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[Page 354]

And this is my story:

My father, Artshik the blacksmith, was known in the entire area. My father, the blacksmith, and his sons were all blacksmiths. I, Nekhamia, was one of them – the only one who survived.

We were quiet, calm people. Honest people – we did not, God forbid, bother anyone. But provoking our family was a danger. We all had heavy hands. And the shtetl [town] knew that during a calamity, they had defenders in us so that the attackers would just recede when they tried to stage a pogrom or, during a fight at a fair, split Jewish heads.

During the bitter times, the entire family was in the forest and all fell in the resistance.

I was mobilized in the autumn of 1939 when the German locusts attacked Poland. Our regiment fought in a very difficult battle in the Warsaw area with the German military. There were more of them and the majority of our soldiers fell in this battle. Perhaps several dozens of us remained from the regiment. These survivors left in the direction of Siedlec – Brisk. There we ran into a Soviet division which detained all of us. Those who originated in the Polish area were permitted to return home; those from western Ukraine, were at first attached to a labor battalion and later incorporated into the army.

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On the first day of the war, in 1941, the division in which I served was encircled by the Germans. We fought stubbornly but were defeated and were imprisoned. Three days later, I and a group of young Jewish men succeeded in escaping from the recently created camp. I started home through roads and detours. At that time, all of the villages swarmed and teemed with all kinds of nationalistic reptiles of all colors. They immediately carried out everywhere a hunt for Jews. I walked for six weeks. It was my luck that I had a “good appearance” – I did not look very much like a Jew and made good use of the language of the surrounding peasants, no worse than they themselves. Incidentally, all Jews from our region spoke poyerish [peasant language] well. Therefore, I succeeded in going through many terrible places, past police “forces.”

Finally I arrived in Rokitno, where my wife and five tiny children lived. As in all shtetlekh, there already was a ghetto there. They were beaten, tortured and sent to forced labor; often to completely unnecessary work.

I was sent to special work as a blacksmith. The Germans demanded that the Jews provide 25 horseback saddles. The Jews could make the saddles, but where would they get the shiny stirrups and spurs. The stirrups near the saddles had to be covered with nickel. Where would they find all of this? And the Germans warned that if the appropriate 25 saddles were not provided, they would shoot 25 Jews. We could believe that they would carry out their threat…if they said that they would kill, they would do this because they were great masters of this kind of work. They took the saddles and the manufactured spurs; they did not shine.

The chairman of the Judenrat [Jewish council] came to me (he was named Slucki):

– Nekhamia, save me!

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I went to work, made 25 pairs of stirrups and I cleaned and polished the spurs for a long time, rubbed them with stones, silica, with rags dipped in oil, until, after much effort and drudgery, they had the correct, dark green nickel color as if they were covered in glass. One could see one's own reflection in them. For a week, day and night, I toiled over this. My hands became stiff and scratched; my fingers were covered in wounds. The skin fell off of them to the living flesh. I carried the stirrups and spurs to the commander myself to demonstrate the quality. This was a terrible risk. No one returned from the commander. Before going, I said goodbye to my wife and children, as Jews once went to martyrdom.

I entered the office of the commandant. I lay the package down for him. He took his revolver from the table, played with it and calmly asked:

– Where did you buy this?

– I did not buy them, made them myself.

– Show your hands, he asked.

He looked at my hands for a long time and during that time I said goodbye to life and waited to be shot.

He abruptly asked:

– Do you want to eat?

I did not know what to answer: yes or no, I was silent.

He ordered a half bread and pack of tobacco. He gave them to me with an imperious shout:

– Go!

I returned to the ghetto as if I had risen from the dead. In the morning, I was called to the railway and was employed in a workshop.

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It is difficult for me to speak about the ghetto. My wife and five children lay in the graves outside Rokitno. No one had any doubt that one end awaited us all, so what awaited in the rows near the graves? Run! Run!

And I stood here near the graves, but instead of waiting for a bullet, I began to escape; over dead bodies. My brain was dead. I did not think of anything. This was “done” by my legs – they ran and stopped when deep in the forest… Others also ran. We met in the forest and decided to return to the shtetl…Perhaps someone had remained alive there.

I met my brother-in-law, Yakov Goldsztajn, near the shtetl. He had already returned and with strength he began to drag me back into the forest. No one was alive in Rokitno…

I parted from him; I do not remember how. Apparently, I was not in my right mind. I walked and saw my children:

Here they were having fun; they were playing. They were laughing and they lay dead before my eyes…

And again, the same: My wife and my children: alive and murdered…

I felt that I was going insane!

I was frightened and began to howl like an ox being slaughtered. Someone put a rag in my mouth and threw me in a ditch… When I woke up in a cold sweat, I began to remember something…

So, yes… In the forest we ran into a peasant, Ivan Koszka – a peasant known as a member of the underworld – a drunk, a thief, a type about whom it is said: “To him it was drink that was important.” Everyone was afraid of him, Jews and non-Jews. To be rid of him, one agreed with him about everything.

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When the peasant took me by the hand in the forest, I thought: “Nekhemia, your end has come!” – But he said to me:

– Listen with your head. If you have a head. I am not a Ukrainian policeman. I am not a German. I am Ivan – the thief. We grew up together. Come with me. I will not do anything bad to you. I will hide you.

I did not believe him. Death was all around me and pity for me almost shone from his eyes… He lived near the village Karpilovka [Karpylivka]. I left with him. He led me into his house, fed me and told me to go up to the attic.

My fear grew stronger.

– Ivan, leave me be…

And he: go and go… My suspicion grew even stronger. He smiled to himself. Oh, it is not good…

Suddenly, his face changed, became serious, he moved his hand, like one saying: “Go to hell!”

