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On July 5^th, 1941, the Germans entered David-Horodok. Several weeks before the capture of the town, local Christians headed by Maraiko, Kulaga and Latun, may their names be blotted out, succeeded in creating the impression that the town Jews were waiting for the Red Army to return. As a result, the Christians received permission from the SS headquarters in Pinsk to handle the Jews at their own discretion.

On August 16 at 4 o'clock in the morning, all the Jewish quarters were surrounded. All Jewish men and children eight years of age and older were brought naked and barefooted to the concentration point in the courtyard of the Catholic Church – and from there to their last journey.

Yakov, Aba Gartzulin's son, the only Jew who had been forewarned by a Christian of the fate of those who were being sent away, tried to escape. A murderer's bullet stopped him and he died on the spot. All roads were blocked and there was no possibility of escape.

From the concentration point, the Jews were sent to two common graves which had previously been prepared. When the Jews came to the ditches, they were instructed to undress and climb down into the ditches where they were shot to death with machine guns.

A group of Jews were spared from the murder and they were used to sort the fallen bodies in the trenches. Afterwards, they were also murdered. After the murder, the trenches were filled in by the local people who took part in the killing.

Only a few managed to hide out by various means, but eventually they too met the same horrible fate.

Nahman Yanush, Yosle's son, Itche the milkman's grandson succeeded in escaping through the village of Baroshnye and reached Staline. He hid in their ghetto for a year until he was killed along with the Jews of Staline.

Yakov Litman, Kalushin's son and Moshe Alaynik's grandson, hid for several days until a Christian informed on him. They dragged him to the gestapo and tortured him until he was finally relieved with a bullet.

Rabbi Aharon Slomianski, who had been hidden several days by a Christian, was forced to leave his hiding place because the Christian was afraid they would kill him for hiding a Jew. Having no other alternative, Rabbi Aharon decided to return home. As he crossed the bridge, gentiles grabbed him and threw him into the river. He immediately drowned. Thanks to his wife Rachel who exerted super-human efforts, he was buried in the Jewish cemetery.

Simha, Moshe Aharon Mishalav's son, hid for two weeks in his cellar but the Christian servant gave him over to the gentiles. They dragged him out of the cellar and murdered him in his house in front of

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his wife and children.

Issar, Nisan Gurvitch's son, hid in a clothing closet. The local citizens found him, pulled him out and dragged him into the market place. They beat him and tortured him viciously and put out his eyes. His inhuman screaming was heard from one end of the town to the other. He pleaded with his murderers to end his life.

Rabbi Kahas, Rabbi Sander Balahusher's son and Rabbi Moshe, Rabbi Avraham Baruhin the Karamsker's son, hid until 1943 in a nearby village with a Christian peasant. They dreamt that Rabbi Moshele, the Staliner rabbi, was yet alive. They crawled out of their hiding place and they went off to Staline. Gentiles killed them along the way.

Reuven, Haim Kalushnye's son, hid in his yard. The gentiles found him, killed him and threw him into the outdoor privy.

Baruch Yossel, Moshe Katzman's son, and his two sons hid out somewhere. They had nothing to eat and so they presented themselves to the Gestapo. There they were told that the Gestapo had no liquidation decree concerning them and they could go where they wished! However, the local citizens beat them to death with sticks in the market place.

Itzhak, the son of Shloma the Azdamitcher, remained living thanks to a Christian who hid him after he promised to marry her. When the Red Army returned, he fulfilled his promise.

* * *

After the mass-murder and on a cold and rainy autumn day, they also drove the women and children out of the town. The local citizens chased after them for several kilometres with shouts of: “Get out! We don't need you!”

Amongst the women there were several men who dressed in women's clothes. One of these was Rabbi Moshe, Rabbi Velvele Ginzeberg's son. The local citizens, who were examining the faces of the refugees, recognized him. They pulled him out and murdered him.

Leah Vigdar's, Rabbi Moshe Kalushne's wife, no longer had the strength to go on with the exiles and she sat down next to Haim Baruhin's house. She was killed on the spot.

Haye, Rabbi Asher Yudavitch's daughter seeing what was happening, picked her child up and jumped with him into the Horin River.

Faygele, Baytzl Yudavitch's wife and Rivka, Motle Bregman's wife and her daughters remained almost to the end. But as soon as they had given up all their gold and silver, they were chased to the Alshiner Bridge and were murdered there.

