-and the Jews who have nowhere... Now the British tell t
hem they can't enter Palestine? What are they to do?"

  The official's face colored. "There are displaced person's camps where they will be taken care of until something can be worked out."

  "Displaced person's camps? Something worked out?" the priest screamed.

  "Please, I understand that you are upset, Father..."

  "You understand?" Solomon interrupted, "you don't understand shit!" He leaned across the official's desk and looked him straight in the eyes. "How long will it take the non-Jewish world to learn? It's quite obvious why we no longer want to stay in Germany, Austria, Poland or the Soviet Union. How can anyone ask us to stay where our families were butchered, gassed and burned-turned into soap and fertilizer-their corpses raped of gold teeth and hair to further the economy of what you called civilized nations? You're shocked that the Nazis could have done such things-but there are an awful lot of you who are at the same time sorry the job wasn't finished!"

  "You can go, but not to Palestine!" the official muttered uncomfortably.

  "All right, where can I go?"

  The official's face became even more florid. He picked up his book and leafed through it as if looking for an answer. "Well," he stated finally, "except for returning to the Ukraine, where they have to accept you back, there's no place that will take you right away. However, there are a number of countries, which have much shorter waiting lists. You could go to Holland, Denmark or Sweden in a shorter time. Maybe even America. Canada!"

  "But what about this week? Or next?"

  "No place."

  "And if I did go to one of those countries, could I then go to Palestine?"

  "Not as a Jew."

  There was nothing left to be said. Solomon turned and walked away from the desk, bitter, frustrated.

  Father Peter picked up all the forms and began to follow Solomon out of the office.

  "No," Sol said, turning back to the sound of the priest's following footsteps, "complete your paperwork. This is my problem. You must make your arrangements to go to Palestine. I insist. I'll wait for you in the hall."

  Solomon's tone told Father Peter that he best finish. The more I see how the world treats the Jews, Father Peter thought, the more I realize that no gentile will ever know just how it feels to be Jewish. After his paperwork was complete, Father Peter met Sol where he waited in the hallway.

  "You want to know something funny, Father Peter? All my life I have wondered about something and the answer has always eluded me. I remember my grandfather saying that the most precious thing we had was our birthright. Well, I understood that we were Jews by birth, but he spoke of 'birthright'-'birthright!'-implying it to be a privilege.

  "As a child, growing up, I wondered what privilege he saw in it. Was it a wonderful privilege to be everyone's scapegoat, to be spat on and beat up by the goyim? Was it a privilege to have lived in ghettos and worry about every drunken group of goyim starting a pogrom-or just having fun breaking our windows and looting our stores, raping our sisters and mothers?

  "Well, now it all comes clear to me. Finally, when my birthright allows me to spend my days in a displaced person's camp, I realize what my grandfather understood so long ago.

  "My birthright allows me to live with a clear conscience! As a Jew, I don't have to carry with me the gentile's guilt! I haven't the shame of contributing to the bigotry, bloodshed and hate that has contaminated this planet for the last twenty centuries. It is my birthright to be oppressed throughout history-but I think that is easier to live with than the guilt of being the oppressor!"

  92

  The Displaced

  Person's Camp...

  That evening, tempers cooled, perspective regained, Solomon persuaded Father Peter that the only thing for him to do was to go ahead to Palestine. "It would be pointless for you to stay here. Go ahead! Get settled in your new homeland. Write me about it. At least I'll know from you what it's really like. And when I do get there, I'll have a settled-in friend to help me out."

  There really was no alternative. By the end of the week, Father Peter headed toward Palestine and left Sol considering life in a displaced persons camp. It was not easy for a Ukrainian Jew to find a place and a way to make a living in postwar Austria. At least in the displaced persons camp, he would be among his own people. He would have shelter, food, medical aid should he need it. And unlike the concentration camps, he could always leave if things didn't work out.

  The displaced persons camps were really far different from concentration camps, but for those who had survived concentration camps-especially the children-they kept the nightmares alive. Any form of confinement and regimentation, however lax, was a reminder. But for the displaced Jews the DP camps were the best alternative. The DP camps came under the auspices of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration. At war's end, only 50,000 Jews came out of the death factories alive. At first, they joined the streams of refugees returning to their places of origin, but before long they found that, unlike the non-Jewish refugees, they had no place to return to. In addition, there were those who had survived the war in hiding, in resistance groups and a few who had succeeded in posing as "Aryans." The DP camps brought all of these Jews together.

