Eve of the War

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[Page 435 - Yiddish] [Page 202 - Hebrew]

I had a great longing to see my town again; visit my parents, relatives and friends, to stroll the streets and byways in the town of my birth and to meet face-to-face all those with whom I was raised, educated and worked many long years.

I had the opportunity just before the outbreak of World War II when I was visiting Poland. It was at the end of August, 1939. All of Europe was permeated with terror and fear of the approaching war. Polish Jewry was especially filled with anxiety and dread. No one knew what the next day would bring. The military censors were very strict and the Jewish press was barely able to inform with hints between the lines what might happen. No one's heart could have predicted how near the Holocaust was and how complete the calamity that was approaching.

We obtained more details at the English consulate in Warsaw including a stern warning that we must leave Poland within 24 hours. These instructions came as an unexpected blow. I asked myself what to do – return without seeing my home, my parents, my friends and acquaintances or to go the dangerous path and realize my dream to see all those that I loved and treasured.

I decided on the perilous course and I ventured to spend a few hours at home. It was dark when I arrived in David-Horodok. I left before dawn.

I will never forget those few hours when my parents' house suddenly became the focal point for all the David-Horodoker Jews. Some came to greet a relative or friend; others came to hear news of the Land. We all felt as if the floor was burning under our feet and a bitter lament was heard from all assembled: what next? How does one escape and where?

I recall how every face beamed when hearing a living greeting from the Land concerning our efforts and struggles, concerning the light and shadows that go along together, concerning ambitious construction work – everything that was being created in our Land. In my conversation, there was a touch of reproach to all those whose place should have been with us

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in our Land but who, unfortunately, had made short-sighted miscalculations which decided their fate.

It was a night of watching. Everyone talked and everyone asked, beginning with Rabbi Shapira of blessed memory, a devoted and faithful Zionist worker who lived to see the Land, and ending with many others. Every little detail interested them: the economic situation, current events, etc.

It was very difficult for me to answer all the questions. The excitement finally subsided when I promised to take part in a meeting the following day when I would discuss all the questions in greater breadth and depth. Unfortunately, this meeting did not take place just as the best dreams and aspirations of my dear countrymen were never realized. The meeting did not occur because I received a telegram at that moment from my wife and from my home authority which said briefly and simply: “because of the strained situation, return immediately”.

There is no solace or compensation for the great calamity, for the killing of all these industrious people, toilers, people of religion and culture, of initiative and boundless devotion to Judaism and Zionism. They were cut off like young twigs by the foreign murderous hands.

The only consolation is the living monument which was established in our Land – in Israel – the hundreds of families of David-Horodoker Jews who were saved with their wives and children and who well up in full-blooded life in all the corners of our Land. They work, create and serve together with all Israeli citizens, like a living sturdy wall for the renewed state.

[Page 436 - Yiddish] [Page 203 - Hebrew]

The Soviet occupation force had divided the inhabitants into three classes:

1. The trustworthy class: Ex-communists in whom there were found no deviations and those others who openly declared their sympathy for the Bolshevik authority with no one denouncing them.
2. The enemies of the regime: the wealthy and the Zionist activists.
3. Ordinary inhabitants: who would require prolonged re-education with the hope that they would become future citizens of the Soviet Union.

The majority of the David-Horodoker population belonged to the second and third categories. People in the second category who had not been denounced and had not been the subject of an official or unofficial complaint, were automatically transferred to the third category.

In the months of March and April, 1941, hundreds of young people

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were mobilized into “work battalions” and most were sent to construct evacuation centers near the borders of Byelorussia, as for example in Kobrin and Bialystok. I belonged to the Kobrin group.

On June 20, a Jewish lad happened to stand watch at one o'clock at night. He was five minutes late. The commander of the detachment, a Soviet citizen named Gur, quickly alerted the entire detachment and rebuked the lad publicly: “Traitor! If the war broke out tomorrow, would you still be sleeping? In three days, you will stand trial.”

In 48 hours, the German-Russian War flared up. Air raids and artillery shelling accompanied us on our way back home. I tried to always be with other David-Horodokers. The confusion was great. We were given contradictory orders. Wherever we turned, there were Germans. We could not retreat during daylight and we were forced to lay in the forests and swamps and run at night. We only had one goal: home!

On June 26, 1941, Friday evening, I arrived in David-Horodok with my unforgettable friend, Moshe Schechter, David's son and Wolf the newspaper salesman's grandson. I did not recognize the town. What David-Horodoker does not recall the hours before the Sabbath? The shopkeepers rush to close their shops and the laborers end their work. The Sabbath candles are lit on all sides and everyone goes to the prayer house with the children. And now it is like the eve of Tisha B'Av. It is pitch black in the streets and on the face of every Jew is the dread of the approaching Germans.

We were soon surrounded by familiar faces and before we could change our filthy clothes, we had to answer all of their questions. They had thought that the entire mobilized group had fallen. The following day, on the Sabbath, others began arriving.

My family was no longer at home. It turned out that they had fled to the Russian border along with a few dozen other families. The following day, on Saturday night, they returned because they were forbidden to cross the border.

The town filled up with refugees from surrounding towns. The fear was intense. The gentiles taunted us: “Jews, your time has passed! The Soviets are leaving here.”

Confusion reigned everywhere. One day the masses were mobilized and the next day they were all set free because of a lack of communication. The last mobilized group was sent to Minsk on June 28.

We friends met to decide on where to go next and the opinions were divided. Moshe Schechter was among those who decided to stay. Yitzchak Gelman and I decided to go. We informed our families and our former companions in the Zionist youth movement whose attitudes had not been swayed. The majority refused to go.

On July 6, the last Soviet officials left town. With no prearrangement, we 20 boys and girls found ourselves

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on Olshaner Street. Along the way, we met several other youth who did not want to join us, saying that “the Germans are no worse than the Russians. We will also adjust to the new regime.”

When we reached the border, the guards refused to let us pass. No argument would help. Several became demoralized. Yitzchak Gelman, Miriam Frenkel, Tzirel Begun and Shoshana Eisenberg returned home.

One of our group, who was born in a border village, agreed to lead us by backroads and cross the border at night. Barely men, we went to the south of Malishev. At night, we encountered an armed patrol which happened to contain former officials from our town. The patrol commander was Rachlin, who had been the Communist Party secretary in David-Horodok. He wanted us to understand that he would agree to give us a place near his camp and he promised that he would give us a solution in the morning if he could get weapons for us.

It was a night of horror. We could see fires in our town in the distance. The Germans had already been there and had begun plundering.

In the morning, the droshke returned from Turov with the partisans. We were soon called to the commander. “I could not get any weapons,” he said, “but you may pass. The matter has been arranged with the commander of the border guards.”

We rushed forward and did not encounter a single living soldier.

Hearing the German advance, they had all run away. Within sight of Turov, we could see a truck coming towards us at a distance, loaded with soldiers and machine guns. We did not know if they were Russians or Germans. There was a cemetery to the left. We hid among the grave stones. After the truck had passed, we set forward again. By nightfall, we had arrived in Turov on genuine Soviet soil.

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