A portion of the exiles arrived at the ghettos in Lakve, Staline and Visotzke. They had drunk their cups of bitterness and they were liquidated along with all the Jews in these ghettos.

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Three weeks after the women were driven from town, they were allowed to return into a newly created ghetto which existed for a year. Afterwards, they were sent to the same place where the men had been killed and they were murdered.

The year 1939 arrived. The town was taken by the Soviets. Many Jewish refugees from western Poland then formed a home in David-Horodok.

In 1940, they began arresting and exiling Zionists and others. The town shuddered. The mood was strained. Still, there was the motto: “All for one and one for all”.

Then July 6, 1941 arrived. The town was captured by Hitler's troops. Many Jews wanted to save themselves in Russia but the NKVD and the border guards would not let them pass and so they were forced to remain under Nazi rule. Then began the horror and the murderous faces of the Byelorussians was shown. They began catching Jews in the streets and forcing them to do labour.

Many of Hitler's troops passed through the streets of the town heading east. A few days later, they returned because of the bad roads intending to find another path through the marshes. In town, it was rumoured that the Germans had been driven back by the Red Army. This was exploited by the newly proclaimed mayor, the villainous feldsher (paramedic) Ivan Maraiko who went to gestapo headquarters in Pinsk and reported that the Jews were spreading the rumours and that they –the Jews – were attacking the German army. This vile calumny brought on the bloody 17^th of Av of 1941, about one month after the Germans had captured the town. In the beginning of August, about 50 SS murderers arrived unexpectedly. At 4 o'clock in the morning they surrounded the town and later began their bloody work with the help of the local Belorussian underworld that had enlisted as police. Anticipating abundant booty, they began driving together all the Jewish men. They gathered everyone at the court of the church and accompanied them with frightful beatings with sticks and guns.

There they were forced to remain on their knees with their hands upraised for an hour until all the houses were searched. Whoever was found hiding was shot to death on the spot. That was the fate of the brothers Issur and Hershl Gurvitch – two healthy and sturdy young men who were pulled out of a hiding place. As they were led away, their ribs were broken and their eyes gouged out.

After all the men were assembled, they were arranged in columns and led out of the town. No one knew where they were going. They presumed that they were being led to work. However, the question was quickly answered.

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Three kilometres beyond the town on the Alshiner road on a hill of sand, the peasants had prepared a freshly dug trench. It was already too late to consider resistance. Besides, in 1941, there had not yet been any mass murders of Jews so that quiet and respectable decent people could not believe that such a thing could occur. But it did – the last word belonged to the machine guns…and then, with a last breath, each sent a curse..

A policeman tried to pull the ring off the hand of Lazer Rankin thinking that he was already dead. But the latter was able to raise himself up and spat at the murderer's face. With a curse on his lips, he fell dead.

So did the mother earth take in and hide you in eternal rest.

Honour to your memory, my brothers!

For your unassuming, difficult but decent lives, the “civilized” world has rewarded you with “a quick death”.

* * *

That same afternoon, after the murderers had completed their 'little job', they again went to 'work'. All the remaining women and children received an order that they were to immediately leave town. In this particular 'holy' work, the entire Christian population took part. Young and old, all like wild spectres, they went to the Jewish houses with sticks and they drove out the housewives and their children with beatings, expecting to rob them of their possessions.

They drove them out of town with beatings and verbal abuse. “Despised Jews” raged the aroused looting crowd. Many of them stood at the bridge checking each Jewish woman to see if they could find a man disguised in women's clothing.

In such fashion, they discovered several men in women's clothes including Rabbi Moshele, Berl Migdalavitch and others who were viciously beaten by the wild mob and then shot to death. The women and children were accompanied with beatings until they reached the outskirts.

The unfortunates went as far as the first village of Karamsk after which they strayed through the fields, hungry, beaten and exhausted, many of them pregnant, sick and old women with suckling babies, torn away from their husbands and fathers, desolate and forsaken in a land of wild animals. One of the better peasants would occasionally give a piece of bread or a potato.

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Some of them went to new towns such as Staline, Lakve, Visotzk and others. There they shared the bitter fate of those Jewish inhabitants. The remainder strayed and wandered over the dirty and muddy roads of Polesye. There was the constant danger of encountering further mental humiliation and physical abuse.

