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During the war, the Germans prepared the same fate for all Jews. Therefore, the fate of many Jews was the same or very similar. Those who tried to resist the sentence that was placed on us in advance submitted their fate to the unknown. Although they comparatively speaking faced the same fate, there were variations.

So, for example, because of my relation to the events, I took my fate to a certain extent in my own hands. I will not speak so much about the ghetto as about me.

In June, when the war broke out, I was mobilized and sent to Lutsk. In Lutsk we were taken as prisoners by the Germans. Our regiment was housed at Krasne, near Styr.

The Germans immediately began to divide the Jews separately and the Ukrainians separately. No one had to spell this out for us. We understood: this was our end.

I sneaked out of the camp at night, crawled to the river and swam across it. I went through Kivertsi in the direction of Zofiówka-Trochenbrod. Many Jews had done the same as me. The Germans and the Ukrainian nationalists began to arrange searches for those who had escaped to the forests. They would shoot on the spot those they caught. I succeeded in reaching Trochenbrod. I waited there for a week and tried my luck at going to Kolki. I was extremely careful, did not act like an escapee, but quietly went through the alleys

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to my house where my parents, my wife and my children and my brother had lived.

I entered and saw our neighbors and other peasants from the surrounding villages tearing our bedding from the hands of each other. I could not control myself and, despite the deadly danger, began to shout. Seeing me, one of them took out an axe from under his belt and the others, around 10 or 12, grabbed something in their hands. I sprang through the door and began to run. I had an acquaintance, the tailor Cama Kalka, on the Christian street. He was not home and his mother would not allow me into the house. They already had an order to not permit any Jews to enter their houses. She carried out a little water and told me to go. At the same time, as if from underground, three strong tough guys appeared. One lay his hands on my shoulders and said: “Chodi na rabatu” [Go to work]. I understood what kind of work; I grabbed him by the throat and hit him under his stomach with my knee and began running through the gardens, jumping over fences and into the forest.

Later, I learned that they also attacked Yosef Kurland, Artshik the blacksmith's son in such a manner and began to drag him ostensibly to work. He was a healthy young man; they could not easily cope with him. Another gang of young bandits ran up and they beat him with metal bars and stones and murdered him on the spot.

I supposed that my family had left for Osova, leaving the house at God's mercy – my wife came from there. That is how it actually was. I took my family and returned to Kolki.

You already know what life in the Kolki ghetto looked like, Dovid, I will not repeat what you have already described. It was difficult for me to watch how my children starved. However, I later

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obtained good work at a place where peasants would supply food products, furs and straw for the Germans. We would sort this, pack and load it on trucks. I would specially work until late at night to be able to steal and bring food into the ghetto. One night when I was in the warehouse, the ghetto was surrounded and the first liquidation began. I will not speak about this because after this I did not recover for days. Everyone who was not in the ghetto then escaped into the forest.

Some time later I also sneaked into the ghetto where there were very few people remaining in order to return to the forest with a group of young men and to start looking for partisans. It was said that there were many Jewish partisans in Polesia. There were no enthusiasts for going into the forest. We could not go into the forest with children and we did not want to leave our children. I thought: what happens to am-Yisroel [the Jewish people] also will happen to Reb Yisroel [the Jew], and I remained. What can I forfeit here? Life? – Scarcely a bargain.

Once I heard a voice in my sleep: “What are you waiting for? Wake up and disappear!”

I woke up. I was sure that a living person had spoken to me. I looked around and saw no one. When I went out to the street, I saw that other people were not sleeping. I said:

– Jews, I am leaving! Everyone was silent.

Near me I saw Tatshe Berl's son, the 10-year-old Avrahaml. His entire family had already been murdered. An orphan! Where would he go?

– Come with me, Avrahaml, I said to him.

– I am coming, he answered.

We both hid outside Kolki and waited until the Ukrainian policemen moved away and then we ran across the road and left…

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The final liquidation of the Kolki ghetto took place the same night. Those with whom I had just spoken last night and proposed going away already lay in the pits at the Biala shores.

