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When the Germans entered Lemberg, they found out that I was a trader in metals, so they called me in and said that since the firm of Wechter, Victor, Kremin was now in town, there was interest in my collecting iron ware and rags. I was ordered to take charge of organizing the collecting of materials throughout Poland.

So I got to work, beginning in Zborow, Brody, Brzezany.

In Zborow, my brother -in-law lived. In Brzezany, a sister, and in Brody, I had relatives too. That's how we started to organize the collecting in various regions.

When I asked Kremin if I was allowed to roam the streets, he answered:

“On my authorization, My Jews will be the last!” He didn't say “his” Jews would stay alive, just that they would be the last... He also assured me that if anything came up, I was to telephone him and he would “immediately” contact the Gestapo.

The people who worked with me were also issued special permits. I myself secured 40-50 such permits, among them, for Moshe Stock, Eva Segal, and others. And that's how we did it in other places, too. We traveled to various localities and returned together. On the trains there were “controls” [checkpoints] where we presented our “iron-clad” permits and were waved through. On one stretch, my son, Arye, was the official who examined our documents, and we pretended not to know each other... My son's identity paper was under the name of Wishinsky. About 4-5 weeks later, he called me and said that there was some kind of suspicion about him at the work station. I traveled there to get him. Between Zborow and Zloczow, there was a checkpoint. He had his Christian identification; I had a yellow star on my armband, but my “iron-clad” permit got me through. That's how we came back to Lemberg and my son then stayed home.

While I was in Zborow, not many Jews were left. There was the Judenrat [Jewish Council, set up by the Germans and forced to implement Nazi policies], the Jewish police, as in many towns at the time. Remembering what Kremin told me (“his Jews will be the last...”), I warned the Jews that it was bad and it was time to flee.

On May 15, 1943, Kremin, the German, called me in and said: “You have to save yourselves, whoever still can...”

My wife was at the time sheltered by a Polish tax inspector.

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I paid him and he took care of all her needs. Our youngest son, who is now in America, was kept hidden by our Christian maid. At one point, the Ukrainian police caught him, but she refused to give him up; she paid them off with a few hundred dollars... I myself had nowhere to hide and decided to go where my wife was hiding. When I got word to the tax inspector, he sent his brother, the postman, to get me and that night he took me to my wife's hiding place.

I had sent my two sons–Arye and Munye (Michael)–off to Russia and they had settled in Dnipropetrovsk.

When they heard that the Lemberg ghetto was set on fire, they resolved to come and save us, and they both came, Munye and Arye.

We were then in a bunker underground that the tax inspector built for us. It was surrounded by a park and a garden. Every so often, we would leave the bunker. When we would hear a bell chime, we would get back in and the wife of the inspector would go to open the door. At the entrance to the bunker, there was a mat and on it a bench and a pail of water. We hid as usual.

She quickly came back and said:

“Your sons are here.”

It was about midnight or 1 o'clock in the morning. They brought identity papers for my wife and me and our son Jozef, who now lives in America.

They were dressed in German uniforms and had false “papers.” For us, too, they had procured almost completed documents, because there, in Dnipropetrovsk, they had access to official stamps and everything they needed. They lived with a Russian partisan and collaborated to kill German soldiers and take their papers. Back in the Polish times, we had fabricated for ourselves “papers” under Aryan names and all we had to do now was to fill in the documents with the same handwriting.

In the morning, we were joined by our youngest son, Jozef, who had been hiding with our maid Stefka, I don't remember her last name. He was 12 years old by then. We got word to Stefka and she ran over, too. Mrs. Keicher, in whose bunker we were hiding, never allowed Stefka in before, but this time she said nothing. With Stefka, we had entrusted all our jewelry, as well as dollars and gold. Only a small portion was buried at the Keichers, where we were hiding. We told Stefka to bring what we would need for the road. We knew that she would take nothing for herself, even my ring,

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which I had explicitly told her, was hers to keep, she would not take. She came right back and brought everything we had left with her. Both Christian women, she and Mrs. Keicher, accompanied us to the station, so that we would not arouse suspicions as Jews. On the way to the station, getting on and off the tram, we witnessed the horrors on the streets. Jews - naked, smeared with excrement, unrecognizable as human beings - hauled out of sewers and dragged to their deaths by Ukrainians, Poles, and the Gestapo... It was a picture we could never forget.

We all made our way to the station, but not together. First went our two sons in military uniforms. Then we followed accompanied by the two Christian women, Mrs. Keicher and Stefka. They carried all the money and valuables–in case things went wrong, at least they, not the Germans would keep what there was...

All our documents were inspected at the station. When our train arrived, our sons gave us a signal, as we did not want to get on the train together. Once they boarded a wagon, we got on to the next one. The two women settled us on the train and at the last minute, surreptitiously shoved in everything that was ours–but–not an item was missing–as it was given to them, so it was returned... We did not leave them with nothing. We left a sizable fortune to Mrs. Keicher as well as to Stefka–things you can't take on the road. We parted from the two women and the train left for Dnipropetrovsk.

We waited there 5-6 days and then went on to Odessa. We used the same documents–no longer in passenger cars but on freight trucks, carrying ammunition and such. We had “marching orders” that allowed us access to the water wagon. The only problem was that our youngest son Jozef, who was 12 years old, was so small and slight that he looked like a 6-year old and we couldn't come up with a travel-related reason for him to travel. We were supposedly travelling to Vienna, I as a translator, and the others each as part of a project for which we were needed, but what to do with a child–why would a child be needed?

Our travel documents said that I was going to Dnipropetrovsk and, having nowhere to leave him, was bringing him with me. But here we were in a different situation and had to find a way to go on. We discovered that between the freight trucks, there were cabin-like trailers, we stole into one, hid our little one under

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a bench, sat ourselves down on it, and kept presenting the soldiers with our “papers,” as there was an inspection at just about every station.

In Odessa, we heard that with transit permits to Vienna we could get to Bucharest.

Our sons again set out to procure “papers.” This time, it was more problematic, mainly because of the child. Our older sons, especially Michael, had close connections with the partisans. He was put in touch with a Romanian, who was to be told nothing except that the little boy is a nephew who has been abandoned and has no one here but has relatives in Bucharest and needs to get there. I was introduced as a “translator” travelling to Bucharest via Vienna, and since I knew the boy's relatives, the Romanian would hand him over to me at the train station there...

Our older son, Arye, took the “papers” to Gestapo headquarters to be approved. He was told the documents would have to be authenticated in Kiev, so my son slunk out, knowing he could no longer return to the same office as he might be recognized. He told Michael to try his luck in another department. Arye looked like a Pole and Michael looked very German. His speech, his smile and his confident manner won over the Gestapo official, who didn't ask any questions and signed the “marching orders” on the spot.

Our Michael went to the German supply center and brought provisions for 40-50 people (as much as he could get). Aware that we were so anxious we could barely eat, he knew he could put the food to good use. Many Russian partisans worked at the train station, and as soon as the train started to move, he threw the food packets out the window to the partisans...