Autumn arrived with its damp and cold weather. Many women and children died along the roads. Every bush and tree along the way knew of their suffering. Finally, at the end of autumn, they were allowed back into David-Horodok where a ghetto had been created for them. Life in this ghetto was appalling. The entire population of the ghetto received ten kilos of bread per day and most of them had to work for the German army. They were forced to do a variety of jobs.

Many working women and children were overcome by hunger and inhuman conditions and they died. Those that remained hardly resembled human beings.

They were isolated, swollen with hunger, encircled by barbed wire in a small part of a filthy quarter, guarded by the murderous police who was headed by a creature with a rotten soul – Liava Kasarov – may his name be blotted out. He worshipped many gods. But he was particularly attracted to “shiny buttons” for which this beast in the form of a person was prepared to do anything.

So the ghetto existed until the eve of Rosh Hashanah in 1942. On that day, the ghetto was liquidated.

All the women and children, the number was no longer very great, no more than 1600 souls – accompanied by beatings from the police as well as a special group of SS horsemen, were driven to the same trench on the Alshiner Hill. There, everyone was stripped naked and shot to death.

Once again mother earth opened her arms and received for the men, their wives and children.

Thus was the innocent Jewish David-Horodok taken from the earth and ceased to exist.

The abandoned homes were taken possession by their 'new owners', but not for long. For later, when large partisan bands began to operate in the vicinity, they assaulted the town a few times and burnt most of the Jewish houses.

* * *

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I came to David-Horodok in August, 1944. I found mounds with overgrown grass in place of the houses. Instead of joyous laughter and childish playful screaming, places that once had beckoned with the glow of their homely warmth now presented a fierce and frightening picture.

Every remaining house, every tree that stood like a solitary wounded limb – cries, screams, laments and anxiously ask: where are the grey and respectable old folks who would rest in our shade? Where has the happy laughter fled, tender feelings, curly-headed children? Why is all that was beautiful and loving gone? And many, many more whys?

No answer came. I cannot find it. From dentist Edel's house to the church hill – not one remaining house, only wild grass…mounds and grass.

Someone appeared..moving about like a wild apparition..he doesn't look me in the eyes..with dirty bare feet in a good black pullover with silk lapels. He doesn't speak..no one here talks now.. They know nothing.. They did hear about something but they don't remember exactly…

What's the use of talking? It is better to be quiet in a cemetery. A woman sells second-hand children's clothes in the market place. The woman keeps silent but the clothing cries – cries with pitiful tears!

I came to the holiest place for me in the entire world – to the mass grave. A smooth, sandy field – four years later! Four long years after fire and blood. Years of home-sickness close by; for finally coming to the home which was so near.. Where are the loving mother's arms? Where are the coveted friendly faces – gleaming with pleasure at each encounter? No one kisses. No one shakes my hand. I stand shattered, dismayed and waiting, but in vain in this small arid field – a town is hidden. No markers, no monument tablets, no inscriptions, no flowers. A strange and heart-rending silence.

It remains a secret of nature. How much human beauty and dignity, how much love and friendship, how much creative initiative and talent was so cruelly, murderously and prematurely transported to eternal rest? Here, thousands of women, men and children released their pure souls and under the noise of the murderers' machine guns they sounded their last protest – a curse – a curse on the 'culture' and the heads of the murderers as well as on the leaders and presidents, socialists and democrats, in uniforms and in dress-coats. A curse on the heads of those who travelled to Munich, London, Paris or Moscow in white gloves, selling children's souls and trading with the blood and flesh of innocent people.

* * *

The 17^th of Av! Today is the sad day of your downfall, my David-

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Horodok. Your life was unassuming and full of service and perhaps that is why you were 'rewarded' with a quick demise. You went like a pioneer to the sacrifice on the altar of the people. The number of your fortuitously spared sons is small. There are approximately 100 men who are now widely separated. In bitter spirit, we kneel and bow our heads in deep sorrow for you our beloved and unforgettable David-Horodok.

Dear martyrs! Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers as well as your beloved children! The 17^th of Av is engrained deep into my heart, never to be forgotten. On that day, no smile is seen and joy vanishes from the heart. My mind burns with the realization of helplessness and the lost opportunity for a full revenge.

Rest forever my dear ones.

May your holy memory be forever.

