[Page 507]

There was a Jew in Korets by the name of Dovid Perel. Everyone knew him and his wife Yente. In these few tragic lines, I will describe their horrific end.

After the first murder spree [slaughter], Dovid approached me and asked if I knew a Christian from Morozovka by the name of Safke. Even though his aunt from Morozovka told him that the Christian was an honest man, he still wanted to hear my thoughts. I said that I knew Safke very well, but do as you understand because in these things it is difficult to give a suggestion.

I did not see Dovid after that. Before the second slaughter, I fled into the forest and I came back at the beginning of the year 1944. The authority was already in Soviet hands and I began working for the NKVD [Soviet secret police, forerunner of KGB]. On the second week of my coming to Korets, I met with Safke. He was so happy that I was alive, he even kissed me. My first question for him was if he had seen Dovid, and if he knew what had happened to him. His response was that he did not know where the last steps of his friend Dovid had taken place.

The pretended innocence awakened a suspicion in my heart, because during the war years the bandits ruled in Morozavka, and Safke was their “chief.” There is no doubt that his hands spilled Jewish blood.

The Soviets did not know that he was a gangster and they mobilized him to the front along with other Ukrainians who lived in Korets.

Once, at two o'clock in the middle of the night, a sharp banging on the door awoke me. When I opened the door, I saw the chief of the NKVD. He asked me if I knew Safke. There were rumors that he was a bandit and they had been given an order to search …

[Page 534]

for weapons in his house. At 4 am., 25 NKVD men arrived, and I among them, to the town of Morozovka, and we surrounded Safke's house. We went into the house and found his wife and daughter-in-law. His son was serving in the Red Army.

We were armed with long lances, and we dug up the earth. But, unfortunately, by 7 in the morning, we did not find anything. We were already thinking of going back empty-handed. When I went out of the stall, by chance stuck I the lance into the ground, and I felt that it somehow had touched a hard board. It seemed to be somewhat thick, and I asked Safke's wife if she had a hiding place in the yard. She said that she had a cellar where she hid bread from the eyes of the Germans. I gave her a shovel and told her to uncover the hiding place. She was not so eager to do so, but when she saw who was forcing this she did as she was told.

When she removed the earth covering, we saw a board. I tore it open with the lance, and I saw a human body. When that was removed, we saw another two bodies. The bodies were already in a state of decay, and the skin had already separated from the bones. It was difficult to identify the bodies. In my mind, there was already a horrific thought stewing: Who are they? Maybe this was Dovid, his wife, and his daughter? The Christian woman had put forth an innocent face: She knows nothing; she did not kill these people and she did not bury them.

We took the bodies, moved them to the Korets hospital, and left them there until judgement would be made.

We sent away NKVD men to Novogrod-Volynsk to search for Safke. They returned and said there were rumors that he was going around in Bielokorovits by Zhitomir.

In about three weeks, two policemen from the NKVD came to Korets, and they brought Safke with them. I was the first one to go over to him and ask: “Do you know me?” He replied that he knew many Korets Jews but he had not heard anything about me. “And did you know Dovid?” I asked him.

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The murderer made as if unknowing. “And who buried Dovid in your yard?” I would not let go.

The NKVD people made him “soften” with some special “tools” in their hands, and then Safke opened his mouth and told the whole truth: He took Dovid home, his wife and young daughter, and hid them in his stall. Soon he began to shiver thinking that the Germans would kill him if they found Jews with him, so he began to ask Dovid to leave his house. But Dovid ignored him and remained put. Then Safke began to starve them, taking away their bread and water. But a miracle happened. They don't know, a Jew or a Christian, but an unknown person brought them food and water every night.

When Safke saw that there was no end in sight for all this, he decided to choke them all. With his bearlike paws [hands] he first choked Dovid, then Yente, and finally their little girl. He hid the three bodies in a ditch.

Safke was put before the courts but the punishment was a very light one: For his “good deeds” as a bandit and for spilling innocent blood he was given eight years of “explusion” from Korets, meaning that any time during those eight years, he was not allowed to show his face in the city.