– Good! – he finally said – I will leave you alone, but I will give you a present when you go…

He went outside to the straw eaves of his shed, drew something out of it and came back inside. He unwrapped a large rag and in his hand appeared a rifle smeared thickly in fat.

– Kuzniec – he said to me with a smile – you are an old soldier, a frontovik [front-line soldier in the Soviet Army]. You were in the Polish Army, were in the Soviet Army, you know how to use this. So I am giving you your best friend – a rifle with 26 bullets. You do not want to stay with me so go and may God help you.

I received a companion. We left for the forest with Yehiel Mekler. I became a person again, a person with a rifle. I could help my shtetl with a rifle. In the Polish Army, my corporal would say to the soldiers:

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– This is a Jew and how he shoots! You can learn from him!

We met Jews on the road who had succeeded in escaping from the slaughter. There were also wounded among them. I was a Jew with a rifle; another 30 Jews followed me.

I met a Polish boy, Kostik, in the forest, a son of one of my neighbors. His father was a feldsher [old-fashioned barber-surgeon], but now he was a forest watchman. His cottage was not far from the village, Malinovka [Malynivka].

– Kostik – I said to the boy – bring your father here.

His father, Krama, came. I hoped that he would help us. Not him, not anyone from his family had ever treated Jews badly. But why had he abandoned his work as a medical practitioner and become a forest watchman?

I began to ask him to help us. He shook. Was silent. Thought. But he did not send us to the devil… He finally became softer:

– Go to Borovinka. Vincenti lives in the farmhouse. He will find a solution. I cannot do anything. Really nothing. You must leave all of the Jews in the forest and go there alone as I advise you. Do you understand?

He carried out half a sack of potatoes and two bottles of milk – this is for the children and the wounded and pointed in the direction, go there, the forest is thicker there.

When I started on the way to Vincenti, a wailing began among the Jews; they were sure that I wanted to be rid of them. I began to calm them and had the impression that they trusted me.

I came to Vincenti peacefully. We knew each other. He was a wheelwright, made wooden wheels and the blacksmiths would buy them from him. I spoke to him and he asked the same question:

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– But who sent you to me?

I let this question pass, but stubbornly asked his advice about what I needed to do. And he, a crafty person, kept repeating:

– I do not know anything and am not sending you anywhere because I know nothing. But in your place, I would leave on the small path and take it and go… Further and further and when the path ends, I would go further… Straight and straight, through grass and ditches, through pits, I would go straight and straight and hope for a miracle… There are no miracles… There are angels… Perhaps you will meet an angel…

Vincenti's face was serious, but his eyes laughed roguishly. I understood that I needed to obey him and that this was the right way.

We came to him in a group of three. I left two in the stall. I gave them the agreed sign and after a certain time we left on the path shown by Vincenti. We walked for a few hours straight ahead and when the path finally ended, people with pointed machine guns came out of nowhere on both sides opposite us and one of them shouted:

– Ruky vverkh (Hands up).

First of all, they took my rifle from me, tied our hands and began the interrogation: asked questions and themselves answered them, because we were silent, not knowing who they were.

– Spies?

We were silent. They led us.

Having gone a few kilometers, we met a group of 15 men – Soviet soldiers, headed by a captain. Although we could not rely on uniforms in such situations, I told the captain everything.

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Later, it became clear that this was a recent troop landing that was supposed to join the partisan group of Colonel [Dmitry Nikolaevich] Medvedev.

When I began telling the captain about the massacre in Rokitno, a woman moved closer to us, also with the rank of a captain, and began to speak to us in Yiddish. She was the adjutant to Commander Medvedev. Still more Jews among those who were hidden in the forests began to gather around Medvedev's partisan group. At first, only a few from among us were taken into the detachment, but, later, even more gathered.

One day, both leaders, Commander Medvedev and the above-mentioned Captain Sima and several others came to us. They told us:

– We have special tasks and are leaving very shortly. You will organize your own partisan platoon and try to assemble all of the unfortunate older people, women, children and the sick in the Bryansk Forest. You will receive several rifles from us and that is all.

We received five rifles; we had a few rifles of our own and we left in a large group for the Belarussian forest.

The leadership of our detachment was taken over by a young man from Sarna – Shlomo Zamdwajs. Wierchow – from the shtetl Berezne – became his aide and political commissar. I was given a platoon – this was actually the only armed force in our group.

We only moved at night and convinced ourselves that no one saw us and knew nothing about us.

At the village Teraspol, we found Germans. They knew very little about us and, therefore, began shooting at us from afar. We lay behind the trees and then began to shoot when a smaller group of Germans started for the forest. We began

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heavy firing. It should be understood how weak we were; we began to tear off a shot carefully, to withdraw so as to lose contact with them. When this was successful, we realized that at that moment the Jews in the forest and the unarmed young men had scattered. We did not find them later (only after the war, did I learn that they and my brother-in-law had left for the Blizówer forest). We remained five armed Jews and left in the direction of Luninets [Luninyets].

Our rifles were the best “vehicle” for obtaining food from the peasants. We were now true soldiers; war already was our bread. We often clashed with smaller groups of policemen. We coped with them, not suffering any losses.

Near the village of Senkevichi we stumbled upon a group of Jews who were better armed than we were; several of them even had machine guns. We also met a group of young people who had escaped from the Germans; they were from the surrounding burned villages. They joined us. In such a manner, we became more numerous with new fighters – Jews and non-Jews.

