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When I remember my town, Chorzele, in which I spent most of the years of my life, the Przytulanie Forest and the Orzyc River flutter before my eyes. I also see the two bridges (the large and the small), with the large tree next to the cross between them. The villagers from the area would put on their shoes next to this tree every Sunday on their way to church, and remove them on their way home. Motel Lichtensztajn's flourmill was next to the river in that area. During its operation, the rattle of its machinery could be heard throughout Chorzele and the region. I got used to this sound from my early childhood. I even went to sleep with its echo, and something seemed missing on the Sabbath when it didn't operate.

We would stroll through the Przytulanie Forest mainly during the summer. We would enjoy the pleasant aromas and songs of the birds. We would get up early during the spring and go to the Labylow Forest that was called “Mojowka.” Nevertheless, we felt like strangers there despite the beauty of nature on those days.

Chorzele was close to the border district. Therefore, it was only permitted to travel around the city until midnight.

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It was forbidden to be seen on the streets after that time. All the lights were extinguished at midnight. A decisive darkness pervaded, and people would be afraid to go outside. This fear accompanied the residents of the town even during the daytime hours. The children were afraid of ghosts and spirits. Virtually everybody was afraid to pass near the church or the cemetery. If a child refused to wear the tallis katan [fringed undergarment], they would threaten that he would be snatched by the ghosts. In addition to these fears, the children were also afraid of the rebbe's kontszyk [leather strap].

I studied chumash and Rashi with the teacher Itche–Meir Nodel. When he would examine a student, he would sit very close to him, for if the student did not know the lesson, the rebbe would slap him with his thin fingers. This would hurt right through to the heart. The rebbe would barely use the kontszyk. However, the kontszyk of the teacher from Warsaw is etched in my mind. I cried because of it more than once.

Next to the gravestone of Avraham–Baruch Bachrach The text on the gravestone is: An excellent man, crowed with good traits. An upright man, a prominent Hassid, fearing of Heaven, Reb Avraham Baruch the son of Reb Moshe Chanoch, died 23 Tammuz 5692. May his soul be bound in the bonds of eternal life.

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Two of my classmates earned special merit with him – David Frenkel and Berl Fater. The rebbe had a special kontszyk for them, with a thick knot at its edge, for they never cried when they received beatings. This aroused the anger of the rebbe. Sometimes, he would grab the hand of a student and beat it on the table until it bled. We could not complain about the rebbe at home, because our parents would claim that we were surely deserving the beatings. In addition to the fear of the cheder, the street instilled fear, for when we went home at a late hour, we had to be careful lest we run into some shegetz [derogatory term for a gentile] who might beat us.

When winter arrived and the river froze, we would go to have fun, some with skates, and some with sleds. Even then, we would always choose a remote corner, so that the shkotzim [gentiles] would not see us. I remember an incident one winter when Moshe Zylberman (the son of Yankel Einbinder, who was an enthusiastic Bundist) came to me and recommended that I go to play on the ice. I refused, and said to him that there were many shkotzim on the snow at that time. He didn't listen to me, however, and said, “Am I not a human being like them?” Indeed, he went, and returned after some time with an injured face. I said to him, “Now you see that Socialism does not help you.”

But we also had a “hero” during the winter time – Chaim David Kozycz, who would perform acrobatic tricks on the ice. The shkotzim honored him for this. Jewish lads hung around him, and the shkotzim would not hurt them. We also had a summertime “hero” – Yaakov Frenkel. When we would go bathe in the “ryde” he would appear before us, get undressed slowly, and then dive into the water for some time. When he dove, everyone would hold their breath until he came out of the water. Then we would cheer him.

I want to note here Reb Yosef Tyk, in whose store we used to purchase sweets from money that we “pilfered” from our fathers' drawers in their businesses or at home… Reb Yosef led the drama club, in which he invested all his energy and initiative. (I also participated in this club.) I remember that Reb Yosef once became very embarrassed when Yitzchak Gliksberg (the son of Hershel the rabbi) organized a play for the benefit of Linat Hatzedek. He wrote the lines himself and produced the performance with the dramatic group. Reb Yosef was embarrassed that he was not called upon to produce this play, and he decided to no longer organize performances.