Avrahaml and I left for a Polish village – Golodnitsa I entered the first house, to Vladek Barycky. I pushed Avrahaml into a stall. We knew Baryck and I was sure that he would not refuse to help. He gave me a piece of bread and told me to go quickly into the stall. I crawled in with the fellow up to the stall attic and Baryck brought food every day. He was sure I was alone. One night I sensed someone sneaking into the stall. At first, I thought that they were spying on us, but looking into the darkness I recognized that this was Moshe Szlejen from Kolki. I supplied him with a ladder and quietly called:

– Come here!

And we were a group of three and Barycky was still certain that he was bringing food for only one.

However, once he became suspicious and quietly sneaked into the stall, went up to the attic and found all three eating the potato that we had received from him.

Barycky, hiding, let us finish the banquet and unexpectedly we heard his voice:

– Dear ones, I am afraid. Leave here! Only when you are very hungry, come in quickly at night to me. I will help you all. Now go to the forest and that is it…

Silently, we left for the forest and there met another Jewish boy, another Avrahamele. Sender Szlejen's son. And then… We became a group of four: two boys and two adults. Not far from the village Golodnitsa was a hamlet of several houses; there

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lived Ukrainian neofitn [converts] who were called Shtundists [evangelical Protestant groups]. They broke with the Pravoslavner [Orthodox] church and became Baptists. We knew that although they were fearful, too, they would not give up a Jew to the Germans. We could get a piece of bread, an old garment, a pair of shoes from them. We created a hiding place in the forest and the Shtundists greatly helped us.

Once Potap, a peasant from the hamlet, warned that we should escape because the policemen from the area were searching for Jews. I believed that I had to accept what Potap was saying and disappear from here. But Moshe Szlejen said:

– A shame to leave such a pit. No one would find us here.

The misfortune arrived. Suddenly, policemen surrounded us. We ran on all sides. They opened fire on us from all sides. I noticed how Avrahaml, he who had left the ghetto with me, fell. From the beginning, we had talked about the spot where we would need to meet after an escape, if it came. I waited at the agreed upon spot all night and none of the others showed up. Waiting longer made no sense. I left to look for them in Golodnitsa, at Vladek Barycky's. I was sure that if one of my partners was still alive, he would definitely go to Vladek. I entered his stall, sat on the bales and began to wait. Finally, the gate opened and Barycky entered. As usual he gave a friendly answer to my dzieńdobry [good morning], just as if he had expected to find me here. He went out and came back with bread and milk. He said to me:

– Remain here. What is ordained will happen with God's help. I stayed.

Later I learned the entire frightful story of what had happened to Avrahamele Szlejen. The boy ran fast and escaped from his persecutor.

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He ran very far, got lost in the forest and could not find the agreed upon place. At night, the Ukrainians caught him. A fresh portion of bread was found in his pocket. This was from the bread that we had received from the Shtundists. It was so hot then that it actually burned our hands. The Ukrainian policemen flogged Avrahaml with the ramrod (stiff wire for cleaning the rifle) from the rifles so he would tell them from whom he had received the bread. At the same time, they beat him over his head, back, hands and feet with the ramrod. Blood poured from the child. There was no intact limb left on him and Avrahaml, like an adult hero, did not reveal his benefactor. A 12-year-old, he understood that five or six cottages of the good people from whom he received the bread would be erased from the earth and their residents murdered. The longer Avrahaml was silent, the wilder his torture became. He died, the small, true hero, under the blows of the ramrod and did not reveal…

I was told this by Piotr Barycky, Vladek's brother. When he told me about the execution of a Jewish child, he screamed in pain, screamed in pain and intensity for [the boy's] heroism:

– Such a small child! What a spiritual one, what moral strength the boy possessed! Books need to be written; songs sung about one such as him! This is a hero; this is a sacred one.

Thus Avrahaml Szlejen left the world.

Piotr Barycky became strangely quiet, stood with a bowed head. Then he tore himself from the spot and, as one who felt guilt for the cruelty of his fellow man, ran away, not returning.

Vladek Barycky had taken a risk. Someone denounced him, that he was hiding a Jew in his stall. At the last minute, we succeeded in escaping into the forest.

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– Where does one run? He said – to Piotr? Where else? He, Piotr, lived in Tarazh, a Polish village. I sneaked into the stable. He entered at dawn and when he saw me, he cried out:

– Oh, Jesus-Mary! Sender! You are alive? Last night, Jews were killed in Golodnitsa; someone denounced them.