In Bucharest, we were pretty sure–as sure as could be–that we wouldn't be shot, but we could be sent to prison or a labor camp. A day or two after our arrival in Bucharest, we moved in with another Jewish family, who also was not to know who we were. We couldn't tell them not because we feared they would betray us, but because, having not previously known Jews living under false identities, they might accidentally say something to someone they shouldn't... The flat, which we later rented, belonged to someone in the military.

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Our son Michael could not relax in Bucharest. He said that his whole family was in Zborow, his friends were in a “camp” in Lemberg; he had promised them that as soon as he was able to recue is parents, he would return–to get them out...

Without saying anything to us, he got himself a new uniform in Bucharest and told our Jozef that he would take him to the train station if the boy promised not to say anything to his parents until after he, Munye, had already gone. And that is how it was.

You can imagine, how heavy our hearts were when we learned he had gone, and by way of Czernowitz , known as the toughest, most stringent German checkpoint. No Jew had dared to go that route before.

We know that when Michael arrived in Lemberg, he found no one there, but somehow managed to find someone who went to Zborow and returned with the news that no one was left there. Actually there were people in various hiding places, but he had no way of knowing. Michael was determined not to leave without his people. He made his into the Janowska labor camp in search of his school mates. A few young men were to make their escape at night and he undertook to provide clothing for them, which he had already prepared, as they were practically naked. He also told them that though he had come by way of by way Czernowitz, he would take them by way of Brody, because it was an easier route.

Preparing to leave with them, he was recognized by a Pole, who took him to “Poltchinska” [Street?] and told him he knew him and what he was...

Mrs. Regina Jung continues:

Awaiting his return in Bucharest, my husband went every day to the train station with Jozef to look for him. This went on for a week, two weeks, until one day the boy came running home by himself and said that his father had been taken away by the Gestapo...

For 4 weeks, I didn't know where he was. I did everything I could. I ran everywhere to ask for help. You cannot imagine how much the Romanians, Poles, as well as the Polish Committee did to help. They finally let me know that he was in the hospital department and I should go there and try to get in...I did not speak a word of Romanian but I somehow managed to make my way there. They had Polish translators. I told them I was looking for

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someone named Rogozhinsky (my husband's Aryan name...) and they let me in.

When they brought him out, there was one tooth left in his mouth. His hair, which had always been blond, was gray, and he couldn't move one side of his body as he had four broken ribs. He was all bandaged up. He had been beaten up to find out if he was a Jew, and who he was, and what was he doing at the train station... My husband told them he was not a Jew and his name was Rogozhinsky. A Polish priest, who saw the condition in which my husband was being lead for further interrogation, offered to test my husband's knowledge of Catholic ritual–can he recite all the blessings etc. He then declared my husband a true Catholic–he actually gave false witness, because he wanted to help him...

The Romanian police decide to put my husband on trial. As the date neared, I tried to find a good lawyer to defend him. The Polish Committee, “IMKO” at their cost, got my husband the best lawyer–a general. This was very expensive and I could not have paid even the smallest cost. The chairman of “IMKO” gave sworn testimony–falsely–that he knew Rogozhinsky from home as a Christian; a great-great grandparent may have been a convert–that he didn't know–but the defendant himself he knew to have always been a Christian. In actuality, he did not even know what my husband looked like as he had never seen him before in his life...

The lawyer aimed to get my husband the longest jail time possible, because if they were to free him and toss him across the border, he would be shot there immediately.

The lawyer got what he wanted–five years in prison and a fine of 5,000 leu [Romanian currency]. We were overjoyed that my husband was sentenced as a spy, not a Jew...

We were grateful for the five year sentence, as it saved his life. But the prison was a dreadful place as it housed the worst criminals.

After a couple of months there, things got so bad for my husband that he said if he was not transferred to another prison, he would not survive. In this matter, the Jewish Committee came to my aid and had him transferred to a civil facility in Bucharest. Here he could be visited twice, or even three times a week.

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Whoever had money–bakshish–could bribe the guards to get anything done.

The Jewish Committee gave us much help. They even got my husband out of prison for a month.

Two weeks later, the Russians arrived and, along with other political prisoners, he was set free.

From Romania, we headed to Palestine via Bulgaria. The transport consisted of some 660 Polish Jews, including two to three families from Czernowitz. By then, we had identity papers in our real name–Jung, not Rogozhinsky. In Bulgaria, the Russians held up the transport and kept us all for two months in Stara Zagora.

The Russians claimed that our journey was “politically suspect.” Ours was the first transport to leave Bucharest officially and legally. But the Russians declared it illegal and stopped us. They were supposed to send the whole transport to Russia but in the meantime, they kept us in Stara Zagora.

After six to seven weeks, when Ben Gurion arrived in Sofia to intervene on behalf of the internees, he was told not to interfere because it would not help. The most he could do was to offer to accompany us himself... So things remained as they were, and Ben Gurion, who had come to Sofia specifically to help us, had to leave empty-handed.

While we were there, we were visited by Jewish officers in the Russian army who had been dispatched by the NKVD, but, as it turned out, still had “Jewish hearts.”One of them was quick to inquire if anyone among us was from Vilna, as he had left family there as well as his wife and child...Then he added : “Don't look at my uniform and my job, and don't be afraid! I know who you are, from where you come and where you are going. I'll do whatever I can to help you...”

It seems that the reports they submitted about us helped. In any case, after two months they let us go and we travelled on, only to be held again at the Turkish border, this time not by the Russians, but by the British. They kept us about eight days–with practically no food–only once did we receive some cold rations from Turkey.

This was already the end of 1944. We were still in Bulgaria, sitting in frigid freight trucks–no water–bundled up in blankets and whatever we could find.

And then, one night, around 12 am, we saw a locomotive nearing out train, but no one knew if we would going back, or toward Turkey... A little while later

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someone came by and quietly told us that we were indeed headed for Turkey.

Once we arrived, we were quarantined and three days later, we were loaded onto freight trucks headed for Syria. We had to stay in our seats and not get off anywhere. At station stops, the British military brought us tea-with-milk and biscuits.

And so we arrived in Palestine.

My family, the Stark family, lived on a farm in Dembina [Denbina?] which was part of Uliyev [Vuzlove?]. We were five–my father, Eliezer; my mother, Malka; and my two sisters, Tzipora and Rachel. Tzipora was married to Arye Furst and they had four children. Rachel was married to Menachem Kornfeld and they had two children.

When the war broke out, Rachel and her family lived in the vicinity of Tarnopol and the Ukrainians broke into their home in the middle of the night intending to kill them all. Rachel and her husband managed to escape, naked, through a window and the Ukrainians slaughtered Menachem's mother with a knife and tore off the heads of the children.

During the Nazi rule, our whole family was in the Zborow ghetto and I was in the extermination camp in Jezierna. I was there for a year and then I escaped and hid out in bunkers among local Christians. From them, I later learned that my entire family was killed in the Zborow ghetto. I alone survived.