Actually, this was not a partisan group in the full sense of the word; we were one of the “wild ones,” independent bands that worked on their own. Entering a village, we immediately went to the houses of the village elder, of the policeman and other German servants; we took their possessions, set fire to the houses and retreated. We rarely made an error. The peasants would always inform us who was who and everyone received compensations which they had fairly earned…

We were dressed in various ways: someone in a German uniform, another as a policeman, others in ordinary clothes that we had found among the fascist

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slavish servants. No one in the band asked: “Who are you? Where do you come from?” One question was asked: Do you want to strike the Germans and their helpers? One “iron law” applied to us: not to touch a soul and not the property of honest peasants and the poor with even a finger. Everyone in the band had their account to settle and their enemy. There was no lack of those who showed real savagery to their enemies. We, Jews, had our accounts to settle – for our children and families. However, non-Jews also lost children and parents and rage boiled in them.

I did not appear under my own name. To everyone, my name was “Kuzniec” and they knew that I had a heavy hand. They knew our torturer and I knew that they had justly earned it many times.

In another band was a Russian, Mishka Lisoviec. I do not remember how he joined us. Before this he was a partisan in the brigade of General Kamarov. We passed places, learned about the cruel “pacifications,” what the Germans had carried out because of the contact of the peasants with the partisans. Misha [spelled Mishka above] was welcomed.

We quickly received an order: No more a band! We were turned into a disciplined partisan division Za Rodinu ([Russian] for the homeland). Previously we had been called Royte banditn [red bandits]. Out with the bandits! Although, we also were not ashamed of the “red bandits.” Bandits against bandits; now we were respectable partisans.

Our commander was Mishka Zasadin, the commissar, Sashka. We would be sent on the most difficult actions, on the riskiest. The commander of the brigade would say, jokingly:

– The greatest bandit among them had become the best partisan!

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Until then, I was the commander of a platoon; now I was designated to a special division that was called the blacksmith squad. Mishka told me:

– Your squad members do not know that you are a Jew, better that they should not know.

We neared the railway line through the Grishino Forest. It was impossible to go over to the other side because there were deep bunkers near the train tracks. A certain Zurakowski, a former forest overseer who knew the entire area like his 10 fingers was with the Germans. He would take part in police raids against the partisans with the Germans. He also was the greatest murderer of Jews in the region. No ghetto in the entire area was liquidated without his participation. Our team received an order to catch him alive. He was a person trusted by the Germans and knew everything that had happened with them. The headquarters needed such a “tongue.” I was also chosen for the group. “He” and the Germans lived in a bunker near Aygustovska.

For two weeks we lurked looking for him, but never saw him alone. Observing, we established that regularly at nine o'clock in the morning he left the bunker without a shirt and washed himself in a large bowl.

Once, Zurakowski went out to do his early morning routine; we shot at the entrance to the bunker with heavy fire so that no German would dare come out. The Germans were convinced that when the partisans attacked at daylight, they must be in large numbers. They did not answer our firing. Zurakowski, seeing that he could not return to the bunker, began to run in the direction of the village and then fell into our hands. The hate toward him was great; we brought him alive, but well battered…

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Scared to death, he appeared for the interrogation and immediately started to speak. He told them everything he knew; he fearfully revealed everything and voluntarily. Mishka came to me at night and said:

– Comrade, take your bargain. I was told that he had a “golden tongue.” Carry out the judgement – the reward for everything that the contemptible person had done, for all of the torturing by the Gestapo, for the death of the Jews who he had murdered.

I was the only Jew in the group that carried out the death sentence. One Jew with a large amount due… To pour out one's wrath…

Zurakowski paid with his life; I was awarded with the Krasnaya Zvezda [Red Star].

The number of fighters in the brigade grew, but there was a shortage of weapons. Whoever brought weapons would be commemorated in the daily orders.

Our command received information that a Sonderdivision [special division] of the German gendarmes had arrived in the village of Lipsha. Among them were also Lithuanian and Hungarian soldiers. Our detachment received an order to surround the village, liquidate the Germans and bring their weapons.

The plan to attack them unexpectedly did not succeed. A difficult struggle developed. The gendarmes were extraordinarily well-armed and put up a stubborn resistance. We had losses in killed and wounded. However, the village was firmly encircled on all sides and there were many of us. None of the gendarmes remained alive. We took as prisoners a labor battalion from Hungary. They were not completely “pure” Hungarians, but “half-breeds.” Mixed with whom? Understand: with Jews. They put on Mogn-Dovids [Shields of David, more popularly known as Stars of David] and shouted, “Heil Hitler!” until the last moment…

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Near Luninets we found a camp of Jewish refugees: from the Luninets ghetto and from the surrounding shtetlekh. The leader of the detachment was a certain Babrow. His wife was named Sura. They now live in Israel. There were many Jewish girls in the camp. I did not trust the members of the detachment very much. I informed Mishka, the commander. He gathered everyone together and with hard words said:

– Fellows, you are Soviet partisans. The times of banditry have ended completely for you. If one of you causes a blot on our detachment, I will shoot you with my own hand. Remember! The same thing will not happen again.

The partisans knew that Mishka did not speak idlely…

We were located not far from this Jewish camp for half a year. It was under our protection. Later, we gave several rifles to the not-yet physically broken and they themselves organized a self-defense group. We, the former “bandits,” knew the way to them through the swamps. We would come to visit them and not with empty hands: we brought them potatoes and other foods; established good, friendly relations with them.

In one battle, I was wounded in the right foot and I lay in the forest hospital for a long time. When I returned, the platoon was preparing for another large battle.

A large convoy with food for the German divisions left from the shtetl [town], Desyatiny in the direction of Lipsha, where the German headquarters was located. We knew the exact number of policemen and Germans who were designated for the armed guard as an escort. Their number was modest. We sent out a total of 24 partisans in two groups: one under the leadership of the political instructor, another under my command…

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The end of an important year in the war neared – 1943. We hid on both sides of the country road and waited. When the wagons arrived, we opened heavy fire on them from both sides. A panic began in the wagon train, but immediately after that a significant number of German soldiers appeared from the woods and began shooting at us. Breaking through to the other side of the country road and withdrawing in the direction of our partisan base was impossible. The Germans were sure of their numerical superiority and boldly started after us in the forest – deeper and deeper. We could not break off. Usually, the Germans would not go very deep into the forest. We were the boss in the forest. But here, there was such an unusual boldness.