(Editor's note: Itzak (Etzl) Nahmanovitch was in the Soviet Union during World War II. Immediately after the end of the war, he visited David-Horodok as a Red Army soldier and he saw the destruction of the town with his own eyes. He now lives in the United States of America. The above description was written in 1946 on the fifth anniversary of the destruction of David-Horodok Jewry. At that time, he was visiting the German concentration camps and in September, 1946, he published “A Home” in the Yiddish paper. We re-publish this description with small deletions).

* * *

Bas-Sheva Lin, Meier-Eliyahu Kushner's red-headed daughter was the only one of all the David-Horodokers who I found in David-Horodok returning from Russia after Rosh Hashanah 5705.

The water carrier who had worked for me for four years did not recognize me. Her house was filled with Jewish goods.

The water carrier sent me to a second gentile who had taken possession of Litman Nahmanovitch's house. The gentile told me that the David-Horodoker gentiles had received awards from the German authorities for their part in killing and exterminating the Jewish population.

On the following day, I requested a home from the local authorities and when they suggested that I live in a Jewish house, I rejected the idea and I requested permission to live in my former butcher shop. My request was rejected. Not knowing this, I fixed up my butcher shop as a home. Later, the authorities helped me to set up a food shop.

Also later, Noah, the son of Bezalel Yudavitch, came to David-Horodok. He had been wounded and walked on crutches. He received material and medical help from the Soviet and he helped me personally.

Later on, Zev, son of Shalom Lakovski, and Moshe, son of Israel Reznick, returned to Horodok.

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The first Jewish victim in David-Horodok was Meir Eliyahu Kushner who had lived in Raditch. After they had driven him out of his house, the Horodtchukas attacked him and murdered him in the market place in the middle of the day.

The second victim was Zev Grunya Kunds, a grandson of Velvel the blacksmith. The gentiles murdered him on Alshiner Street next to Shloma Fleishman's house.

On the 17^th of Av 5701, the Jewish men were concentrated in front of the church and they were sent from there to a place where the Horodtchukas had prepared a common grave. It is very difficult to imagine the brutal acts and the save atrocities that the Horodtchukas carried out against the Jews in the last minutes before they murdered them.

They stripped the clothes off the victims, smashed heads, cut off limbs and slaughtered with whatever came to hand: sticks, stones, iron bars and guns. Afterwards, they threw them into the tranches and buried them alive! Three days after the mass-murder, the ground still stirred.

The leader of the pogrom was the feldsher, Ivan Moraiko who made a special trip to Pinsk in order to bring back the SS. Before traveling to Pinsk, he gathered gold and silver from the Jews who entrusted him to hide their valuables.

After the “action”, the gentiles began searching for Jews in hiding. The first to be discovered was Avraham Slutzki, the driver and next was Mendl the Bratzker's son who had hidden in the garden amongst the beans. They were both immediately murdered.

Reuven Kalushni hid in the closet of his gentile neighbour, Markovitch. He was murdered on the spot and remained there.

Baruch Katzman and his two sons were found and killed by Dmitri Puzik.

Issur, son of Nisson Gurvitch had his eyes gouged out by the Horodtchukas and his limbs severed one by one!

Yehoshua Zager of Turi, who had hidden in an oven, was pulled out and murdered.

Aharon Lowianski was thrown into the Horin River. Thanks to the efforts of his wife Rachel, he was pulled out by hired gentiles and merited burial in the Jewish cemetery.

My two children, Bracha and Baruch, who, thanks to a gentile woman, had fled to the Dubinitz Forest, were returned to town by the gentiles and cut to pieces in the middle of the market place. My son Yakov succeeded in escaping.

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Simha Mishalov hid four months in his own cellar. His gentile maid fed him the entire four months. She then informed on him and he was murdered on Grablia Street. Before his soul returned to God he was heard to cry out: “Scoundrels, what are you doing?”

A son of Berl Shutz, who was dressed as a woman, was recognized by the gentiles and murdered by them.

After the men had been slaughtered, the Jewish women of David-Horodok were driven out of town. A portion died along the way. The remnant that later returned to Horodok were murdered by the gentiles a year later and they were thrown into the same trenches as the men.

The daughter of Rabbi Moshele became a partisan in the Visotzki Forest. She fell in battle.

Godle Rachel, Meir Eliyahu Kushner's wife, hid in the shrine in the village of Koramsk where she was later killed.