The doctor in the hospital did not stop calling me telling me to remove the bodies. I took Ezriel Linik and Yitzchok Feiner along with me. We went to the hospital and we took the frozen bones of the three martyrs into our hands. It was very cold outside. The frost had solidified the ground and it was very difficult to dig a grave.

It was evident that in the time of the war many Ukrainians were buried in the Jewish cemetery, and later they were moved to the non-Jewish cemetery.

In one of the open graves, we hid Dovid's bones, Yente's, and their child's. I said “eil malei rachamim” [prayer for the dead], and I returned home with a broken heart.

[Page 538]

In the summer of 1944, I came to Tchelyavinsk. It was not by chance that I happened upon this industrial city in the Ural Mountains, as I had come to dozens of other places in those years of wanderings throughout Soviet Russia. Tchelyavinsk was, in those days, a real goal for me: my two brothers lived in this city and there was a recognizable Korets “colony.”

A “colony” of Koretsers in Tchelyavinsk, the center of the Ural Mountains - how come?

On June 22, 1941, with the invasion of the Germans into Soviet territory, the second stage of the Second World War began. A few days later, the military recruitment offices drafted, in Korets and the surroundings, thousands of army veterans of various ages and among them several hundred of the Jews of Korets.

I remember this mobilization on June 25 very well. This mobilization was the first blow that was placed upon us because of the war and it was felt by every family. Much heavier blows came later, terrible and twisted tragedies of the blood of our parents, our children, and our dear brothers - the kidnappings, the slaughter, the incomprehensible deaths - until the holy Jewish community of Korets went down to the netherworld. But the blow of that day - draft day - was the first and thus it is well engraved in my memory.

The crying and the wailing split the heavens. People felt that, this time, the parting was forever. There was no end nor boundary to goodbye kisses. Little me stood in the corner, looked at the heartbreaking parting scenes, and comforted my mother with surprising words: “Mommy, we will still be envious of them”…

Was this just a slip of the tongue? From every breath of air, we felt that the world was standing before a great change. In those beautiful and bright summer days, everything around us flourished and blossomed, yet our world was being destroyed in front of our eyes, without knowing why?

A few days later, when the blasts of cannons from the approaching front were heard, when the hurried retreat of the Red Army and the desperate flight of hundreds of Jews from Poland via Korets on foot and in various vehicles caused great depression among the population and prophesied evil - a few young people went to the recruitment office and asked to volunteer for the army and follow in the footsteps of our brothers who had been drafted. But the answer was brief: “There is no order for additional recruitment.”

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The draftees who were mobilized on June 25 were taken in the direction of Kiev [=Kyiv]. As “Zapadniks” (Westerners), that is, those who come from the western regions of Ukraine and Belarus, which, until September 17, 1939, were part of the country of Poland - were not taken up into the fighting forces, but rather were sent to the distant rear, to Tchelyavinsk, one of the centers of heavy industry in Soviet Russia. The draftees from western Ukraine and Belarus made up then the first kernel of the work forces well known by the name “Rabotsia Battaliony,” which were established with the outbreak of the war and later encompassed millions of people in the same gigantic workers' army.

This decision with relation to the draftees was, without a doubt, the result of high level policy and was taken following a change in the position of the Soviets in relation to Poland's government in exile, the government of General Sikorski in London. Thus the question arose: Are the “Zapadniks” Polish subjects or citizens of Soviet Russia? The problem of the “krases” (the border regions), the western regions of Ukraine and Belarus, served as a bone of contention between Russia and Poland. Many diplomatic conflicts arose on this basis. Many times the Soviets changed their position on the question of the definition of the citizenship of the “Zapadniks.” But in 1944, a unified and clear position had emerged from the side of the Soviets: the Poles and the Jews who came from the aforementioned regions were considered Polish citizens, as they wished; on the other hand, the Ukrainians and the Belarusians, even if they wanted, were not recognized as citizens of Poland.

The development of these matters led to the draftees from Korets, Jews and Ukrainians, being found together in one unit of the workers' army (in “Kolona” number 5) and were housed in Tchelyavinsk next to the tank factory “Tchelyavinski Tankovi Zawod.”

In this manner, the “Kolonia” of the inhabitants of Korets in Tchelyavinsk arose in 1941, during the Second World War.