The name of the performance was “The Consillium,” and it portrayed the images of the “physicians of the idol” in our town: The Fat King (der Grober Meilech), Avrahamel shochet (di Kishke), the wife of the cantor (di Chazante), and others. It told libelous stories about the “consillium” [advice] that the “physicians” arranged when a doctor was called to a specific sick person. (I played the part of the Fat King.) I met “the Fat King” the day after the performance. He approached me and said, “You are the Grober Meiliech, may your name be blotted out. The next time they summon me to a sick person, I will send you…”

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We lived as a single family in our city. Everyone recognized each other. We did not consider pedigree or any such things. In business and economic matters, Aharon–Mottel Bekerman was friendly with Mottel Frum, Shmuel “the rebbe” would share secrets with Shmuel the wagon driver. All of them shared their bitter fate equally in the face of the enemy that brought destruction upon them.

Chorzele my town! Your soil will forever remain soaked with the blood of our dear ones. My heart will mourn until my last day over our dear ones who were slaughtered without any guilt on their hands.

My revered father, Mendel Shafran of blessed memory, was born in 1860 in the city of Nowy Dwór, Warsaw district. He moved to Chorzele in 1880, after he married my mother Hinda of blessed memory, the daughter of Reb Aharon Wallersztajn, one of the veteran residents of Chorzele, who was known in town by the name of “Aharon Grajewski” on account of his native town of Grajewo. During the early years, my father was supported at the table of his father–in–law, as was the custom in those days, until he opened his own grocery store. Later, he closed it and opened a manufacturing store. He was successful at his businesses, and eventually became known as one of the wealthy men of the town. He attained a high place in business circles, and had an important status among the residents of the town. Many would come to him to hear his advice on business matters. Shopkeepers and tradesmen regarded him as a trustworthy person, and left their weekly earnings with him from Friday afternoon until the end of the Sabbath.

In 1916, my father was appointed to the town council by the district city official, Wittenberg. The town council appointed my father to head the potato division, which Wittenberg obtained from the government for the starving, poor families. Every person received five kilograms of potatoes in return for a symbolic payment that went toward maintaining the fund for communal affairs. My father fulfilled this task honestly, without playing favorites. He guarded the collected money very carefully. After the rabbi and communal representatives decided to utilize the money for renovating the mikva [ritual bath], my father was appointed to arrange and oversee this work. He fulfilled that task as well efficiently and faithfully.

My revered mother was a pious and intelligent woman. She was goodhearted to every person, and would often read holy books as well as Yiddish books. At sunset on the Sabbath, she would gather her children around her and tell them about what took place during the week, about the B'esht [Baal Shem Tov] and tzadikim, about Dreyfus, Robinson Caruso, and other such things. She was a Zionist in spirit and aspiration, and dreamed of settling in the Land of Israel with her family.

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Mendel and Hinda Shafran

Their sons: Feibish of blessed memory with his daughter and wife; Yosef; and Yitzchak

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Indeed, her heart's desire was realized in 1927, when my parents arrived in the Land of Israel, after three of their children made aliya to the Land one after the other: Yitzchak in 1921, Feibish at the beginning of 1923, and the writer of these lines in the autumn of 1923. My parents' other children (Moshe–Leizer, Avraham, and Leah) did not merit making aliya to the Land of Israel. They died during their youth, and their bodies are buried in the soil of the Diaspora.

My revered father died in Tel Aviv in 1953, and my revered mother died in Tel Aviv in 1951.

Our oldest sister Sara was married to Moshe–Mendel Kahn, the son of Reb Yosef the shochet [ritual slaughterer]. My sister's family was also firmly based from an economic and social perspective. Two of her children, Efraim and Hirsch–Yitzchak, immigrated to the United States during the 1920s. The rest of her children, Yechiel, Aharon–Chaim, Ita–Tova, and Chana, perished along with our sister and her husband during the terrible Holocaust.

Our sister Beila, who was married to Chaim–Shlomo Wishinski, died in 1926.