Names of other families who lived nearby: Schechter, Leiner, Apter, Goldberg, Falk, and Berger. Of them all, only one son of the Schechter family, Joseph, survived, and now lives in Canada. Of the Apter family, two daughters survived–Chana is now in Canada, and Prive is now in the United States. Of the Berger family, one son, Baruch, is now in Poland. Three whole families–Furst, Blaustein, and Rechtshafer who lived in Bialoglowy were annihilated.

I miraculously survived. I lived in pits I dug in winter and out in the fields in summer and subsisted on whatever I could find for 18 months.

At the beginning of 1944, I was liberated by the Russian army. I was immediately drafted into the Polish army and took part in the battles against Germany. In September 1945, I was discharged from the Polish army, and about a year later I left Poland. For two years, I wandered throughout Austria, Germany, and Italy, and in September, 1948, arrived in Israel.

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This witness was born in Lvov, a mechanical engineer by profession and now living in Israel. After many hardships, he was transferred to a labor camp in Zborow in 1942. He spent some months there and in his testimony he describes the horrific living conditions in this camp.

The Germans called this a labor camp, but the truth is that it was an extermination camp. There were about 2,000 Jews there and the conditions were such that no one could survive more than 2-3 months. We worked in paving roads. The workday was 11 hours long. Our work place was about 8 km;5 miles] from the camp. We had to walk it twice a day, a fast walk and on an empty stomach. The weak ones that could not keep up with the pace of walk were shot by the Ukrainian guards, without a second thought. After being in the camp for two months, one day two Germans SS officers came and they asked for tradesmen in the camp. One of the SS officers was the chief commander of all the camps in the area (Obersturmfuhrer). And his name was Warzok. He was based in Zloczow.

I introduced myself to Warzok and I spoke German with him. I told him I was a mechanic and my name was added to the list of tradesmen. That was the end of my conversation with Warzok and we never heard from him again. It seemed that we were forgotten. In the meantime, my health deteriorated and I felt that I would not be able to keep up with my work for too much longer.

Then suddenly, from an unexpected place, came some relief. In Zborow at that time, there were Jews called the Judenrat of Zborow. The Judenrat of Zborow was allowed in the camp. They knew the head of the camp. Baum was his name. And they used to bribe him with all kinds of gifts. One day they gave him a present, a truck. But it broke down. So, they asked me to repair it. After I fixed the truck, I asked to speak with Baum. When I met him, I told him that I am the guy that fixed his truck, that I am an excellent mechanic, but I am very weak because of the work I do, that my health is deteriorating and that I cannot continue too much longer. Baum listened to me and he ordered me to maintain the truck. This helped me regain some strength. Unfortunately, after one week, one day some Germans showed up in the camp and took all the people who were registered as tradesmen, and of course I was one of them.

We went to a camp in Pluhov. Conditions there were much worse than in the Zborow camp. In Zborow, Jews died of exhaustion and disease. Here in this place, they were murdered in droves. The commander of the camp was a German farmer, a very cruel and mean guy. He set up a farm in the camp. He personally tortured and murdered the Jews at the camp. In this camp there were about 1,500 Jews that were paving roads. A number had some money and somehow managed to survive using this money. I did not have a dime. After a short stay, I got very sick, due to malnutrition. My legs swelled up and got covered with wounds full of puss. They did not heal. I understood that if I did not find a way to get out of the camp, I would die pretty quickly.

After some thinking, I came up with a way to get out. I asked our Polish foreman to send my letter to Warzok. In the letter, I told him that I am now in the Pluhov camp paving roads.

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Two days later Warzok showed up. He stopped his car about 200 meters [220 yards] from where I was working on the road and was talking to the foreman. I did not have anything to lose and started to walk toward them, which could have gotten me killed. I ran over to his car and he recognized me and he gave me a letter to the camp commander.

In the evening, I gave the letter to the camp commander and the next morning I was transferred to Zloczow. In Zloczow, I worked in a repair shop of a big company by the name of Wilczek and Knoll that was paving roads using headstones taken from Jewish cemeteries and building materials from houses in the Ghetto.

In Pluhov, I met a Jewish man that told me how my father had died. The Germans used to have running competitions for old Jewish men in Janowska camp (outskirts of Lvov). They had to run to a target and were timed with a stopwatch, whoever could not keep up was shot. My father was one of those who was shot.

After much hardship and suffering, Friedman managed to get Aryan identification document papers. He also found out that the woman who promised to hide him for an amount of 40,000 zlotys was the head of an extortion gang. This gang would murder their victims (those they promised to hide) after they took their money. This gang worked with the Ukrainian policemen. The policemen would take the Jews from their hiding places and shoot them at the street corner. Friedman experienced this but survived and this is his testimony.

One evening, I came home and found a Ukrainian policeman sitting on my bed, waiting for me. It was too late to run away. The Ukrainian told me not to be scared in Polish. He said he did not come to harm me. He only wanted me to give him 20,000 zlotys to bail out my landlord who was jailed for illegal trading. I told him that I would give him the money, but I needed some time to get the money. We agreed that he would come back in three days.

I was in a no-win situation. I did not have anywhere to run. The only option was suicide. But then I decided to tell them that I needed more time to get the money. Then late one night, another Ukrainian militiaman came to ask for the money. I told him that I could only get 5,000 zlotys and that he should wait a few more days for the rest of the money. He told me to pack up my belongings and come with him. I knew that it was the end. I knew he would kill me at the street corner. I told him that I was not sure I could believe him because last time another policeman came. We started to argue and ended up exchanging punches. The room was very narrow and he could not take out his rifle to shoot. To make a long story short, I killed him. I killed him with an ax. I left the room and for three weeks I was wandering the streets in the bitter cold, without food or shelter. At night I used to hide in old bombed out houses. These buildings were full of lice. It was unbearable. I found out that the Germans were looking for Poles to send them to work in Germany, they needed laborers. I decided to give myself up to the Germans even though they might learn that I am Jewish.

My good fortune is that they did not find out that I was Jewish. Luckily. So, I was transferred to Germany and I was working on a German farm. The work was horrible and I did not have the energy to continue. When I told the farmer that I am an auto mechanic, I was transferred to an auto factory in Weitsberg. In May 1945, I was freed by the Red Army.

Some of the People from Zborow and Its Surrounding Areas at the Annual Memorial

Some of the People from Zborow and Its Surrounding Areas at the Annual Memorial

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When war broke out between the Germans and the Russians, the German military passed through and we believed that was it… but three days later the Germans returned, skull and crossbones emblazoned on their helmets, and began to kill Jews, mostly men.

Seven hundred and fifty Jews were murdered in the little town of Zborow–including those who arrived in 1939 to seek refuge in Russia. That was the first Aktion–on a Friday. And on the Sabbath, the Ukrainians called for revenge on the Jews for the murder of a Ukrainian by a Jew while under Russian rule.