I detached myself from the group and began to run, hiding among the trees and ran further. In a spot thicker with trees, I felt I could not run further. I hid under a tree trunk and began to look around: They, the Germans, were shouting, shooting and constantly looking around them. They were afraid. Shooting from the distance was also heard. What could this signify? Had the Germans already attacked our camp? I hid there where I lay and remained lying there for two days. When it appeared that everything around was deadly quiet, I left in the direction of the camp with a rapidly beating heart. Arrived. Not one living soul. The earthen houses – burned. Murdered partisans who no one had come to gather lay around.

I knew the roads to our bases through paths and marshes. On the road we found the wounded from our company. From them we learned the facts of what had happened, as well as that many from the fighting groups with which they had been fighting had perished. They were certain that I, too, was no longer among the living.

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We gathered together and left to search for our men. After four days, we arrived at the base. A new partisan fighting group was formed from the survivors of our advance party and was sent in the direction of Mikashevichy, where our task was to carry out a “railroad war” – not permitting any German troop trains to reach the front.

We received an order from our commander to capture alive the telephone operator from the aerodrome near Luninets. We received German uniforms, German boots, in general, everything completely accurate. Our commander was a fellow, Katari, who said the password so like a German that a number of us were permitted inside without the least suspicion. We brought a living telephone operator to the headquarters. The operator did not “bargain” – he immediately “spoke out.” We had a good designation for such a person: “A yeke [German-speaking Jew] with a golden tongue.” He was “stuffed” with information and we did not have to draw it out of him, as is said, “with pliers.” The information flowed from him as if from a tub. As is said, a “dear German,” may he have an easy death.

For this bit of work, our operational group was rewarded with the award “Partisans of the First Rank.”

We were even closer to the front and we became even more numerous. We concentrated in a “fist” of large partisan formations. Actually, it was a new front right in back of the enemy. We had two tasks: not to permit any trains with the military and ammunition to reach the front and the second, not to let the Germans escape from the attacking Soviet Army and to lead to their defeat in the sector.

The Germans built powerful fortifications. It cost a great deal of victims to break through. The German defenses crumbled under the concentrated and coordinated attack by the Soviet regular division and of the unified partisans. The battles continued stubbornly: in the fields, in the swamps, where the Germans were driven out and

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could no longer extract themselves. One way out was surrender. They were as if in a trap, crushed and attacked from all side. All roads were swarming with revenge takers. The enemy was blown to bits by mines. They, the Germans, would run on all sides to the country roads and there they would meet partisan fire.

We took Luninets. I was wounded again near Luninets. Many partisans were mobilized in the army, others again were organized in new divisions with the task of liquidating the Germans in the surrounding forests.

In Luninets, I received a medal “for bravery” and was sent to a mechanical workshop to repair the weapons that were collected in the forests, bunkers and various hiding places. In all of the liberated areas, exhausted, worn-out Jews in rags and tatters began to appear – barely alive. A kitchen was organized for them and with others they searched the fields for potatoes, cabbages, beets – a true international group of people who had barely escaped with their lives.

I was alive, an energetic man as long as I was in battles, in danger, was busy with carrying out tasks. I did not feel my solitude. Sadness, the longing for my flesh and blood who had so horribly perished, did not torment me. However, I fell into a melancholy as soon as the life of battles and dangers ended. My heart ached without stop; whether during the day or at night – always, there stood before my eyes five tiny children, my wife, parents, brother, close friends. They surrounded me on all sides. My hands began to shake. I could not cope with my work. Sleep left my eyes. My soul was a cemetery. I could cope with the Germans, the Banderowces [members of the Bandera faction of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army], policemen, but good heavens, how do I cope with myself?!

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I would run out to the street dazed, wanting to save myself from the dead in me and they would not leave me. People began to avoid me. I tried to block off the darkness, the unrest, the lamentations in me with moonshine [whiskey].

“Bodies” – I shouted to the hell in me – go to your rest! What do you want from me?!” And they did not leave.

I drank both during the day and at night. I acquired the drink from the underground. I quickly made “friends” – fellow drinkers, drinking enthusiasts at others' expense. One meets such people at every turn. I felt I was sinking deeper and deeper. I knew that I was dying. I had to end my drunkenness, but my will became as if paralyzed – I was no longer my own boss. People knew who I was: “This is Kuznec [Kuzniec elsewhere], the partisan.” They showed me compassion and everyone helped me…with a glass…

Two Jewish women lived in Luninets. I have already forgotten their family names, but their names I remember: Rywka and Resl. Two good souls. They worked in the kitchen. They would console me, try to persuade me to “take myself in hand” or I would die somewhere behind a fence. By the way, I knew this myself and was not afraid of it: under a fence is under a fence. What was the difference…?

The repatriation to Poland began.

In military clothing, I did not need any papers. I entered a military troop transport that was going to Berlin and reached Poland. I lingered in Bytom. I joined a group of HeHalutz [pioneers preparing for immigration to the land of Israel]. I met other partisans in it. We were a large group of fighters from the Wołyń, Polesia and Bryansk forests. We began to travel illegally. The “Red Cross” fed us. Various young people crossed illegally from border to border

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and in small groups, arriving in Israel illegally. I was among them – Nekhamia Kurland – the same one, the only surviving blacksmith son of a blacksmith, one son from the sons of Artshik the blacksmith from Kolki.