Our brother Simcha–Yaakov was born in 1888, and was one of the leaders in town of the youth who turned toward the Haskalah [enlightenment] and Socialist ideas. He was a pleasant, thin lad. He studied Russian and English on his own, and even built a violin with his own hands, and became expert at playing it. He organized and directed a youth group for the children of the workers and tradesmen. He took risks in bringing in revolutionary books that were forbidden in town, and distributed them to the members of his circle. Under pressure from the townsfolk who were afraid that his deeds would create issues between their children and the authorities, our father sent him to the town of Woznowo to study watchmaking. He returned home after he learned this trade. My father gave him a room for work in our house, and hoped that his son would now return to the proper path. However, he continued in his ways, and dedicated himself to intellectual and educational work amongst the youth with full enthusiasm, until his time came to enlist to the army.

My father made efforts to free him from the army, but Simcha–Yaakov deliberately thwarted these efforts. When the draft notice arrived, my parents had no choice other than to permit him to immigrate to the United States – his longstanding desire. “The Land of the Free” in contrast to Czarist Russia made a deep impression on him. As proof of his appreciation, he volunteered for the American army in its war with Mexico (1912), and later, in 1915, on its war on the side of the “Entente” (Allies) in Europe. He excelled in battles in France and reached the rank of captain. He was killed in battle on October 3, 1918, a few weeks before the end of the First World War. He was decorated for bravery in a special notice from the Ministry of Defense of the United States.

Already from his youth, our brother, Feibish followed Zionist ideas. He disliked business, and became involved in trade. He studied watchmaking with the only watchmaker in town, Yudel the Watchmaker. Then, he spent about two years in Warsaw (1912–1914), and returned home at the outbreak of the First World War. He went through many experiences during the war. Here is a brief description.

At the outbreak of the war, the Jews of Chorzele escaped from the border. Our family settled in Przasnyce.

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When news arrived that the gentiles were pillaging the homes of the Jews who had left, a group of Chorzele natives, including my brother Feibish, was organized to return to town. This group guarded the abandoned property, but the gentiles slandered them to the local Russian commander, claiming that the Jews were spies on behalf of the Germans. The Jews were commanded to leave the town quickly. They went to the nearby village of Krszinobloga, when they remembered that they had left the Torah scrolls in the synagogue. My brother and one woman volunteered to return to the town to retrieve the Torah scrolls. However, they were captured by the Cossacks when they got there and hauled to the military command Michnicze. There, they informed my brother that he was accused of spying. They tied him to a horse and brought him to Zambrowo, from where he was taken from city to city for many months until he reached the city of Tyumen, District of Tobolsk, in Siberia. My father followed after him and made efforts along the way to free him, but he did not succeed. After several months of imprisonment in Tyumen, he was freed from jail but forbidden from leaving the city. He was drafted to the Russian Army in 1916 and sent to the Austrian front in Galicia, from where he was freed from the army at the outbreak of the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917. He remained in Kremenchug, where he married Rosa Schor. He had no way of informing his family of his salvation until 1921, because Poland was situated between two enemy armies. He and his wife arrived in Chorzele in 1922, and made aliya to the Land of Israel in 1923.

Feibish lived in Rishon Lezion for a brief period next to our brother Yitzchak, who preceded us in aliya to the Land of Israel. Later, Feibish joined the group of founders of Moshav Chitin near Tiberias, where he endured all the birth pangs of this group (removing rocks, uprooting stones, under conditions of hunger, thirst, and lack) until it disbanded. Feibish, his wife, and three daughters (Batya, Geula, and Arbella) moved to Tel Aviv, where his wife got a job in her profession (a nurse with Kupat Cholim), and he worked at whatever job came his way. At the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, he started work in the military camp of Sarafand, but fate was cruel to him there as well. He was injured twice in automobile accidents while traveling from his work place to Tel Aviv. He recovered and returned to work the first time in 1945, but he never got up again from the second one in 1946. He was only 53 years ld.

Our sister Reitza was married to Velvel Gutleizer. They lived in Chorzele, where they established a large family – all of whom perished in the terrible Holocaust.