They rounded up about 100 men. First they were made to work all day and then, at nightfall, the Ukrainians themselves, unaided by the Germans, set upon them, beating them down with clubs studded with nails.

I was then living in Tustoglowy, with a Ukrainian woman named Yula Werbicka.

During the pogrom, Yula saved 25 Jews from death: When the Jews were rounded up (ostensibly for work), she came out of her house and saw two Ukrainians lead a group of 25 Jews. One of the two was a cousin of hers and she addressed him: “Aren't you ashamed to take part in such a thing?!” Taken aback, he took her words to heart and quickly jumped over the fence into her garden. I stood there and saw everything…

The Jews stopped in their tracks; the other guard was an 18 year old twerp, but they thought they had to follow him... so Yula shouted: “Why are you standing here? What are you waiting for?!”

The Jews ran off. Had they been taken into town, there would have been 25 more corpses… that's how she rescued them.

It was quiet for a few months. Jews began to go out to work–for a sliver of bread, for next to nothing–doing hard labor, selling off everything they had in order to buy a bit of food, to survive. They worked on the railroad, in offices, in German hospitals, anywhere there was work…

But it didn't last. A half year or so after the first Aktion and the subsequent Ukrainian pogrom, the Germans descended, surrounded the areas where the Jews lived and annihilated many of them.

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The exact dates of when this all happened, I don't remember… the Aktion was horrific. Little children were hurled by their heads into walls and exterminated. The walls were sprayed with the blood of children…

Then the Germans sectioned off an area for the Jews and designated it a ghetto. Orders were printed and placards were hung restricting all Jews to the ghetto. At that point, both Yula and I were notified that I had to move to the ghetto.

Once I realized that the ghetto meant certain death, I told that to Yula and she agreed to keep me hidden with her.

Yula watched over me as long as she could. I hid in a little cubbyhole all day and at night the dog outside was taken off its leash and I would come out of my hiding place and do whatever I could inside. I was more or less aware of what was happening in the ghetto. First, right after I became “illegal,” there was another Aktion. The Germans again shot and killed a number of Jews and others were rounded up and transported to Belzec to be burned in the ovens. The Jewish police were also involved… But later on, the Jews realized that, in spite of everything, they needed to resist; and it was the head of the Judenrat himself, a man by the name of Fuchs, who organized the resistance. He had served in the Austrian military (Zborow once belonged to Austria) and was knowledgeable in such matters. He made contact with local Poles and learned where to procure weapons and how to stow them in attics and other hiding places. That's how he organized the resistance. This was before the liquidation of the Jews in the labor camp.

The liquidation came on July 23, 1942. Later it was rumored that the liquidation might not have come as soon as it did if the Germans hadn't gotten word that the Jews were preparing to rise up in resistance against their annihilation.

A week before the liquidation, Fuchs was incarcerated, and beaten up. His hands and feet were broken and then he was shot.

The ghetto was decimated. They did it systematically. First they staged an Aktion for those from Zborow. Not many Jews were left, so they rounded up Jews from Zalosce, Ozerna [Jezierna], Pomorzany, and other localities and brought them to one place to make it easier to kill them off. A small number of the young and strong were sent to the labor camp to replace those who had sickened and perished.

The ghetto was liquidated before Passover. It was bitter cold, as I remember; they staged the last Aktion and removed all the Jews from the ghetto. Only the labor camp remained and they sent Fuchs there.

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While there, he worked even harder on organizing the uprising, but it never came to that… Before the Germans liquidated the ghetto, the conducted a search of the work camp, but the weapons were well hidden behind a fake wall and were not discovered. When they later returned to level the camp, the inmates, by then without Fuchs, battled the Germans for a full day. Only at nightfall did the Germans take control of the camp and liquidate it. This was on July 23, 1942.

As long as Yula Werbicka lived, I stayed with her. At that point, when Jews were still going to work, many of them passed by her house and knew of her goodness. On their way back from the camp, 15 -20 men would stop by and each would be given something: a cup of coffee, tea, borsht, a piece of bread, a potato. Sadly, the good soul fell ill with typhus and died. One in a million, she did not survive...

After her death, I became Stefania Jurkiewicz, the name on the Aryan “papers” given to me by a priest. He warned me: I'm giving you these “papers,” but don't go anywhere with them because you look Jewish and will not “pass.”

Now that Yula was gone, I again had to find a new “illegal” hiding place…so I made my way to Yula's sister, [Mrs.] Martiukowa, and asked her to shelter me. Her husband had been a man of some influence when the Russians were in control and when the Germans took over, he quietly held on to a lowly position in spite of the fact that he was highly educated and spoke German well. But the Ukrainian nationalists denounced him as a collaborator with the Russians and as a member of the NKVD… He was summoned to the German command center, but they quickly recognized that his facility with German could be useful to them. They not only kept him alive, they gave him a high position and he became even more important than he was with the Russians. When I came to his house, he said to his wife: “You can keep her here as long as I say… You don't need to be afraid.” And I stayed with them. I cooked and cleaned. But then things got very bad. After the ghetto was liquidated, the time came for him to tell his wife: “Now I am already afraid to keep her. She must leave…”

I stayed there a little while longer. Then the German front stalled at Stalingrad and the Russians began to move forward and reclaim the occupied territories. The Ukrainians feared that [Mr.] Martiuk would take revenge on them for denouncing him to the Germans. And one morning, when he and his brother were on their way to work, they were accosted by a band of Ukrainian nationalists;

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The brother was ordered to move on and Martiuk was killed. I heard the shot myself…

After his death, the Germans gave the position to his son and [Mrs.] Martiukowa said to me: “I am no longer Madame Martiukowa and you must leave.”

It was summer and I headed out to the field. At first I would crawl into a root, then I hid in the raspberry brambles between the tress, or among the wheat stalks … wherever I could find a spot for myself.

Once every three days she bought me a little milk and a sliver of bread. It was too little to live on and too much to die from.

I stayed out in the fields until late in the fall, until it got really cold and I felt I wouldn't survive outside in the straw… I was on her property and she knew my hiding places. By then, she herself wanted to be rid of me and her son, Slawko, said to her: “You'll hide a Jew, give her food and then you'll be punished because of her!?”

And she found a way–to report me to the Germans. They got a young boy, a relative of theirs, to rat me out and he did… There was a man named Sikorski, a Ukrainian whom the Ukrainians themselves had brought into the area from Stanislawow, in Poland, who wanted to rid the world every single Jew. Every day he prowled around, searching out any gentile who sheltered a Jew and saw to it that he was reported. After an Aktsye ended, he would run out to the fields and pluck out the Jews who had managed to escape and turn them in to the Germans. It was this Sikorski who came looking for me in the places he was told he would find me. He turned over every stalk–searched everywhere… he and three other murderers.

They discovered three corpses of Jewish women, the wife and two daughters of a wealthy fabric merchant. He had sold his entire business and arranged for his wife and daughters to shelter with a Ukrainian named Palatyev, who had agreed to keep them for money but became terrified of the threatened severe punishment. Unable to kill the three of them at once (they were hiding in a covered pit in his yard) he apparently lured them out, one at a time, with a promise of food, and strangled each of them with a piece of rope. Then he dragged them out to the field and Sikorski and his gang, looking for me, found the three corpses. Not knowing who they were, they assumed I was one of the three….