Shmuel Katzman, a son of Leibl Katzman and his sister moved about in the forest of Arli for four months. The gentiles caught them there and hacked them to pieces.

Nishka, Haim Kirshner's wife along with three other women, hid themselves in a stable and that is where they were killed.

Leah, Moshe Kalushne's wife was killed by the gentiles on the Grebliye Bridge. The gentiles planned to kill me. One night, a representative of the gentiles came to kill me. I began to scream and the police soon came and saved me.

At last I could no longer stay in David-Horodok because of the hatred of the gentiles and I ran away.

1. Colonel Satanovski

We find ourselves in the vicinity of the village of Kripna not far from Pinsk, in thick forests. We have been prepared for many days to move to another spot but meanwhile, we do not move.

Where are we moving and, most important, what are we waiting for? This apparently is the commander's secret.

Our woman officer, for whom I am the driver, tells me the deepest secret; that we are waiting for an airplane coming here from Moscow with important people. They should have been here four days ago and no one knows why they are late.

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What has happened? Did they meet with some misfortune? A few hours after, the lady officer told me this story and our detachment began to move out. We travelled the entire night and by day, we remained in a large and thick forest containing deep mud. This was our provisional headquarters and residence.

We received the order to set up cabins and although it was already late autumn (a month after Succas 1943), we were not allowed to light a fire. The officer, husband of the lady officer with her child, came to our wagon and told us that the parachutists had finally arrived but that they had met with misfortune. Three of them died on their way to join the detachment. A peasant from the village of Tarablitch had betrayed them.

The forest in which our detachment now stood was near the large village of Karatzke-Valya. The population of the village were friendly to the partisans and headquarters gave permission to light fires during the day for cooking and baking.

That same day, there was an assembly and the commander of the detachment, Colonel Satanovski, gave the partisans and the refugees instructions concerning their behaviour. The chief directive was that, with the exception of those partisans who were sent on terrorist actions against the Germans, no one was to leave the area. Whoever disobeyed the command would be shot on the spot, without a trial.

Before finishing these instructions, he turned to the assembly: “Comrades, whoever comes from or is familiar with the region of David-Horodok, Staline and Turov, let him report to me in my headquarters after the assembly”.

I went into staff headquarters and reported to the commander that I knew David-Horodok well, as well as a little of the vicinity.

“Tell me comrade Hochman, do you know where the villages of Azdamitch, Tarablitch and Karatitch are located?”

“Yes”, I answer. He asks me to stand aside and he interrogates the second partisan who entered headquarters right after me.

“Where are you from comrade?” “From the village of Buktcha”, answers the partisan. “It is far from David-Horodok but we peasants often went there and that is why I know the region”.

“Why did you join our detachment?” continued the commander in his line of questioning.

“Because I want to fight the Germans” was the partisan's answer. “Listen, comrade!” as the commander turned to the partisan, “perhaps there is a Jew in our detachment who knows you?” “Not in our detachment” again replied the partisan, “but there are Jews in Fyodorov's detachment nearby who know me from home. Ask them about me”.

After a brief interval, there came 10 young men into the commander's headquarters. They were strong and jovial partisans. Later, German battle uniforms were brought in. All the partisans except for me took off their partisan clothes and donned the sparkling new German battle uniforms. They even had not forgotten to put crosses on their necks. One of the partisans put on the uniform of a German officer. He was one of the ten who had come from Moscow and had perfect command of the German language.

All the weapons – rifles, machine guns and grenades – with which these 'Germans' were armed were German-made. Even the cigarettes were German. I dressed up in traditional Jewish clothes concealing a revolver and several hand grenades. The 'German officer' gave me the following directions:

“In case we encounter Germans or police along the way, we will say that we caught you hiding out in the forest. After we beat you up (signs of the beating were immediately provided. They cut one of my fingers and smeared the blood on my face and hair), you are taking us to the place where many other Jews are hidden”.

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With our map, it turned out that the peasant was at that moment informing on us. We started along the road, thanking and blessing the peasant and his family.

In half an hour, we were accosted by men who called out: “Halt! Put your hands up” and they began shouting at us. Three of our comrades were killed on the spot. We immediately opened fire and heard the screaming and groaning from the wounded on their side.