May their souls be bound in the bonds of eternal life.

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It took place on a summer day at the end of July in 1935. It was one of those dark, cold, mornings, with a mixture of mist and light heat, with the meadows carpeted by all type of grass. Grains and legume flowers could be seen from all sides. We set out on an uncharted path that morning, on a wagon strewn with straw, and partially covered by a thick, cloth tarpaulin. We traveled toward the town of Chorzele partly on a dirt path and partly on an unpaved stone path. We passed villages and churches. Wooden crosses stood on the side of roads at the entrance to villages, serving as guideposts for Christian believers of the region and travelers from time immemorial. Here and there, we encountered farmers and their families going out to work the fields. I was 21 years old at the time, and I had enough knowledge and experience to realize that primitivity still prevailed here in agriculture. I saw a scythe in the hands of the Polish farmer women, whereas we in the Land already had mechanized harvesters, tractors, combines, and bundling machines in almost every settlement. At that moment I thought of how great our Zionist pioneering energy was in conquering the desolation of agriculture where we were, in contrast to the situation in Poland, which had always been considered an agricultural country.

This how the journey continued until we arrived in my hometown, the cradle of my childhood – Chorzele. My desire then was to peer once into my past and remember my childhood and the town in which I was born – with its houses, Jews, realities, experiences, and communal life. As I was now passing through other towns in Poland, I did not see a great change in their way of life. However, here I was looking for homey, family warmth. I was immersed in thoughts until I reached the entrance to the city.

Before my eyes, I saw that “river” which was really a narrow stream, meandering in a hidden manner between the trees and grasses. Fat cows, laden with milk, grazed on both sides of the road. The horses lazily trotted up the hill across the wooden bridge – partly a bridge and partly a passageway. We were about to enter the town. Across the bridge, we once again encountered that traditional wooden cross, informing of the existence of a settlement at that place. Small wooden houses and even lone stone houses began to be seen before us. The scenery, the same Diaspora scenery that I had left when I was eight years old, remained in all its humbleness and modesty. There were simple wooden benches in front of the houses.

I searched for the home of “Yosel the Carpenter,” as Yosef Korznik was called in earlier days. A holy awe enveloped me when the wagon stopped before one of the wooden houses and the wagon driver told me that this was the house in which Grandfather had lived, and now his two sisters live there with their families. At that moment I recalled that during my childhood, when I would visit

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the home of Grandfather and Grandmother with Father on holidays and festivals, a sense of calm and pleasantness pervaded these small rooms, the floors of which were made with wood covered with wax, painted red and creaking joyously… I also recall the large sawmill with gentile workers who toiled along with Grandfather. That sawmill would cut large boards into veneers. At that time, there were no machines in town. Everything was done by hand. I remember well how they would smooth out the odorous “politora” and the “laka” on the corners of wooden beds, closets, tables, and all kinds of chairs. There was the bustle of toil in that workshop on the long days and nights, especially before the fairs, whether in our town or in another town. “There were days which will not come back again,” when this house was full of villagers on the fair days or on the eves of Christian holidays. These gentile Christians loved Grandfather and would be willing to sacrifice themselves for him…

Grandmother Beila and their sons and daughters helped him in his work. However, time took its toll. The sons and daughters scattered in all directions, some to America, and some to the Land of Israel on pioneering aliya. Now I found a forlorn house. I found two families who lived their impoverished lives in this poor house. These were the families of my aunts Chana and Hinda. Both were old women (Aunt Hinda had several daughters, three of whom made it to the Land of Israel after the Holocaust.) My aunts received me with great warmth. After spending a few hours in that house, I continued on to visit other family members.

My first stop was at the family of Tzvi Jochet, the father of Menachem Jochet. It was also a hut made of wooden planks, but full of warmth and bustling with life. The father “sewed” shoes and the mother Rachel assisted him in all types of work with great energy. She would accept the orders and respond to all requests, while the two sons and the daughter were busy with the sewing machine. I will always remember the warm greeting that they extended to me, for this was an unforgettable experience. I remember how I urged these young people to liquidate everything and make aliya to the Land along with their parents. However… however, for this there is no response. They all suffered from the great inferno that destroyed six million Jews.