That whole day I stayed where I was, and at nightfall I crossed the road.

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I snuck into the Martiuks' yard and hid in the outhouse. I'm thinking: When I see [Mrs.] Martiukowa, I'll ask her for something to eat and tell her I'm running away because they've been looking for me today…but then I spotted Slawko Martiuk–he's looking for something–in the barn, the pen. He reaches my hiding place, opens the door and sees me…

“What are you doing here?” He asks. He sees how horribly I've deteriorated since the time I worked for them and can't even look me in the eye. I started crying: “Slawko, I'm not afraid of death–we die and it's done! What's terrifying is to know you're going to be shot…”

He says: “You know what? Run over to the other side of the field, they won't look for you there…”

He pointed where, and I went. I crouched in the corn patch. The owner of the garden had a brother, a teacher named Sokolowski. Once when he came to see his sister, he spotted me in the garden and out of pity he ran home and brought me something to eat. His wife would not bring me any food because she was afraid to even look at a Jew… Another woman lived there, a Polish woman named Jankowska. She brought me food every day and kept warning me: “Stay where you are. Sikorski is on the hunt–he's lurking everywhere.”

She would come every day with a bit of food and repeat her warning not to budge… One day she brings me a bowl of potatoes with fried onions and tells me again that Sikorski is roaming around day and night and warns me not to go out at night to get water…

I am famished and gobble up the hot potatoes. The fried onions burned inside me like a fire. I'm dying for a drink and have no water… At the other end of the field, in a corner, there is small well. I wait until very late at night and head towards it with my cup. I'm at the well. I hang my cup on the pole to lower it into the well… I look up–there he is, Sikorski. I say to myself: now is not the time to run. It's too late. I have to go on drawing water and keep my head down. Maybe he'll just pass me by. If I run, my life is over… And so it was–I kept drawing and he passed me by. And when I saw that he had gone between the tress, I dropped down on the ground, and, still clutching my cup of water, made my way back to my hiding place in the corn patch.

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The next morning, I told Jankowska what had happened… I stayed on for quite a while in that garden. The weather turned very cold and the cornstalks wilted and got thinned out, putting me in danger of being seen from the road. Jankowska kept hearing reports of Jews killed here, Jews shot there, Christians taken to labor camps for harboring Jews. Every day brought bitter news of hidden Jews exposed and shot to death… I suffered greatly from the cold and felt that I wouldn't last like that much longer…

In Jankowska's yard, like in many others in the village, there were piles of straw, stored for the winter. At night, I made a makeshift bed for myself in the straw. She gave me her permission and continued to bring me a little food every day.

One nice clear day, some children found their way right to my hiding spot. They romped and poked around until they discovered me. They set upon me with old, broken pots, threw them at me and shrieked: “There's Jew here!” Because they all knew, young and old alike, that I had to be a escapee, a fugitive–a Jew.

Once the children discovered me I knew that the ground was burning under my feet and I had to get away from there. At night, I made my way to someone who had been on my mind all along–Kasia Rozumkiewicz–a Polish spinster. She was one of the people who used gather at Yula Werbicka's house when I was still working there “legally.” I knew that if she would agree, it would be best for me to shelter with her. She was childless, lived alone, and was not under any suspicion.

She lived in Tustogolowy. It was a fearfully dark fall night and when I entered her yard, I promptly fell into a deep pit she had dug to store potatoes for the winter. I don't know where I found the strength to climb out … I'm at her door and I hear someone speaking inside. I know that she lives alone. I hear talk. I panic. But standing outside is a terror too. I knock. She invites me in. I step in. Her brother's wife is there. I tell them how the children discovered me hiding in the straw at Jankowska's and say: “Kasia! Only you can help me. I have to flee and I can't turn to people who have little children–they might give me away. If you don't help me, I will perish outside in the cold. Kasia, help me!”

She was silent. She couldn't just say: Come! Her heart was very heavy…

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She was a fine person and sympathized with me, but taking on such a burden–that was hard…Then her sister-in-law said: “Kasia! Take her in–I'll help you keep her safe!”

Kasia then dropped to her knees before the portrait of the “Holy Mother” and asked for her help in harboring me to keep me alive…

That night, after Kasia promised to take me in, I returned to Martiukowa's and asked for the few things had left there. No longer trusting her, I told her I was heading for another village, in the opposite direction, and described in detail the route I would to take and the bridge I would cross to get there…

She said my things were with her mother, so I should come tomorrow and she will have them for me… I realized that she had turned against me and what she was thinking was that tomorrow, on my way to her, I would be caught and spare her returning my things.

So I say to her: “Pani” [Mrs] Martiukowa! Please let me stay here one more day and tomorrow at nightfall I'll leave…”

I hid in the straw pile in her yard the whole day and she did not bring me any food. The next morning, she handed me only two small things, said I would get my pillow and blanket once I was in my new place, and practically pushed me out the door. “Go already–she prodded me–move faster!”

She had by then contacted Sikorski and the Gestapo thugs to ambush me on the bridge she believed I would be crossing and she did not want them to have to wait there too long.

I said to her: “You're sending me out in the daytime, when everyone can see me? That's a death sentence. At least wait for it to get dark…”

So she let me wait a little longer and them I left. She was sure that the SS would finish me off on the way, but I didn't go that route. Once I was out of her sight, I lay down among the wheat stalks and crawled on my stomach in the right direction–toward Kasia's…

When Kasia heard what had happened, she said: stay here and do not step out of the house!

The next day, when she went out, she soon heard the rumors Sikorski and the SS are turning the whole area upside down and can't figure out how the Jewish girl evaded them… And poor Kasia had me in her home. She was terrified–she drew the curtains and trembled with fear. She was in mortal danger.

And Sikorski went from house to house and searched every corner.

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Kasia often hosted a niece of hers, an orphan, who worked for a family who possessed a large estate. She once revealed to the wife of the owner that I was hiding out at Kasia's and she, the wife, brought fabrics for me to sew. Kasia would stand guard at the window to make sure no one was approaching and I sat at the machine and sewed. That's how the rich woman let me earn some money from which we both supported ourselves–Kasia and I. Not even Kasia's brother, who lived in the same courtyard in a separate house, knew about this…

One morning–it was still early, before 8–there was a knock on the door. It was winter, not yet fully light and Kasia had not yet looked out the window. I quickly slid under the bed (that was my hiding place) and Kasia waited another minute for me to be well hidden. Then she went to the door, opened it and saw–the murderer Sikorski! In terror, she couldn't look him in the eye. She opened her mouth but kept her eyes down on the floor and let out a groan. He asked what was wrong with her and responded: “I don't feel well. I'm sick.”