  * * *

  Since Jewish communities were prevented or discouraged from re forming in postwar Europe and Russia, they began to form in the DP camps. There the universal problem was recognized and out of that universal problem grew a universal Jewish purpose-to open the doors of Palestine and re establish it as their rightful homeland-the Jewish State, Israel.

  President Truman, on June 22, 1945, appointed Earl G. Harrison to report on the conditions and needs of the displaced persons in Germany-particularly the Jews. On August 1, 1945, Truman received the report. It described the harsh and crowded conditions. "The first and plainest need of these people," the report read, "is recognition of their status as Jews. Refusal to recognize the Jews as such has the effect of closing one's eyes to their former persecution.

  "For reasons that are obvious, most Jews want to leave Germany and Austria. The life which they have been forced to lead has made them impatient of delay. They wish to evacuate to Palestine now. I come to but one conclusion: the only real solution to the problem lies in the evacuation of all non repatriable Jews in DP camps, who wish it, to Palestine."

  President Truman transmitted the report to General Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the U.S. Forces in Europe, to be acted upon. Conditions in the camps were immediately improved. UNRRA appointed Jewish refugees to posts in the administration of the camps. Most importantly, President Truman recommended to the British Government that one hundred thousand immigration certificates be issued, allowing Jews in the DP camps into Palestine.

  The British refused.

  93

  Milton Feldman...

  By the time Solomon made his way to a DP camp-it was on the German side of the German Austria border-the improved conditions were already being enforced. He found a highly organized society within the camp. A kindergarten was being operated for those too young for regular school. School-age children were being taught in Hebrew and Yiddish as well as in the language of their origin. For most, it was the first formal schooling they'd ever had. There were also ORT vocational schools for adults, teaching skills needed in Palestine. Agricultural schools were also established. Anyone who didn't know the languages tried to learn conversational Hebrew and Yiddish, which would become their native tongues.

  Newspapers were published by the DPs themselves and the Zionist Organization actually set up an office in the camp to help Jews prepare for their future. In an extensive survey carried out by UNRRA, it was found that 96.8 percent of the Jews desired to go to Palestine. There was only one problem-the British refused to let them in!

  On December 5, 1945, the British closed the doors of their European occupation zones to refugees. The ban was for all refugees; almost all other DPs had found places to settle and start anew. Only the Jews had no place to alight. Of course, this placed ad
ded burden on the DP camps in the American zone. Also, more and more Jews came out of the Polish and Russian zones because of renewed anti-Semitism in those countries. In the first few months of 1946, one hundred forty thousand Jews fled Poland alone-after the bloody pogrom in Kielce, on July 4th of that year, ninety thousand more Jews abandoned their homes in terror. The pogrom in Kielce murdered nearly one out of every four Jews resettled in that city-and most of the others had been severely injured.

  International opinion and pressure did not impress the British. They barred the door to Palestine and that was all there was to it.

  Sol had been attending one of the ORT trade schools in the DP camp. He was learning auto and tractor mechanics. He thought that when he got to Palestine it would be a valuable and needed skill on a Kibbutz. Though the work had its challenge; it not only enabled him to make a contribution, but it gave him time to himself when he could think. One morning in the spring of 1946, a young man approached Sol's workbench. "You are Solomon Shalensky?"

  "Yes. What can I do for you?"

  The man looked about Sol's age, twenty two or twenty three years old. He spoke Yiddish, the language understood by most DPs, allowing communication between people from all over Eastern and Western Europe, as well as those helping from other parts of the world.

  "My name is Milton Feldman. I'm an American with the Jewish Committee. We are making inquiries into the conditions in the various camps. Could we talk-privately?"

  "What can I tell you?"

  "I have been lent an office upstairs. Do you mind if we go there to speak?"

  "Not at all," Sol replied, putting his tools away and wiping the grease off his hands. There was something about this young man that did not quite ring true. He wore a short sleeved shirt without tie or coat. He was neat, but certainly not dressed in the business attire of most officials. He seemed to have something else on his mind beside the conditions of the camp. Sol didn't know why he sensed that, but the feeling was strong. There was no conversation on the way to the office. When they got there Milton ushered Solomon in. It was more a storage room than an office. Milton closed the door behind him. The room contained a table and two chairs-nothing else.