Kolkers in Israel: Meir Ajzenberg, Kantor, Boris Chajczik, Chaim Szpic, Manish Chajczik, Sender Buslik

I read over a considerable pack of books about the partisan movement in the Soviet Union at the time of the Great Patriotic War [World War II]. The books were mostly written in the form of memory reports. In them I often found the term “local partisans.” “Local” – this certainly means people who came from the area where these or other partisan divisions arose and fought. The partisans were usually named according to their leading commander: Shiskowces, Sobiesiakes [led by Jozef Sobiesiak], Diadia Petias [meaning Uncle Petya, whose real name was Anton Brińskij] and so on. I have tried to establish exactly what “local” means. To tell the truth, I have not come to any definite conclusion. This happened: I began to spin a thread and the thread was suddenly torn or became tangled; not unfurling.

Naturally, if I had had archives and no memories I probably would have learned more, but I did not access archives. I discerned something in the conversations with those who took part in the partisan fight. From these conversations I reached the hypothesis, a very plausible one to me, that among the groups and small grouping of partisans that began to organize in 1942 in Volyn among the swamps and around the lakes of Polesia, and later grew into large partisan groups, that there were many Jews who had escaped from the ghettos before, during and after the liquidation [of the ghettos]. They could survive only in the forests and only when they armed themselves to fight against

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their persecutor in places and regions where they searched for a place of refuge. These were people who had to first save their own lives and take revenge for their slaughtered families; [these were people] who were turned into creatures whose dignity was taken from them along with their fundamental right to live only because they were born as Jews.

They had no other choice, only the choice to fight. They became determined through the exceptional circumstances of life with which they were burdened and there was no other alternative. They, the small groups, arose spontaneously, without orders from above. Their only order giver was the Angel of Death who hovered over their heads all 24-hours day and night. Need breaks iron. There was no greater authority and mobilizing force present. Need forced them to defend themselves with one rifle and to attack when they had the luck to receive in their hands several rifles. Need and the inevitable death transformed these helpless people into fighters who resisted numerous enemies; who forgot their fears and grew in courage because they had nothing to lose and the only chance to protect their lives was by fighting.

First, they had to learn the wisdom, the difficult art of hiding and making it through in conditions that only animals had experienced, then they had the extraordinary luck of acquiring a rifle that gave them back the human right to defend themselves. Afterward, they learned the trade of war and with great effort to win – in their own small groups and later united in large groups that had a very different

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psychological armor – they had under them the great ground.

The fight of the Jewish partisan groups – without the name partisan – in the first phase always was unequal: three pistols and a rifle against 20-30 policemen armed to the teeth. Tens of small, independent spontaneously created groups dissolved and merged into large ones.

Chaim Grin, from Lemberg, a former partisan who began his road of battle with the well-known partisan leader, [Nikolai] Prokopiuk, told me that a group of seven Jewish young men who were called nothing other than “the bandits of Shmulie” operated in 1942 in Dąbrower Forest. Their leader was a lieutenant from the Red Army, a Kharkover young man who had previously worked at a tractor factory as a locksmith. This Semion Naumovich, who had escaped with two comrades from a German camp, armed themselves when they had been shown a spot near a grave where Polish policemen had hidden weapons in 1939. The group avoided fighting with the Germans and mainly liquidated those in the surrounding villages who had worked with the Germans and took part in the annihilation of Jews. The Bandyci Shmulia [Shmulie's Bandits] threw fear into the local ringleaders, policemen, and Bulbawces [underground group of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army] who they did not stop looking for and persecuting. If a cottage burned it was known that this was the work of the Bandyci Shmulia and they knew that this was payment for their wickedness; Shmulie had taken revenge.

Shmulie's group quickly grew into a large detachment. It entered the forests of Belarus. It was active until this happened:

The Germans apprehended two hidden high Soviet soldiers in the Pinsk area and took them to Pinsk under a heavy escort.

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Shmulie learned of this. He attacked the escort (10 armed Germans) and killed all of them. The two Soviet officers were wounded during the clash. The attack brought to their feet the entire Pinsk Gestapo who were convinced that this was carried out by Soviet parachutists. A plan arose from the Gestapo to take the “parachutists” alive. A group of Ukrainian policemen and peasants who worked with the Gestapo changed their clothes into Soviet uniforms or the clothing of men who ostensibly had been in the forest for a long time; they armed them and sent them to make contact with the partisans. The commander of the ostensibly created partisan detachment was a traitor, a former Soviet officer. He and his “partisans” would rob rich peasants, village elders, and beat them mercilessly. The group always sang Soviet songs. On the whole they earned Shmulie's trust and, finally, the two groups united. However, something awoke Shmulie's suspicion, but it was already too late. During the attack by the ostensible partisans on Shmulie's group, people fell on both sides. Almost all of Shmulie's partisans perished.

Another time, after the Germans tried to make use of the same informer, they no longer succeeded; their agent failed.

In Warsaw I met Viktor who was the leader of the scouting group of the Diadia Petias partisan brigade; he also was in the Grunwald brigade. He told me about many Jewish young men who fought in small groups in the forests of Wolyn and Polesia. He still retained old lists of two partisan detachments with the names Kuybyshev and Budyonny. In the first detachment were: 30 Ukrainians, 48 Jews, 21 Russians, 2 Poles and one Tatar. In the second: 65 Ukrainians, 21 Jews, 17 Russians, 1 Belarussian and one Tatar. These were local partisans.

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A local group of partisans was also created by two Kolkers: Zisha (Zigmunt) Chajczik and Avraham (Adam) Kiper.

From what he told me (in a letter), Avraham Kiper wanted to emphasize this mainly so that his testimony would add several lines told by our revenge takers to that which I have already provided in the previous chapters.