I certainly looked terrible. According to his voice, according to his eyes, I saw that he was very pleased that I had avoided the fate of others and was alive. Piotr left me alone, hid me for the entire winter, until Wielkanoc [Christian Easter). I lacked for nothing, just as if I were a family member. I would eat and drink the same as everyone else, shaved and washed in the house. His entire family, his son Janek, his two young daughters, everyone knew that I was hiding with them. They were all always on guard and protected me from an “evil eye.”

When Wielkanoc arrived, he came up to me and said:

– Come down to the house. Sit with us at the holiday table.

I began to beg him:

– Let me be. It is good for me here, too.

I felt that I did not have to go down; one must not test fate. But Piotr did not leave:

– It is a holiday. You are my guest; an invited guest. They are resting. No one will stick their nose in.

How could I refuse? I entered the cottage with him. The table broke under the weight of the foods. I had long forgotten that something such as this was present in the world. We spent time peacefully when suddenly a wagon stopped near the house. The door opened and his father-in-law and mother-in-law appeared on the threshold. They had not let them know they were coming and suddenly decided to visit their daughter for the holiday…

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According to Piotr's face, I immediately understood that a misfortune had occurred. However, nothing immediately happened. The father-in-law and mother-in-law sat down at the table and the father-in-law began to pour himself a glass after a glass [of whiskey]. A glass after a glass without interruption. And when he became very tipsy, he stood up with difficulty, came over to me and pointing at my eyes with his fist began ranting:

– Do you know why they injure you? Why they slaughter you? Because you nailed our god onto the cross.

He waved his fist in my face as if he would soon lower it on my head. His children began to calm him. However, he would not be calmed and raged even louder.

I stood up, looked at him and was silent. What else was there to do but be silent? I felt sorry for Piotr. The scene was very hard for him; harder than for me. It was a humiliation for him and he did not know where to look.

Suddenly, the father-in-law shouted to his wife:

– Come! I do not want to be under the same roof as the Jew! He dragged his wife, put their things on his wife and himself and both emerged outside full of anger.

Piotr approached me: Escape! I beg you. Escape to Vladek!

I did run there. However, several days later Vladek came to me:

– Now you have to leave the stable. You cannot be here any longer. It is warm now; you can go to the forest. I found a gun for you. An old one, actually from the First World War, but it can be shot. I have a little ammunition for it. Go; you will meet Vava Wajnman in the forest.

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I knew him, Wajnman. This was the son of Avraham the hatmaker. Barycky showed me exactly how I could find Wajnman and added that he also was armed with an abrez (a rifle with a short gun barrel).

I met with Wajnman. Two armed young men. Spring. Food was not a problem. Anyone with a rifle could open a door, show the weapon, ask [for food] and immediately receive it.

Neither of us had any fear of death. We had seen so much death, so that the one with collapsed jowls, bared teeth and with a scythe in his hands was like a relative, was like a serf with whom one was not impressed. We all wanted [to die]… Sooner, later. With a rifle in the hand, one [dies] later…

Everything can happen and everything happens. We encountered a large group of Banderowces [members of the Bandera faction of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army]. We had a fortification. We noticed them earlier and they us. They were led by “one of their own.” Zhorzh Raikin, a bandit from Kolki. We found a good secure place from which it was easier to defend ourselves. It was dark. Thick, red fires flew at us from all sides. We shot back and withdrew deeper. We tore off from them unscathed.

Although the spot was seriously compromised, we walked around for several days and finally decided to move in the direction of the Shtundists.

On the road we met a group of real partisans for the first time. A small group with a certain Vasyly at the head. They did not want to take in anyone new, fearing that they were scouts from the enemy. For the first time we were lucky because we were Jews. We said that the Shtundist knew us. We left together and we immediately took part in a true partisan attack.

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The Banderowces had their economic base in this area. Their weapons were hidden with the surrounding peasants.