But he saw that she was dressed and became suspicions. On his way out he ran into her brother's wife, who did not get on well with Kasia–they were always at odds with each other. Sikorski asked her: “Tell me–isn't she a Jew? She doesn't look me in the eye.” And the sister-in-law answered: “No! Her? She's just crazy!”

And Sikorski believed that it was the behavior of a mad woman. Still he searched the attic, the garden, the cellar–turned everything upside down, but not the room itself, where I lay under the bed…

And poor Kasia had to withstand it all.

Kasia's brother, who lived next door, had a very hard time with her hiding me. But he was very fond of me. He would come by every Sunday with a shot of whisky and say: “I'm drinking to your life.” And his wife, she who had told Kasia to keep me–would always, after milking the cow, leave a pitcher of milk on the window sill for me–and both Kasia and I drank it. Suddenly she stopped bringing milk and started to warn Kasia: “Listen Kasia–you have to let her go because I fear for the children–they'll burn down the house and send us to a labor camp. I have little children–I can't risk their lives…”

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But lucky for me, she was the one who had told Kasia to take me in, and Kasia now said: “Listen! I didn't want to take her in, but you said to do it. If you breathe a word to anyone, I will tell them that you told me do it…You just need to keep quiet. Don't give me anything for her. We'll survive without your help. Just keep your mouth shut: You know nothing–that will be best. If you say anything to anyone, I'll report you for telling me to do it! So she had to suffer in silence.”

By then the Germans had begun to retreat. We suddenly saw a lot of Germans in the area. The retreat bogged down in Ozerna [Jezierna] for five and a half months, so we lived under Russian gunfire all that time. The Russians attacked several times and as soon as the offensive began, I had to hide out in the attic. More German troops arrived and a number of them were quartered in Kasia's house.

The Germans turned Kasia's house into a makeshift mess hall and I heard them from the attic. Poor Kasia worked in the kitchen and helped with the cooking. She would steal a bit of food every day and bring it up the ladder to me.

I couldn't wash up either, so what did I do? There was a spot in the attic where it leaked when it rained, so I put an old basin under it and collected water to wash my hands and feet. Stashek and Kasia brought me books from high schools and universities. I didn't understand much, but I read. I read about Jesus too–whatever there was, I read. I also wrote down what I was living through. Every day there was something new, and I wrote it all down. None of it survived.

Suddenly, they caught and killed a local Jew who had been in hiding.

He had once been at Kasia's and had seen me, so Kasia panicked and got her niece, who worked for the wealthy landowner, to move me to their attic. When she milked the cows, she would steal a cup of milk and bring it up to me. The landowner, of course, did not know I was in his attic. I stayed there maybe eight days in frigid 20 degree weather and my hands and feet went numb. So the girl told me to burrow deep into the hay stacks, where the animals' body heat would provide a bit of warmth. One fine morning, the landowner felt like pitching some hay. He's working nearby, getting closer and closer. I can sense the pitchfork coming at me; and

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I don't know why, but suddenly–just at my head–he stops and climbs down.

I only stayed there a few days. When we heard that the unfortunate Moshe Reiss had been shot and Kasia was certain he hadn't informed on me, the girl took me to Kasia's at night… And the gunfire went on. Shrapnel shrieks above our heads and bursts of fire streak by, terrifying us all…So I say to Kasia:

“I know a Christian man who lives alone in a shack in a field. No family, no neighbors. I'll go there. Maybe he'll take me in and I can stay there until the liberation…” But when can I venture out? Daytime, the shepherds are out, tending their flocks in the fields. Nights are certain danger because the military roams the area. I have to go out at noon, in full daylight, when the shepherds take their break and head home with the flocks… So I come down from the attic but I can't take another step. My feet are swollen and are no longer fit for walking. Still I muster all my strength and head towards the fields. (Kasia lived at the edge of the village.) I reached a small stream but I can't cross it, so I sat down at the edge to wash my face and hands. The water revived me and with all my remaining strength I jumped over the stream. I trudged on, my legs barely holding me up, and as I near the solitary little shack, I see a group of German soldiers milling around in the yard and I have to turn around immediately.

On my return, I head to Kasia's cellar, as planned. As I near the cellar, I see, lying on the ground, her brother's daughter, who lives next door with [Mrs.] Martiukowa's little sister, and I tiptoe by her head… If the little sister sees me, I'm doomed...

Kasia leads me back up to the attic. All the while, battles rage all around us and bullets again fly overhead.

So I say to Kasia: “Give me my coat and pack up my few shmates [rags]… If I'm going to die here in the fighting, I might as well put my pack on my back and go.” Kasia packed up my things, then dropped to her knees, crossed herself and prayed: - “May the One Above watch over you. May all my efforts, all the bloody tears I shed to keep you alive, go with you and keep you safe, “tpu, tpu tpu!”

And I walked out into the field. Many locals had already evacuated the area

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a day or two earlier, but here and there someone returned to retrieve something from home. A bit further, I saw more evacuees, with livestock, wagons, horses. They were from other places–from Zborow itself no one was left to leave; those who wanted to had already gone. I trudge along with my pack on my back. I am still young… A German passes me by–the military in the area was on the move–and starts up with me. A German, I think to myself–it's over. I'm caught, and he's going to shoot me…but he flashes me a smile and I see he's just making eyes at a young girl. By then, Germans weren't thinking about Jews that much, they had other concerns…And he did end up just going his way, leaving me with a scare.

I keep walking and a wagon pulls up driven by a man who had been a policeman under Polish rule. He takes one look at me and says: “For sure, you're a Jew. You'll be caught and shot on the spot! A blind man can see it: your skin is white as snow–not browned by the sun… Scoop up some dirt and mud and smear it on your face, because anyone who looks at you can tell right away you haven't been spending much time outside. And here, take my cow. If you're leading a cow, they may not suspect you!”

I do as he says. I slather my face with mud and walk on with the cow, trailing the wagon… An old crone passes us by and lets out a cry: “Oy, look at that–a Jew leading a cow!” As soon as the wagon driver hears her, he runs up to me and says: “give me back my cow.” I'm afraid they'll take her from me and kill me. I want to live too…

Suddenly I notice a small run-down house at the edge of the village–I head towards it and go inside… A young woman, in her twenties, is lying on the bed. She had recently given birth but something had gone wrong and she has not been well for the past few months. Overhead the sky is black with warplanes, and she turns to me and says: “Where are you going? Stay here… You'll go out to feed the cattle in the field. We'll give you food.”

She and I are alone in the house–what could be better? But it doesn't last long, maybe a day or two–and the area is again inundated with German troops. But I am no longer on the run. I lead the cattle to graze in the field and stay away from people. I keep the livestock out as long as I can, but they head for home on their own once they are sated. Here and there we run into a local, and somehow it gets known in the village that there is a Jewish woman out there in the fields…

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I do my best to stay away from the evacuees and their wagons, but the owner of the house comes to fetch me, and his wife says to me: “Listen, whoever you are! They tell me you are a Jew. The whole village is talking about it. Tell me the truth. Who are you?”