From there, I continued to the center of town – the small, square market place with its mold–eaten stalls. Sellers peered out from the counters. Here and there, at the side of the road, stood Polish farmers selling fruits, vegetables, wooden twigs for cooking and baking, and fodder and straw for animals. Here and there, large and small animals were sold next to the butcher shops. On the other hand, piglets were sold next to the Christian butcher shop. Along the way, on the side leading eastward, stood a sooty Jew who fixed the horseshoes of the farmers and wagon drivers who were passing through.

I continued to the family of Esther Bajszwajger. That wooden house was sustained by the mother, for the father had died during the First World War. The mother remained with two daughters and three sons, one of whom was completely handicapped. She bore complete responsibility for their livelihood for a long time. The oldest daughter was already in the Land, and the youngest son was in hachsharah. Nevertheless, the mother worked hard to sustain the two sons

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and the young daughter (who came to the Land after the Holocaust). I recall the large, wooden carriage with wide wheels upon which the wet laundry would be rolled by that elderly mother with her thin, veiny hands, so that she could sustain her family honorably. I held that woman in great esteem. She fought her battle for existence in the small town, and her only request was: would she merit to make aliya to the Land, and see her entire family there, along with her daughter who was already there? I parted from her with a heavy heart, and told her my answer: send the children first, and they will bring you. This is not what fate had in mind. Only some of the children reached the Land, but she herself – did not arrive…

I continued on, passing the home of my grandfather's eldest brother, Mottel Korznik. He was already old and deaf, but was still full of life and wisdom. He complained to me that his children abandoned him in his old age, immigrating to South America with his two daughters. Only one request came from his mouth: would he merit to see them again? Hot tears streamed from his eyes. I could not encourage him when I advised: send you daughters to the Land…

I continued to the eastern side of the town, to peek for a moment into the old Beis Midrash and the splendid synagogue, the walls f which were filled with decorations and pictures from the Holy Land, the works of an artist. I found the same ceiling, slightly vaulted, and the splendid chandelier with the long chain. On Sabbath and festival eves, the branches of that chandelier lit up the building. At that time, several old men were sitting there learning Mishnah. They warmly greeted the visitor from the land of Israel.

I continued in the direction of the border, where I made a quick visit to the beer brewery. The brewery was owned by the Przysusker brothers, who also owned the brick kiln that was opposite the pine factory adjacent to the border. Nazi Germans were walking along the other side. As I stood next to the border with a passport in my hand, issued by the offices in the Land of Israel, the Germans and Poles looked at me from each side as a Jew who had come from the Jewish land – with more honor and understanding than they expressed toward local Jews…

This was 1935. Gloomy thoughts accompanied me after this two–day visit to my hometown. When I met with several of the youths, I infused them with a bit of faith about our future in the Land. I left the town on a horse–drawn wagon. I left it forever. At the time, I never thought I would have to describe that visit in this book, which is a monument to my town and its people who I saw alive at that time…

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Shalom Frenkeland his grandson David Friszring

The yellow patch of the Nazi occupation era was affixed to me in the Chorzele Ghetto. After that, I was in the Maków Ghetto, Auschwitz, Mauthausen, and Ebensee, from where I was liberated in May 1945 by the American Army.

I spent my childhood in Chorzele. Like all the children of the town, I began to go to cheder when I was five years old. I studied with the teacher Zalman–Meir, and then with Ben–Zion, as well as Lindenbaum and Ajzenstadt, who began to introduce more modern forms of study – meaning that he permitted us to go outside into the fresh air a bit, so we could see and sense nature. I also had to go to public school. In grade one, our teacher was Rabbi Nowicz, in the home of Feivel Kowel, where there was a Jewish class. In grade two, however, we were enrolled in the school that was next to the church. When I completed school (grade seven) in June 1939, I did not know what was about to take place within a few months.