Wandering in the direction of Central Asia was not by chance. I came to Tashkent with the great stream of refugees that flowed to the rear, both organized and disorganized. On July 3, 1941, Stalin gave the order to remove all means of production (machinery and equipment) and personnel from the areas close to the front that were liable to fall into the hands of the enemy. In compliance, complete factories, with all their workers, were transferred to new places along the rear, in particular in Siberia and the Ural Mountains.

But even larger than this was the disorganized stream of refugees and the displaced, principally Jews, who left their homes in cities and towns that were about to fall into the hands of the Nazis and sought new places throughout Soviet Russia.

The disorganized stream of refugees turned, in particular, towards Central Asia, to Tashkent, the “City of Bread.” People hoped to find in these warm places, where “they plant twice a year,” better conditions than in the cold regions.

[Page 540]

Therefore, I, too, turned to Asia, especially hidden in my heart was the wonderful and encouraging hope: “to return to the land of our ancestors.” The goal was: to be close, closer to the area of your desire…

I remember the argument on that fateful day, July 3, 1941, when I left my parents' house and separated forever from my beloved father, mother, and sisters; I remember the argument with my good friend, Yoel Kunicher, who shared a school bench with me and the Zionist underground of those days. The argument focused on the fateful question: to leave the city and turn to the “unknown” road or to remain and share our fate together with all the Jews? During all those days, we couldn't decide and we couldn't assert: “This is our path!” But on that morning of July 3, 1941, I arose with a firm decision, as if the divine order had been given: “Leave your country and the land of your birth!”

I maintained in this argument with my friend that this joint war of the West and Russia against the Germans would bring a change also in the relation of the Soviets to the Jews and to Zionism. All roads lead to Zion, even through Russia …

With this belief, I left my father's house, truly at the last minute when the cruel enemy was at the gate and all roads were closed. In these last moments in Korets, I saw in my vision the city as she deteriorated. The streets were empty of people. Where did a person in his great agony run to: To where? To whom? Who will describe the fear and despair of that day? The fear and despair of those who were sentenced to death?

I made it through all the years of exile in Soviet Russia considering this belief that my path was leading to Zion. I always knew to where I was heading and I searched for the way.

But the reality was bitter. The hopes that the refugees had hung on Tashkent, “The City of Bread,” were proven false. On the contrary, Tashkent was the symbol of hunger. One saw on the streets of the city during those years shocking multitudes of people dying of starvation. Many thousands of people died from starvation, from Asian dysentery, and from typhus in the Kolkhozes and the Sovhozes [=Soviet cooperative farms], in the cities and in the towns of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan.

Some former residents of Korets died in Uzbekistan. My good friend, a gentle soul, Reuven Bernstein, died in his youth from a work accident in the factory in the city Kokand (at the junction of the Tashkent-Fronza roads). In his great isolation, in a strange and foreign surrounding, in unusual circumstances - he couldn't handle the sudden and drastic change in his life. And thus his life was cut short in a tragic fashion.

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Abba Rabin died of starvation in one of the Kolhozes near the city Otashi in the Namangan district. I met Abba Rabin on one of the days of the many weeks-long trip from Kuybyshev to Tashkent. He was traveling in the same refugee procession (“echelon”) as I was. Abba Rabin had found friends along the way and didn't want to part from them. The last time I saw him was at the beginning of October 1941 at the train station of Chortoq (near Namangan).

A year later I heard from one of his friends that Abba Rabin had died after days of hunger and disease. His strength wasn't enough for the daily struggle for food. So he found his rest in a grave in distant Uzbekistan.

Hopes of emigrating through Persia or Afghanistan were also dashed. In fact, there were isolated cases when young people successfully crossed the borders to neighboring countries. However, the breaks in the borders were quickly closed and there was no possibility to try our luck this way. As for Ander's Army [=Polish Armed Forces of 1941-42], the number of Jews who were accepted into this army was exceedingly small, owing to the antisemitic tendencies of the official Polish circles. And this slim hope of “emigrating” over time with the help of the Polish army was completely gone in 1943 when diplomatic relations between the Soviets and the Polish government were cut off. The Soviet authorities then got rid of the “delegators,” that is, the Polish representatives who were active in the organization and giving help to Polish citizens.