Avraham Kiper wrote to me: Young people in the ghetto were ashamed to look one another in the face. We felt that we must do something and not quietly endure the humiliations, the harassments, death. We did not know what we had to do. There was no talk about the partisans. At first, who could imagine that several Jewish young people, who could not endure the shame of passivity and obedience to the blood enemy, would dare to go in opposition to regiments of Ukrainian policemen, entire bands of slaughterers and German gendarmes? And yet this bored into the mind: We must leave! Not because of life, but only because of revenge, to protect one's self-respect. I obtained a revolver. With it one could: either shoot the murderers or, at least, shoot a bullet into one's head.

Zisha Chajczik carried out the idea of creating a fighting group and going into the forest. I left with him. This was in September 1941. The first task that we set for ourselves was: find a place that could serve as a base for a larger group of young Kolki people. At the same time, we had not thought about breaking completely with the ghetto.

We created a group. This was the kernel of the later Kolker partisans. To it belonged: Zisha Chajczik, I, Chajczik Yosf, Chajczik Ruchl, Chaim Chasis, Hodl Chasis, Yisroel Kuc, Yakl Bernblum, Avraham Buslik, Berish Ekber, Sender Szpic, Sender Szlejen, Berl Galan, Vava Wajnman, Chaim Zalcman, Yitzhak Czartarisker, the Kagut brother and sister.

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So these were the first; we went into the forest with them. Several later returned to the ghetto, but still more arrived.

We were very quickly persuaded that we were not the only ones in the surrounding forests. There were also groups from other shtetlekh [towns]. We encountered those from Osova. From them, for example, we learned that there were rifles in a peasant's cottage. We demanded and the peasant did not haggle for long and gave us the rifles and informed us that the Studyner police commander and his aides were now located in Osova and they had been drinking for several consecutive days.

It did not take much effort to learn that the “festivities” were being celebrated by the “high-ranking people” in the house of the robber of the Osova Jews, a certain Halub.

We entered and the drunkards immediately understood that we would not give them time to stage a resistance. The attack took place lightning fast. The sentence on Halub himself was carried out by Avraham Buslik, informing him for which good deeds he had to pay with his life.

Naturally, we wandered in the forest from place to place. Often we had to disappear quickly and go through a marathon run of 20-30 kilometers [about 12 and a half to over 18 and half miles] in one breath. Often we were forced to fight with Banderowces and policemen. However, such a battle consisted of quickly tearing away from the enemy and disappearing… We, with our few rifles, did not have many great opportunities against our opponents… Mainly, we had to arm ourselves.

We learned from a forest overseer that in the village of Novasilky, 10-12 armed watchmen were always staying with the forest overseer. They were not Germans and not their Ukrainian partners and they did not have the least desire to die for Hitler.

We decided to attack them with noise because they were better armed than we were.

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Screaming, we burst into the house. The rifles stood resting at the wall. Before they turned around, we already had the rifles and just as quickly as we had arrived, we left.

It can be said: a blink of the eye and we became men rich with rifles, bullets, a revolver, sacks of inferior tobacco, as well as living “money…”

Now we were an armed group – Kolker partisans, as we actually were called. We divided the money among the Jewish refugees the majority of whom were found in the forest and we mainly received important experience that the easiest way to obtain weapons was to attack the forest watchmen.

After every successful operation, we understood that we needed to flee the action area so the losers would not take revenge. We left the Radziwill Forests. The situation became even worse. Even more ghettos were liquidated; even more homeless Jews wandered around in the forests and even more searches looking for them were organized. Often three to four heavy searches a day were organized. Everyone, policemen, Banderowces, Germans and all sort of bandits took part in the searches for the exhausted, surviving- by-a-miracle Jews.

We knew where Jews were hiding and, whenever we succeeded in getting a little food, we immediately gave it to the unarmed Jews. They were shaggy, like wild animals; lost their human appearance. We brought a barber to them who trimmed their beards, shaved them.

In the forest, we came across three partisans from [Dmitry] Medvedev's united forces. They immediately recognized who we were and did not carry on a fight with us.

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They went on a special mission and “borrowed” Yitzhak Krajcer from us. He did not return to us anymore; he remained with Medvedev. We would almost regularly attack the German administration points, taking all of the food products as well as fodder; we destroyed the small factories that worked for them and requisitioned everything that was necessary for us; we grabbed entire flocks of sheep, cattle and calves and divided them among the Jews who were hidden the forests. We returned to the villages the flocks that had been requisitioned from the peasants by the Germans, taking only a percentage tithe for ourselves.

We were tired of the eternal wandering and decided: to leave one part of our group in place and to send the other to establish contact with the partisans. It was difficult to part from each other and those who were left were very sad. They needed to hide until we sent emissaries with the good news that we had achieved what we were striving for – to be rid of the privilege of “autonomy” and had integrated as a part of something large, important, significant…

The leader of those remaining, Bernblum, was a young man from our shtetl. Those who left further broke into small groups in order to emerge from the thick chain of our persecutors. We would only move at night. In addition to me, there were Zisha Chajczik, Adam (Avraham) Kifer, Avraham Buslik, Yosf Garnsztajn, Yitzhak Pakus, Ruchl Pakus, Berish Ekber and Yisroel Kuc.

On the road, we met a Jewish partisan group that consisted of young people from Zofiówka-Trochenbrod. The group was led by Gad Rozenblat and Chaim Watshin. The group had been wandering in the forests as long as we were and had significant fighting experience and just like our group, they were striving to join the Soviet

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partisan divisions. We united and left together, a considerable and armed group, on the continuing road to our joint purpose: becoming an organic division in the powerful partisan movement of the Soviet Union.

In a short time we happened upon a partisan company of Kovpak's united forces under the leadership of Berezhnyy. He was very delighted with us: so considerably well-armed, experienced in combat and a hardened partisan division and in addition, at the right moment. He not only received greater strength to carry out the task of blowing up two large bridges on the Sluch River, but he would return enriched in fighting strength to his division.