And I say to her: “I was once a Jew, but not any longer. I took on the Christian faith and now I am a Christian. But for the Germans I am not “legal” and they would kill me if they found me…” Then she says: “If you're not a Jew any more, I'll do my best to hide you…”

And she “leaked” the secret that I was a convert to Christianity and had to be saved…. And that's how I was able to stay there until the liberation.

The village was not very far from Zborow, but I don't remember its name… What mattered was that I kept tending the cattle, was taken as a Christian, and was unharmed by the villagers. When the airplanes hovered and there were bombardments, I would hide in the bunkers with everyone else–sometimes, Germans too.

Once there was a big battle in Zborow, near the Russian cloister. Twenty seven Germans were manning the front. The Russians didn't know how many Germans there were because there so much shooting going on. This one German went with his dog to rescue wounded Germans from the front. He loaded them onto a small cart and the dog pulled them to safety. Suddenly the German appears in our yard, caked head to toe in mud, only his eyes could be seen. I'm afraid but I put on a front and got a stick and a small knife and scraped off the mud and rinsed out his clothes. He turns to me and says: “Yes, it's all the Jews' fault. They are to blame for this whole war.” And I say: “Yes, it's true!” What should I say? That I only want to see him lying deep in the ground with all the other Germans?! And he takes out a lemon and an orange and hands them to me in return for cleaning him up. Fresh fruit was an indescribable luxury–available only to the German–no one else…

After the war, I went back to Kasia's. We all hugged and kissed. The joy was great, but the pain in my heart was greater, though I knew that what I had lived through, few could have endured and survived.

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Before the holiday of Purim, the witness was brought along with 50 other Jewish youths from Tartakov to the labor camp in Zborow. This is his story.

Camp Commander Klaus greeted us in Zborow. We met Jews in the camp from Berezany, Narayov, and Kozova, who were brought to the camp a short while before us. The poor hygienic conditions of the Jews in the camp made such a depressing impression on us that we could not believe what our eyes were seeing.

The Ukrainian police who supervised us ordered us to sing. Obviously, we could not open our mouths; we preferred to cry than to sing. I still remember the slap I received for not singing. My cheek swelled immediately.

The following morning, they divided us into groups and tasked us to work on road construction. Our group worked on the section of the road between Zborow and Kazimirovka and another group worked on the road section between Zborow and Ternopil. The camp was called Jüden Zwangsarbeitslager (The Camp of Jewish Forced Laborers). In the beginning, we were just a few. Later on, additional people were often brought until we reached 700 people. A person named Kempka, also a German, assisted the commander. Before Klaus, a person named Fuchs served as the camp's commander. He was later transferred to the Korovitza Camp.

The regime at the camp was horrible. Klaus was a grand sadist. During his reign, he killed tens of Jews with his own hands. He derived pleasure by looking at how the sick and the weak were tortured doing their hard work.

At first, we received material assistance from the Judenrat in Sokol. They brought us packages every two weeks. Later on, they were forbidden from coming to the camp. The Judenrat in Zborow sent us some food, once in a while. Once, a lawyer named Yanovchinski and Dr. Tzinz, both from the Judenrat in Sokol, came to us. They came to release 50 youths from Sokol, but they were both arrested. They were subsequently released and had to go back home without fulfilling their mission's objective.

I was working digging ditches (transhein [in Yiddish]). Once, the camp's commander turned to me and ordered me to work in laying stones. “But I do not know how to do that,” I said. “A rubber stick would teach you,” he answered. They beat us so much until we learned the work of laying stones. We received 180 grams [6 ounces] of bread and a little soup every day. The guards used to kill some of us daily. They had the “right” to return 10% fewer Jews than the ones who came to work. The reasons for the killing were asking for a slice of bread from a Gentile passerby or bartering an object for food. There were cases when they collected the sick who could not come out to work and shot them.

I also once fell sick. A typhus epidemic prevailed in the camp then. I woke up in the morning and joined the group of the sick people. We were 28 sick in the group and the camp commander, who recognized me from the stone laying work asked me: “What's with you?” “Camp Commander, Sir, I have a fever.” He ordered me to stand up and began piling snow on top of me. Another sick inmate, a carpenter, stood near me. The police officer, a Russian who probably cooperated with the partisans, hinted to us to get out [back to the camp], and that was what we did. Later, we heard that a few minutes after we left, all the 26 sick people in the group were shot with a machine gun. Klaus murdered them. That happened around October 26.

The atrocities in the camp are evidenced by the two cases that the witness saw with his own eyes: A Jew who tried to escape once was caught. They positioned us all in the camp's yard and ordered us to look at them sawing off the escapee's skin with a saw while he was alive.

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The second time, the Germans forced us to witness the hanging of one of the inmates and ordered us to sing. Whoever did not sing was severely beaten.

Not far from our camp of Jewish forced laborers, was another camp in Zborow–the [so-called] “free camp.” People from far away places and offenders from the “free camp” were brought to our camp.

On June 15th, 1943, we heard about the liquidation of the “free camp,” and that it was our camp's turn to be liquidated. The number of guards in our camp was doubled, and it seemed they would liquidate us at the end of the work day. We worked in the forest that day, and five of us decided to run away. We stayed in the forest and did not go back to the camp.

Later on, we found out that on June 22nd, the camp was surrounded, and people were taken out in groups to be shot. Fifty healthy youths were in the first group, and they talked among themselves to try to attack the Germans. The first youth who attacked the Germans was Flick from Rutki near Sanok. He thrust a dagger into the arm of a German and dropped the rifle from his hand. Thirty-five out of the 50 people in the group managed to escape. Fifteen others were killed. The people in the first truck were guarded by four Germans. The Germans strengthened the guard in the second truck, placing six guards with the second group. Despite that, 15 people managed to escape from that truck. After that, the Germans decided not to take out additional people from the camp. They forced the remaining 600 people into the barracks, surrounded the barracks with hay, poured kerosene, and burned the people imprisoned in them.

I met the escapees in the forest near Zborow. Altogether, we were about 50 people. The Germans tried several times to capture us. They conducted their last hunt on Saturday, November 15, 1943. It snowed then, and the Germans used the footprints in the snow to find our hideout. I was with four other people in a hideout nobody knew about. The others concentrated into two groups, who led a disorganized life. Every one of them took care of their own interests and were free to do as they wished. They went to the neighboring villages to look for food, and the Germans caught them all through the footprints in the snow. We were more careful. We camouflaged our bunker, did not go out as often, and tried to stockpile food in case of a siege.

Those who were caught were all shot by the Germans. The Germans tried to lure them to divulge the hideout locations of the rest of the escapees with the promise that if they did, they would not be killed. There was one among them who led the Germans to our hideout. He did not know the exact location but showed the Germans the section of the forest where the bunker was located. The Germans began to search in all corners of that section, and we could hear their shots.