I couldn't see another way except for this: to join my brother, to come to the Korets “Kolonia” in Tchelyavinsk. That was the only ray of light in the darkness that reigned then in our world.

The road to Zion, the yearned for homeland - closed. And around you, no friend, no brother - lonely and isolated in a strange and foreign surrounding.

I will skip over my “odyssey” until I arrived at the Korets “moshava.” This is a chapter full of trouble and suffering. During the period of my wandering during the war years, I met people from Korets. About some of my meetings with Koretsers, I will say this: in Kiev [=Kyiv] I met N. Chanin. He was among the draftees from Korets, but he took sick and was sent to an army hospital in Kiev for tests. He was the first to give me regards from the hundreds of Korets draftees who were, in those days, in camps near Kiev. Chanin, a soldier in the Red Army, went to the army hospital and nothing has been heard of him since.

In Namangan, I met Mr. Kaminer, the dentist. One can learn about his situation and his mood in those days from these words: “Your uncle, may peace be upon him, my dear friend, Asher

[Page 542]

Tuvavin, told me on one of the days before he died in 1941 that he felt evil in everything: it seems to me that the day will come when the living will envy the dead. I think that this day has come.” Mr. Kaminer ended speaking in this pessimistic tone.

The Chichki family and Nachum Zafran also lived in Namangan. In Tashkent, I met Herschel Feiner and the Tessler family.

When I was in Uzbekistan, I heard about the activities of the lawyer, Strassburg, among the Polish circles in Kyrgyzstan. I didn't manage to see him because he was imprisoned by the Soviet authorities.

These were the meetings. But the first meeting with a Koretser in Tchelyavinsk had something different from the earlier meetings. The feeling was different. Here, in Tchelyavinsk, it was as if I was breathing the air of home.

I was immediately told about all the Koretsers who were there and about the history of the “Kolonia.” The Korets settlement in Tchelyavinsk lasted for about 5 years. The draftees from Korets were divided into two principal work places and they were: “The Special Construction Trust” (O.C.M.) 22 and Factory no. 8. Most of the draftees lived in tents. During the first year, a military regime reigned in the work groups. There was a roll call every morning and they went to work as a group. Then there was a change: the military regime was cancelled, but every one of the draftees was said to be tied to his work place. He received a certificate called “bron,” that is, the worker was tied to his work place because he was essential and during the validity of this certificate, no other body - not even a military institution - had permission to take this man without the agreement of his manager, whose name was written on the certificate.

Koretsers were gathered in one place and, thanks to that, they could see one another, to pass on impressions, to get advice, and to unite. This fact made the Koretsers into one big family, which was a source of comfort and encouragement for many.

What was the social life of Koretsers in Tchelyavinsk? In the first years, the situation was quite gloomy. They worked from dawn till dusk and the draftees knew only their work place and the “bunk beds” in the tents. In 1944, things got better. Working conditions improved.

In that year, Korets was freed by the Red Army. But together with this happy news came to us the terrible “news from Job” [=tragic news]: the community of Korets was obliterated and its quiet, simple, and faithful Jews went down to the netherworld.

In truth, we awaited the day of liberation with great anxiety. We felt from afar that the fate of our brothers under Nazi conquest was evil and bitter. From time to time, reports were published by the Soviet Information Office about the many persecutions, killings, and slaughter of the

[Page 543]

civilian population in the conquered areas of Ukraine and Belarus. We understood very well what the meaning of the expression “civilian population” was: Jews!

I remember the depressing impression, still in 1942, that the official announcement of Mr. V. Molotov in the name of the Soviet Russian government “concerning the cruelty of the Nazis in the conquered areas” made on me. Among the information brought forward in this document was information about the number of dead in the total slaughter of the civilian population in the towns of Berezne, Kostopil, and other towns in the area of Korets. According to the numbers that were published, it was clear that it referred to the Jewish community.