For we Kolkers, Trochenbrod was the first fight in the ranks of a well-organized partisan division. This was no longer amateurism – this was our first test of fire with other experienced fighters and we emerged from this test very well. In this battle, one of ours fell, a young man from Sopivka, Viktor.

Not far from the village of Gryni we met a stronger grouping of Germans who probably expected us. Well reinforced and surrounded by trenches, they let us approach and opened a hurricane of fire on us from various weapons and mortar fire. The battle area that we had not chosen ourselves but which was imposed on us by the enemy was not favorable to us. We found ourselves in an open area and they, on the contrary, made use of everything that could shelter them. We made a strong resistance. Suffering losses, we had to leave a few wagons, a heavy machine gun and withdraw quickly from the lost battle.

When we arrived in the village of Glushkovskoye [Hlukhivets], on Palahychi where the headquarters of the Kovpakowces. were then located, we were welcomed

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like one of their own. This battle was our certificate that we were qualified then to belong to such a respected and beautiful meritorious group of revenge takers as were Kovpak's partisan troops.

During a conversation in the headquarters, we explained the situation in Volyn and in the Volyn forests where a large number of small groups were carrying on an unceasing war against the Germans, Banderowces and all manner of other monsters.

I had a reason to suppose that our stories had made a great impression. On the 7^th of December 1942 a large group of scouts was sent out in the direction of Koval-Tsuman, which was 250 kilometers from here to ascertain in which places the larger German divisions were located and those returning received the task of gathering the smallest groups and individuals who yearned to fight and adding them to the division. Zisha Chajczik of Kolki, Hershl Najdin from Sopiowka and a young man from Osova, Liova whose family name I have forgotten, left with the group.

These scouting groups almost all perished during the constant confrontations on the way. Only three returned: two old Kovpakowices and our Kolker – Zisha Chajczik. They no longer found small Jewish resistance groups in the forests – they had been murdered.

We were no longer the same as when we had arrived – a Jewish group. We were assigned to various companies of the First Battalion. We, all young men from Kolki and from the surrounding shtetlekh, became soldiers of the legendary partisan group of General Kovpak. From December 1942, we did not have any other life than the life of our division, in whose ranks we fought, fell in battle and won.

The history of Kovpak's partisan troops had been described in books. Deservedly and without exaggeration, his fighters were labeled

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as “people of pure conscience.” The path of the Kovpakowices was one long chain of heroism, tests, of situations in which there appeared to be no way out and yet a way out was found. The military units broke through the great blockades, found a solution to the most effective searches by the enemy, resisted every pressure, fought under unequal conditions and against the overwhelming strength [on the part of the enemy], went through giant areas, appearing where they were not anticipated. This was an army that approached like a hurricane and disappeared like a shadow…

This material is too much for me. We, Jewish partisans – and we were many – were living particles of this creative fighting organism; we were in it, in this organism, and had a portion of the losses that were caused by the enemy; in the praiseworthy actions of the victorious march of the Red Army to annihilate the greatest enemy in our old and long Jewish history.

How do I come to talk about this which has been exhausted in books, which has been sung about in songs, shown on movie screens, in films? Nevertheless, I want to tell something about the battles in which young men from my shtetl and from other shtetlekh in our region took part.

In December 1942 we took part in a battle that was known as the “Glushkovskoye Battle.” S.S. divisions surrounded the village where the central base of the partisan division was located. The uninterrupted battle took its course over two days. Our first platoon was in the forward ranks and we were the last when the attack was ended against the enemy and we went in the direction of Buchach where there were no Germans, according to information from our scout. However, in reality, we received a very energetic resistance there on the part of the Germans. With luck, we emerged from the battle and immediately had to enter a new one…

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In this battle, Avraham Buslik, the heroic boy from our shtetl, perished. We were accustomed to losses for a long time, but the death of Avrahamele made a deep impression on us. We left the Kolki ghetto with him. Attacking a Banderowce with a stick, he provided himself with a rifle. He later excelled in the fight under the leadership of Captain Berezhnyy. He served tirelessly all day with his machine gun and whipped the enemy. We left him in a fraternal grave in the village of Buchach in Belarus.

The road for our division was marked by derailing German troop trains, by blowing up entire bands of the enemy; by blowing up bridges and stations. The division instilled fear. We searched for and annihilated the enemy everywhere; disrupted their plans everywhere. We extracted the Germans from iron-concrete bunkers, from behind thick nets of wire fences; we bombarded them with artillery and the rage that choked our throats.

Thus we reached the Pripyat River. We reached the other side on a pontoon bridge in the village of Horodyshche. Here we survived a battle in which everyone who took part remembered it always.

When the Germans grasped that we were moving to Pripyat, they sent out a flotilla of ships against us – two steamers and four armored cutters – all crammed with the military. When the flotilla neared Horodyshche, they began to cover the entire area with fire. We did not answer. This encouraged them, made them bolder. When we could capture the entire flotilla in a fiery vise, we opened a hurricane of fire on them, with 45-milimeter cannons, machine guns and all of the weapons we possessed. In a few minutes the entire flotilla was on fire. I do not remember any greater pleasure than this. We were all delighted by the spectacle of fire…

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Perhaps rifles and cannons, sub-machine guns, machine guns had never sent their annihilating fire with such enthusiasm as then. The ships and cutters flew in the air with echoing thunder. Not one German from this battle emerged alive.

Young Jewish men from Volyn shtetlekh! Revenge takers! If only the victims in the pits at the Biala shores would at least have known something – how Germans could fly in the air, how they could burn, how they could extinguish the burned ones in water!

Another case also ended well: at the end of January 1943, several hundred partisans from the base around Krasnoye Lake left on sleds in the direction of the Lubansk region, Minsk Oblast to a sovkhoz [state-owned farm] called Sosna [pine]. At this sovkhoz there was a large rest house for German officers who had excelled on the eastern front. Three weeks furlough at the sovkhoz. Live it up!