I studied for two years in the new school building (on the road to Bagienice). This was a splendid building, with wooden floors. As we entered it, we had to exchange our shoes for slippers to protect the shiny floors. Everything was new inside, but the atmosphere was backward. Anti–Semitism pervaded all classes of the school. There were from five to ten Jewish students in every class, and we suffered greatly from the anti–Semitism of the Christian students.

At the end of the 1938/1939 school year, they distributed school graduation diplomas, and we prepared for the summer vacation. I had many plans for the future. I thought about continuing my studies in the trade gymnasja, which my parents were very pleased with, or perhaps to study some profession. I decided to make use of the summer vacation for something useful, so I traveled to the summer camp in Zduńska Wola organized by Gordonia. My friend in the movement, Yisrael Knott, also went to the camp with me and we spent several wonderful weeks there despite the difficult conditions

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that pervaded in the summer camp. We were fooled there during the time we stayed there. We got used to hunger and sleeping in uncomfortable conditions. Nevertheless, we went home happy and satisfied.

At the beginning of August 1939, the atmosphere of war was already felt in our town. Anyone who had somewhere to go left Chorzele, for it was clear that the first front would be there. Jews rented wagons, upon which they loaded all the belongings that were possible, and travelled to other cities. Some remained in Prosienica, but others went as far as Ciechanów and Mława, and even to Warsaw. Only a few remained in our town on the day of the outbreak of the war on September 1, 1939. Those remaining included Esther–Liba and Shmuel Frenkel, Zalman–Meir the teacher, and two or three other families.

Rachel Frenkel, wife of Reb Shalom, and her daughters

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We somehow managed throughout the day, but the troubles began at nightfall, for not everyone had a place to sleep. Whomever could find a place to sleep elsewhere went to a different family. I too did so.

The day after the conquest of the city of Ciechanów, the Germans began to pillage. They snatched for work anyone who crossed their path. They searched homes, and, with beatings and curses, took out the Jews to work at cleaning the bunkers and other institutions in the occupied city. One morning, they gathered all the Jews in the synagogue and informed them that anyone who wants could cross the border between the Germans and the Russians. However, the people themselves opposed this for several reasons: some said that this was a trap leading to disaster, and others thought that it was possible to organize things somehow so as not to be a wanderer.

The occupiers began to restrict our steps in a systematic manner. When we realized that the crowding of housing was increasing, and that there was no place to put our heads, and on the other hand, seeing that the general suffering was increasing, we concluded that it was worthwhile to endanger ourselves to return to Chorzele. Father and I returned to Chorzele to find out the situation with our own eyes. When we arrived there in the evening, we saw that our house on Ogrodowa Street 14 had been taken over by Polish residents, who had once lived on the Piaskes. We explained the situation to them and came to an agreement with them that they would free up our home for us in return for a dwelling in the second half of the house. It was clear that the situation in Chorzele was better than in Ciechanów not only from a housing perspective, but that it was also easier to obtain food. We returned to Ciechanów, obtained a wagon, loaded our belongings, and returned to Chorzele with our family.

At first, there were a few Jewish families there, but others slowly began to return, and a small Jewish community was formed there. The Jews were obligated to appear and register daily at the German command that was set up next to the Broiz of the Przysusker brothers. They began to enlist all the men for wood chopping and cleaning houses. The living conditions were generally comfortable. Everyone took up a dwelling where they found one, and we were scattered in all parts of the city. We gathered together daily for the Mincha and Maariv services, and on Sabbaths also for Shacharit and Musaf, until they canceled the rest day on the Sabbath. This was after the Sabbath when they confiscated all the gold and jewelry from the Jews. At that time, they also confiscated sewing machines, blankets, and pillows.

We carried out our work for free, without any payment. We earned our livelihoods by selling various items to the Polish residents. We worked at tearing down houses along Gornicna Street, starting from the home of Shlomo–Asher until the home of Polomski – along the entire street until the mikva [ritual bath]. We did not pass over the synagogue, Beis Midrash, or mikva. Everything was dismantled, and the wood was collected in the Breuer warehouses of the Przysusker brothers, where the city council warehouses were. The mayor was a Nazi who was one of the customers of Przenica. Our work supervisors were Volksdeutschen – one was Polish and named Kochel, and the other was Ukrainian, named Jakobowski.