At the beginning of 1944 (a few months after the liberation), the shocking article by Dr. Emil Sommerstein (the well-known representative of the Polish “SEJM” [=Polish Parliament)]) concerning the slaughter in Rovno [=Rivne] was published. Afterwards, other publications and detailed information appeared concerning the destruction of Volhynian Jewry. There was, therefore, no doubt about our town.

Nevertheless, despite all the information and the publications, the heart did not believe, did not want to believe … hope did still beat in the heart: perhaps, perhaps, someone from your family was still alive …

Immediately after liberation, I wrote to the municipality (“Gorsoviet”) and asked them to inform me about the members of my family. Perhaps … all of us, all who had come from Korets, we wrote. And we all received the same answer: “The members of your family were deported by the Germans in an unknown direction”…

Those days of Summer 1942 were gloomy and wretched. All hope of seeing the face of your father, your mother, your sister, your friends, and your dear relatives ceased to exist in the heart.

Former Koretsers would gather together every evening in their homes. In a comfortable and familial atmosphere, we seriously discussed the actual problems that existed in our world. In particular, the conversations focused on our parents' home, on families, on brothers and sisters, on parents and children who had gone down to the netherworld by the hands of the cruel ones. The memories encompassed various periods in the life of the Jewish community in Korets. Much was also said in those days about our brothers and relatives in Israel and about the secret hope in our hearts “to sit together as brothers.” The Hebrew language, too, was not forgotten in the hearts of many from our city. I will never forget the experience of reading “In the City of Slaughter” by Bialik in Hebrew in Tchelyavinsk in 1945.

In that year, we also made contact with the Korets committee that had been established in Israel. Following a request from Mr. A. Singerman, I put together a list of all the Koretsers in Tchelyavinsk and I sent it to Israel. This was the longest and most complete list of Koretsers who remained alive after the Holocaust.

After this, packages from Koretsers in Israel and America began to arrive. The committee in Israel sent these packages following the lists that I had created.

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In those days of 1944 it was known that the day of victory was coming close and that soon the Nazi beast would be defeated. But despite the victories of Russia and her allies, despair and confusion reigned among our brothers. We asked ourselves: will the coming victory be our victory, too? What will bring us a victory day? What compensation will we get for the millions of our brothers' graves?

The knowledge that the government of Britain had given permission to establish a Jewish brigade instilled hope and the spirit of life in us. A Jewish army in the war against the Nazis! But doubt gnawed at us: what will happen to us? What are our possibilities and chances in the future? We are here in Tchelyavinsk and our homes are destroyed. Our families have been annihilated, we have no home, we have no family, we are orphans and bereaved. To where will we return at the end of the war?

It was clear then, because we had only one opening in the situation in 1944 - to grab on to Polish citizenship. This was our life preserver.

The organization, “Association of Polish Patriots,” which established branches in all the places where there were Polish citizens, began to function in 1944. I became active in this organization in that year and I was appointed head of the organizing committee of the branch at the tank factory where the majority of Koretsers worked.

The repatriation of Polish citizens in Tchelyavinsk began in January 1946. It's worth telling here about the “incident” that ended, luckily for us, in a “happy end.” The organizing committee of the patriots at the tank factory branch organized a farewell party for its repatriating members. Among those present were many Soviet guests, representatives of the factory administration, and the secretary of the Communist party at the factory. We decided that, at the beginning of the official part of the event, the Soviet and Polish national anthems would be played by the Koretser violinist, Nachum (Nushke) Waserszturm.

After I, as chairman of the committee, opened the party, the anthems were played, but at the end of the Polish anthem, we were startled to hear the sounds of … “Ha-Tikvah.” The violinist realized his “mistake” and stopped immediately. Luckily, the Soviet guests did not notice what had happened and the representatives of the central committee in Tchelyavinsk (even though there were Jewish Communists among them) ignored it.

In May, the turn of the Poles in Tchelyavinsk to be repatriated came. In that month, the Korets “moshava” broke up. The great majority of Koretsers left Soviet Russia. Only a few of them remained in Tchelyavinsk. These were a few individuals who had married and established families in Soviet Russia. Most of those who left Tchelyavinsk are in Israel.

Five years in Tchelyavinsk left its mark on each one of us. Those years were decisive for the fate of all mankind. This time will never be erased from our memories.

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