Vasyly and his group had for its task catching a few political workers from the living Ukrainian nationalists. Still alive because the headquarters of the partisan united forces wanted to learn where the Banderowces were hiding their weapons. I knew the entire area, knew where those for whom the partisans were searching lived. Twelve partisans including me and my comrade left for the village Rudnyky. We caught two young Banderowces when they tried to escape through the attic. We had previously surrounded the house so they would fall into our hands. Another young bandit escaped; we found his father and a younger sister. We tied up those caught, laid them in wagons and brought the fresh, trembling one to the headquarters of the “Chapayev” detachment of the partisan united forces under the leadership of Colonel Naumov. The two young Banderowces revealed everything at their first interrogation. However, the old one knew more than anyone and he stubbornly was silent. We did not treat him too “genteel.” But he answered everything with the same slogan, Khay zhyve samostiyna Ukrayina [Long live independent Ukraine]. So the old one was the biggest bandit in the entire area; one of the most brutal thieves at liquidating the ghettos in this perimeter. Then, during the interrogation, I learned that Vasyly was a Jew and, therefore, he also was seeking a Jewish accounting with the evil-doer; his family was annihilated in the ghetto.

Our detachment found itself in continuous movement. When we arrived at a designated spot we would divide into small groups of 10-12 people and every group received its task: blowing up rails, liquidating smaller German bases, setting fire to sawmills, tanneries. After carrying out the tasks, we would come together again at a previously designated point. Thus we went from one task to another until reaching Galicia.

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Our brigade truly was international: Russians, Ukrainians, Poles as well as very many Jews; there were also Georgians among us. In comparison with our previous solitary wandering life, this was a paradise for us. We felt like members of a powerful organism. We were a power – a well-armed power. Not only policemen and Banderowces, but also German divisions trembled in deadly fear of us. Often we would encounter iron-concrete bunkers already abandoned by the enemy.

The Soviet Army moved forward quickly and we often moved faster to penetrate behind the enemy's back and beat him on two sides. There were times when we would move for two days without stopping; then attack the enemy when he least expected us.

We went through the city of Brody and consolidated on the other side. The machine guns, at which I was “number two,” were located on the right flank of the division. We were supposed to enter the fight as soon as the Red Army began the assault. The assault had not yet begun, but the Germans spotted us and a large group started to come against us. We staged a resistance from eight o'clock at night until one in the morning and the Soviet divisions still had not entered the battle. Apparently an error had been committed. We received an order after one o'clock at night: not to end the fight, but to try to withdraw from the enemy. We slowly withdrew deep into the forest, leaving those killed, taking the wounded with us. We did not encounter any Germans during our withdrawal deeper into the forest, but constantly entered battle with heavily armed bands of Banderowces. We would rest battle-ready, not letting our weapons out of our hands.

We caused losses for the enemy, but also suffered great casualties ourselves. Our Chapayev detachment approached the village Berlyn.

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First we sent a scout group. They did not return. We learned that specially trained Banderowces divisions were located in this village. This was their fortress. We received an order to liquidate it. We encircled the village at night and began the assault. Every cottage was fortified; machine guns were placed everywhere (here, it was revealed, was the central base of UPA [Ukrayins'ka Povstans'ka Armiia – the Ukrainian Insurgent Army]). The fight was very relentless. We had to go through the village; it lay like a bone in the throat for our further advance. We fought an entire night. In the morning we received help from our partisan united forces; took control of the village and very few of the enemy succeeded in breaking through to the forest. Perhaps a few of the two squadrons of shooters remained alive. Only embers remained of the village itself.

We went forward in a stubborn fight until in November 1944 when we found ourselves outside Lvov. Here we were divided: a division in the Red Army and the physically weak freed. A larger group with experience that had been in combat the entire time was sent to Kiev to the headquarters of the central partisan movement in Ukraine. I also was in the group.

I came to Kolki. Found no one; everyone was dead. There I found Getsia Szlejen. Together, we wandered through the ruins. All of the possessions of the Kolki Jews were in Starosillia and Roznychi. We searched for thieves, whose deeds we knew, but all of them had escaped to the forest. Getsia left for Kivertsi where his military division was located. I wandered around Lutsk for a time. I left Kolki “emotionally drained” with an empty soul. What did I have to do in the places where I had spent my childhood, my youth; where every stone reminded me that everything had ended for me here. Here there only remained stirred-up wounds. My further route was to the south, through Romania, Italy – Israel.

Kolki remained in me. Remained in me as a wound.

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