Our company had sleds at its disposal. The attack was planned to the smallest detail. Every company had its designated sector with a marked object. We knew from the start how to carry out the attack and how to end it. After the assault, we had to clear out like powerful men – with everything we would find there: cattle, sacks of flour, fodder for the horses, all of the food prepared for the well-fed officers on furlough there… And given that there was a leather factory located there, naturally, we took all of the spare leather. The storming troops had to make an end to the furlough of the vacationers…

However, the Germans received information about us and, therefore, our plan with all its details, as it often happens with plans, was not carried out. The battle lasted the entire night. The German officers and Ukrainian policemen who had guarded their rest crawled into the bunkers and brick buildings. We lay in the snow (but it was hot for us, too) and tried to go into battle several times. It was not to last

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too long until…it had to succeed. We took the majority of the sovkhoz. The Germans had several hundred wounded and nearly 100 dead; including high-ranking “meritorious guests.” We were able to load a number of their reserves on our sleds. We also took our wounded and several killed partisans with us. Then we left the spot and hurriedly went in the direction of our base.

I, too, was among the wounded, and among the heavily wounded was Yitzhak Pakus, a young man from Otova. When we returned to our base, two airplanes landed on the frozen surface of the lake and took off for Moscow with our heavily wounded. Yitzhak Pakus was brought to a Moscow hospital.

The Kovpakowices moved constantly. We stood up at the order and we moved on the way. Where? No one knew. This was a secret. As happens, we changed directions. As happens, we returned. From June 1943 we went through not hundreds but thousands of kilometers of roads [1,000 kilometers is over 621 miles]. Where did we not pass through! In the areas of Pinsk, of Sarny, Rovno [Rivne], Lutsk, of Tarnopol [Ternopil]. We reached the city of Skala. This place again ended well. Here we annihilated a large division of German gendarmes. In the city, we learned that the ghetto had been liquidated long ago, but there was a camp in which were located the local tradesmen – locksmiths, carpenters, blacksmiths and others who were working for the Germans. They all knew that as soon as they finished the last items ordered they would be shot. Their liberation occurred completely unexpectedly. Each of those saved asked for weapons; everyone wanted to be taken into our group. At the headquarters it was decided to create a special company for them. Several experienced partisans were assigned to the company and, among others, were Vanya Szczerbati, Adam Kiper (the narrator of these pages), Gad Rozenblat, Z. Chajczik, Chaim Vatshyn and Fishl Feder, from Trastiniec.

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Only now we began to understand what a task was assigned to General Kovpak: go in the direction of Galicia and blow up the oil wells.

The battles became more frequent. We could not take one shtetl, not one railroad line, not one village without a battle. The ring of the S.S. divisions around us and in front of us was denser. We entered mountainous areas. The marches became more difficult. It became worse when the German airplanes were constantly above us – they hailed us with bombs; shot at us flying low over our heads. We were unprotected, helpless against the Germans in the air. We needed to know the skill of hiding among stones. It was a meager skill but it did not help. We would leave solitary graves among the rocks and the living would go further… A very new idea: to live meant to go…go wherever the order asked and to ask no questions. We achieved our purpose. The sappers arranged fire spectacles. The area was suddenly pulled out of the dark night and adorned itself with red fire. Thunder, a dark cloud of smoke and a fire-red sky… It was beautiful and frightening. Each partisan group had its sappers. We waited until they returned and went further. To go means to live! We lived and went: higher in the Carpathian Mountains, deeper in the Carpathians.

The Germans wanted to annihilate us. We – the Germans! We both sought to kill the other side. Usually we did not know where they were; they did not know where we were. We were in the mountains and sought death for the other… When we extracted ourselves from their ring, we immediately stood in another ring of German soldiers. They would walk and shoot and we would scramble higher up the mountains under fire. They fired every kind of weapon, coordinated with a plan and received help from the demons in the air

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and they could annihilate us and we could only show them our tongue. Yes, that is how it looked. They with a predominance in fire, better positions. They in defense, we – on attack. And yet they could not annihilate us!

The horses and wagons left our fighting divisions from the rear; we destroyed our cannons. We would carry the wounded with us; we would go down from high, sloping walls. Once I succeeded in shooting down a German airplane. It was a celebration for us. This encouraged us – we will also catch you in the skies with our hands! During these battles, we lost even more of our old fighting comrades from Kolki, from Sopiowka, from Trastiniec, from Osova. Here was their last fight. We fought in small groups. I was also wounded here and carried out of the fight by other partisans.

I want to end my story by listing the names of our comrades with whom Zisha Chajczik and I began the fighting road, leaving the ghetto and beginning the way to the unknown in the forest. We left our comrades on nameless roads, in villages, those fallen during a scouting action and in fiery battles. We carried on through many hundreds of kilometers – right to the Carpathian Mountains. Who knows where their lonely graves or fraternal graves are? The names of those who died, standing with weapons in their hands and taking revenge, the names of those who remain alive in my heart, I want to remember with honor and with love:

Galan Berl (Baran)
Wajner Yakov (from Warsaw)
Buslik Avraham
Ekber Berish
Chajczik Yosf

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Chajczik Ruchl
Chasis Fradl
Chasis Chaim
Bernblum Yakl
Czartarisker Yitzhak
Zalcman Zalman
Chaim (a Kolki butcher)
Kuc Yisroel
Czuk Leib

These are those who I remember. Let us also remember the nameless who fell in various partisan divisions as revenge-takers, in various armies that fought against the murderers of the nations, against the murderers of our Jewish people!

Benyamin (Niunia) Gildin

1. Partisans - followers of Sydir Artemovych Kovpak Return

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