One day, an edict was issued stating that Jews were forbidden from entering gentile shops. A sign was posted on every shop: “Entry by Jews is strictly forbidden.” The portions of the Jews were given to one

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of us who opened a small shop in their house. We bought all our provisions there with coupons. The first command to wear a yellow patch (with a diameter of 10 centimeters) was also issued. Later, the command to wear the yellow Magen David with the inscription Jude was given – first to be worn on the left, and later the right.

Bodnick was one of the anti–Semitic Volkdeutsche officials. He composed a song that, by edict of the mayor, we had to sing the entire way as we carried the wood to the warehouse. Moshe Fater, who was known for his sweet voice, paced along the “Dishel.” He sang the stanzas, and we had to join in to the repeating chorus.

Przes 20 lat Żyd u Polaka kradł,
jadałkury, raczki, kaczki;
teraz niema na flaczki,
aj waj, aj waj, aj waj…^[1]

After some time, they began to pave the wide street (Otostorada), and there was insufficient work force. The gentiles were given permission to enlist Jews as well for this work, but at a wage of 50% of the salary of the Christian workers. They brought us to the paving work area in gigantic transport trucks, gave the Jews the most difficult jobs, and supervised them more carefully. Nevertheless, I enlisted for this work, for I was the only one in the family who could earn a bit of money. I worked in paving the Otostorada for several months. Then I found more difficult work, but in the city – drilling a well next to the building of the Chorzele court. This work was difficult, for we had to do the drilling with our hands. Three of us carried it out: Berl Berger, myself, and Czechnowski from Myszniec who had gotten married in Chorzele.

Representatives of a filming company from Vienna, called Vienner Film, arrived in Chorzele one day, and started to make a film called “Haimker” – that is classifying the Volkdeutschen according to their birthplace. Then, the entire city became unrecognizable. They changed the facades of all the houses, as well as the appearance of the streets next to the railway station. The filming company set up workshops and offices on empty fields behind the ruins of the synagogue and the buildings that used to surround it.

When the filming finished, an edict was issued to make the area Judenrein, and to concentrate all the Jews into ghettos. One day, the ordered everyone to leave their homes, and placed wagons at the disposal of those leaving. The transfer to Maków via Przasnysz began. As we passed through Przasnysz, we were joined by local Jews who were being deported like us to the Maków Ghetto. Our family found itself in the synagogue that was divided into cubicles of several square meters – a cubicle for each family. The Judenrat and the Jewish police were comprised of the local Jews. Therefore, it was natural that the Jews who had arrived from outside suffered more. When a demand was issued to provide Jews from the labor camp in Nowa

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Wieś near Ostrołęka to clear stones from the road, we, the Jews of Chorzele, were the scapegoats. That is how I ended up in that work camp, which also contained Poles who had been convicted of crimes.

In that camp, we were required to wake up very early and walk several kilometers to the place where the clearing of stones was taking place. Everyone received a quota of stones that had to be cleared within a day. Anyone who did not finish the quota would be liable to physical punishment, such as being forced to run in the snow, having their food rations lessened, etc. A typhus epidemic broke out in the camp, claiming many victims. As a result, an edict arrived to return us to the Maków Ghetto.

When that ghetto was liquidated, the survivors were transferred to the Mława Ghetto. However, we only remained there for five days. Members of the Jewish police of the ghetto broke into our house at midnight, and removed my father, my mother, and my younger brother Leibel. I, the eldest son, and my brother Shlomo (two years younger than me), were not taken in that aktion. Thus, we remained ripped apart from our families, who were sent to the crematoria of Treblinka. The next day, the men of the Jewish militia once again broke into our house, and gathered all those who remained. They permitted us to take whatever we could load into a sack, and brought us to the railway station. This was December 1942. The cold was very great, but we were still obligated to stand in the railway station for long hours until we received a command to board the train. They pushed us into the cars with beatings and curses, and sent us to the Auschwitz death camp. When we got off at the Auschwitz railway station, we were broken, hungry and thirsty, and we fell upon the puddles of slimy water to lick the slime.