There were four of us in the bunker: I, Hersh Ginover [?], Simcha Weinberg, and a girl named Bertha (whose last name I do not remember). Our bunker was well camouflaged, and if the entrance was closed, nobody could find us. I opened the entrance's cover by accident and when I saw the Germans, I called to my comrades: “The Germans are coming!” At that moment, we all swore that we would not surrender to the Germans as long as we were alive.

Our bunker was built in sections. A pit was dug opposite and near the entrance, and beyond that was the kitchen from which smoke rose. The Germans approached and called us to come out, promising us that they would not kill us but transfer us back to the camp. We did not answer. Then they sent us the Jew, who led them to us to convince us to come out. He came and delivered the message from the Germans. We told him to leave. When he left, the Germans threw two hand grenades toward us. One of them fell into the pit near the entrance

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and knocked down two walls. I have scars today from the wounds I suffered then. We sat down in the four corners of the bunker and waited for what was to come. At that moment, a German came down to our bunker, and Simcha Weinberg, who held a weapon, shot at him three times and injured him in the leg. The German screamed and his friends dragged him out. In the meantime, the Germans began digging above the kitchen, trying to reach us from the other direction. They succeeded in digging a hole in one of the bunker's walls. We heard the order to throw hand grenades on us and seek shelter. The grenades knocked down two walls but did not hit us. We took advantage of the opportunity and three of us (including the girl) jumped out of the bunker. The fourth one was still stunned by the explosion and remained in the bunker. We agreed that if we survived, we would meet by a particular farmer near Zborow, with whom we maintained relations and who had told us about expected “hunts.” Weinberg purchased his weapon from him.

When we came out of the bunker, Simcha Weinberg began firing toward the Germans and forced them to retreat. They shot at us but did not chase after us because they were afraid to go deeper into the forest. Obviously, we ran with all of our might until we arrived at Meteniov, a village near Zborow. We went into the home of one of the farmers, who allowed us to bathe and gave us a half loaf of bread, and we continued our way to the place we agreed to meet. The girl was not with us. She was slightly injured and remained lying among the trees. However, all four of us met at the designated location–including the girl and the person who remained in the bunker. When the latter recovered, he covered himself with a blanket and left the bunker. When he entered a village to ask for a slice of bread, the village youths caught him and wanted to hand him over to the Germans. However, after he begged them for his life and gave them his shoes and hat, they left him alone. He immediately turned to the designated meeting place.

“Our” farmer told us the location of an armed Jewish group in Pomorzany forest that had connections with the Poles. He showed us the way to the forest and asked that we take another girl with us, who had arrived at his house a day earlier. When she arrived, he knew that a hunt for people hiding in a forest was expected to take place, and therefore, he did not let her go to the forest. Thus, the five of us went on our way and arrived at the indicated location. We found a group of more than 50 Jews. Those were Jews from different areas. Jews who had escaped from the German camps were also among them. That was in the beginning of 1944, six months after our original escape to the forest.

During that time, we sustained ourselves by stealing from the farmers. Every village had two or three isolated houses, located somewhat further away from the village center. Initially, we entered these houses to ask for food; however, later on, we took food without permission–some potatoes, chicken, a calf, and even a cow. We lived in pits in the forest among the trees.

For three months, we hid inside a young and dense forest, where the Germans cut trees for military needs on one of the sides. It was the safest place compared to anywhere else since the Germans operated around the forest at all times, and the Gentiles in the area avoided going into it. For their part, the Germans never tried to go into the dense part of the forest. Therefore, we stayed there for three months without anybody noticing us.

On June 22, 1944, the Russians arrived. We suddenly heard a loud noise and thought we heard people speaking Russian. We were not sure about it though. When the noise subsided, we came out of our hideout quietly and saw a small sign on the side of the road written in Russian. A hand was painted on the sign showing the direction and a Russian inscription near it. We did not know the meaning of that. At night, one of us went out to find out what was happening. Immediately after going on the side of the road, he saw Russian tanks and soldiers. He returned to us and told us that the Soviets had arrived. We talked amongst ourselves about how to get out of the forest.

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We came out of the forest early the following morning. The Russians surrounded us, photographed us from all sides, and told us that the whole world would see how we looked and read about us. Later on, they took us to physicians who provided us with medical help.

With that, our hiding period ended. The group dispersed, and everyone went to their native city.

During the time of the Russian occupation, starting in September 1939, I lived with my wife and my three children in a town called Tarnopol. In 1941, I was drafted into the Russian army and was sent to one of the units stationed in the forests near town. This is where we had very serious and difficult training for about two months. We were a group of Jews from different towns in east Galicia and we were treated fairly by the Russian soldiers and even developed friendships with them. Life continued this way until the day when a wave of German airplanes showed up in the skies of Tarnopol and dropped many bombs that exploded into a big flame. The Russian military units were ordered to retreat right away. That caused panic and fear among the soldiers. The Russians announced that the Jews and the clerical workers who worked for the Russian regime could join the retreating military. But only very few did so.

We left the burning town without a chance to say goodbye to our families. We started a very hard and tiring retreat. After a short rest in a town called Podvolochisk, we continued to retreat while being chased by the Germans. After we crossed the old Polish-Soviet Union border, we joined one of the Russian units and we fought with them in various battle fronts. We took part in blowing up bridges, laying landmines, and carrying out other military operations. We, the Jewish soldiers, fought shoulder to shoulder with the Russian soldiers; yet, we felt a burning sense of revenge in our souls and there was no end to the Jewish fighter heroism. The bravery and sacrifice of the Jewish soldiers was displayed during face-to-face combat with German soldiers. I do not have the proper words to describe their heroism.

It's very hard to describe in words how Russia looked in those days. Towns and villages were wiped off the face of the earth. Agricultural fertile fields were turned into mine fields. The air was full of smoke and the smell of bombs and blood was pouring around like water.

The Jewish soldiers were concerned about the fate of their families who they left behind under the Nazi regime. We used to talk about this amongst ourselves for hours.

The Germans continued with their fighting in spite of the bravery displayed by the Red Army and the partisans. In one of these horrible battles near the town of Kyiv, I was wounded. I was lying unconscious for hours under a cover of dirt and soil until paramedics found me and transferred me to a military hospital near the Ural Military District.That is where I had surgery and after three months, I was released as someone handicapped.

After my discharge and the end of the war, I traveled to Tarnopol, hoping to find any of my family members. I found out that they all perished. While I was still mourning and didn't know what to do…suddenly the Ukrainian hooligans started to attack me…saying how come there was a Jew left and had come back to town? So, I decided that I had to leave this place as fast as I could. I started planning how to run away and go to Israel. I traveled to Poland and from there after a long journey throughout Europe. I fulfilled my dream and arrived in Israel in 1948.

Dr. Bunim Feldman Speaks at the First Memorial to the Martyrs of Zborow and Its Surrounding Areas (Seated: from the left, Naftali Katz and Author, R'Binyamin)

Malka Marder and Nahum Linder Light Memorial Candles in the Shoah Room in Jerusalem

People from Zborow and Its Surrounding Areas at the First Annual Memorial

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