Entrance to the Auschwitz death camp

[Page 134]

The famous selektion began: whom to the right and whom to the left! Nobody knew which was better – the right side or the left. Everyone had to announce their name and age out loud. I decided to add a few years to my true age, and I told my brother Shlomo to do them same when we approached the selektion table. However, the selector separated me from my brother. Soldiers with guns stood in the side. They separated us by force, and I never saw my brother again, because he was hauled straight to the crematoria of Auschwitz.

We were ordered to march several kilometers until we arrived at the Birkenau Camp. There, they took our sacks from us, stripped us naked, and dressed us in camp uniforms. Each of us was tattooed with a prisoner number on our left arm. This number served in place of a surname and a first name. I received the number 80388.

Ten prisoners had to sleep on an area of about 1.5 square meters. The conditions were intolerable. There was no water for washing. Everyone suffered from diarrhea. Illnesses spread in the camp, and tens of prisoners who had died through the night were removed every morning. For a certain period, I had to load such corpses on transport trucks to bring them to the crematoria.

One day at the end of December 1942, we were arranged in two rows of about a half kilometer long. S.S. men ordered us to fill our coats with sand or stones, and to run with the load, as they hit us with their sticks. Many victims fell that day, as became clear during the daily roll call the next day. The roll call took place every morning and evening, even though it was clear to everybody that one could not escape from there. The camp was surrounded by an electric barbed wire fence (double or triple), and watchmen guarded around us with projectors that were lit up throughout the night. One day during morning roll call, a command was given that all youths up to the age of 20 must present themselves before the camp commander. I was 17, and I decided that I had nothing to lose, for I was disgusted with life. It was not important whether I would be sent to the crematoria. However, fate was otherwise: I was chosen to be among those youths who were transferred to the Auschwitz camp, several kilometers away from Birkenau. These youths were placed in the building school in Auschwitz (block 7). We studied building in a theoretical and practical way. After gaining our knowledge, the graduates were sent to work outside the camp, where we built large buildings. The head of our block was a German with a green triangle on his chest – that is to say, he was a convicted criminal from Germany. He was very meticulous about insisting that we wash our feet and heads. We were all required to wash, without considering the 25° cold. He once conducted a nighttime hunt. He placed several tens of lads on the roof of the building where there was a fierce wind. He made us kneel on our knees for several long hours, and finally poured cold water on us.

I was one of those injured who was taken to the hospital (block 19). I lay there for several days with a high temperature, and was affected by an ear infection. There was an urgent need for surgery, and I was taken to block 28 where there was an operating room. I was operated on by a Polish doctor named Waszilowski. I must thank him for surviving at that time.

After the surgery, I lay immobile for several days, for I was forbidden from moving my head.

[Page 135]

However, the wound did not heal due to lack of vitamins. I managed somehow to remain in the hospital for a longer period, and they even helped me dress up as a nurse during the S.S. inspections of the hospitals, in which they removed the sick people and send them to the crematoria. The wound finally healed. I was permitted to leave the hospital, and I returned to the building school.

When the Russian Army neared the Auschwitz camp, the Germans decided to liquidate it. This was the famous march known as the “death march” from Auschwitz to other places. We marched by foot from Auschwitz to the railway station. Thousands of marchers met their deaths, whether from weakness or from the S.S. bullets that accompanied us. We arrived in the Mauthausen camp after much wandering, and were placed in bunks. I was later transferred to the Mielec camp, and then to Ebensee. Great hunger pervaded in that camp, to the point where the workers who were involved in digging tunnels in the mountains would eat the ground compost, which we would call “margarine.” Many people died from eating this “margarine.”

When the day of liberation arrived, the Germans wanted to place us in the mountain tunnels and detonate them. However, they failed in carrying out this plan. The American Army took control of the camp in a sudden wing operation. We found ourselves saved from the danger of death that had accompanied us day by day and hour by hour.

Translator's Footnote

1. This poem translates as follows on Google Translate:
   20 years a Jew from the Pole stole,
   Food chicken, handles, ducks;
   Now there is no tripe,
   Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah … Return

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