With that ended the clash in the small forest. Crawling on all fours, we tried to reach a different and larger forest. Along the way, we stumbled on a body that was choking with pain cause by one of our bullets. He was wounded on both feet. This wounded policeman irately cursed the peasant Karp who had awaked the police from sleep and chased after the partisans along with them. We chocked the policeman to death”, continued the 'German officer' “and after several days of wandering through swamps and forests, we reached your detachment, exhausted. “Now”, proposed the 'officer', “we are going to bring that peasant back here. We must take revenge against such a cowardly dog!

In truth, there are more important targets for our partisans”, noted the 'officer': “Our entire energy must be concentrated against the accursed Germans but we are consumed with resentment and anger that one of our own peasants, flesh of our flesh, spilled the blood of his own brothers and betrayed his own people to the German murderers like a servile dog. We will bring him back here to the detachment. We will bring him back here dead or alive, that traitor-murderer, so that partisan blood will not be spilled wantonly”.

Following the words of our group leader, we set out on our way. We wandered through forests, swamps and fields for three nights until we arrived at the village of Karatitch.

After our 'Germans' found out that there were only five policemen in the village, we all went into the police station. Our 'officer' informed the policemen that his group was specially selected to effect the liquidation of the remaining Jews who were hiding in the forests. Pointing at me, the 'officer' said that his captured Jew would show us the place where many Jews were hiding.

In order to undertake such a holy task, they would have to mobilize the police of Karatitch, Tarablitch and Azdamitch.

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After all the policemen of Karatitch had been mustered together, we all went to Tarablitch. In the Tarablitch police station which was a private house, all the Tarablitch policemen were assembled, including the peasant Karp. Two policemen were dispatched by the 'officer' to Azdamitch with orders to return with that village's police.

The 'officer' spoke Russian amongst the policemen and he scolded them for their lack of vigilance. “It appears”, he roared with a thundering voice, “How is it possible that within 10km or so from your posts, that there could be so many Jews still hidden? No small thing – so many Jews?” he repeated.

Concluding his talk to the police he turned to his 'German' comrades and talked to them in German.

The policemen began to reply saying that it was not their fault that there were still a few living Jews hidden here or there. Each one of them had done his utmost to exterminate the hated Jews. They hadn't rested day or night, searching very corner, catching women, children and men, murdering all without mercy.

They then described a litany of gruesome acts which each one had performed. Each story was more horrible and appalling than the preceding one. In such manner, listening to these vile tales of murder, we passed the time. The night was dark and cloudy but it was coming to an end.

We partisans shivered; the ground was burning under our feet. We were anxious to get back into the forest before they found out that we were partisans. Everyone held his weapon tightly in his hand. Everyone was restless and impatient.

Only the 'officer', the oldest of the group, was calm and in no hurry. He alone was smoking and he offered cigarettes, German cigarettes to all the police. He listened patiently to all of their horror stories, kept company with them and, at the same time, he threw in “innocent” questions: “Well, and what have you been doing about partisans? You eat, drink and sleep and you don't catch partisans? Shame on you!”

Then the peasant Karp spoke. He told how approximately 10 days previously he delivered a group of partisans into the hands of the police. “Unfortunately” he said, “there were not enough police and only three partisans were killed while the others managed to escape into the forest. Four policemen fell in this batter. “As for myself”, boasted the peasant Karp, I barely escaped with my life.

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I hid in a ditch and laid there until the partisans had left”. “For this deed of mine”, he explained, “I received a beautiful reward from the town commandant in David-Horodok: two milk-cows and much clothing from the dead Jews”.

Outside, daylight appeared. The peasant woman was already up and her children were beginning to awaken. The peasant woman took a pot of soup out of the oven and she and the children began to eat. I stretched out my hand to the woman and begged her for a little soup. She poured a full bowl of warm soup and gave it to me. Just as I began to eat, the eldest of the group, the 'German officer', came over to me, pulled the bowl out of my hands and said: “Did the good woman give this to you? In that case, eat!” Having finished speaking, he poured the entire bowl of soup over my head. The “Germans” and policemen responded to this 'heroic' act with shrills of laughter. There was indescribable joy and cheer. All were pleased with the 'brilliant' occurrence.

Abruptly, we heard the sound of voices. The door swung open and the two messengers entered along with the eight policemen from Azdamitch. The policemen greeted each other joyfully. They shook hands, chatted and eventually told the story of how the 'German group leader' had poured the bowl of soup over my head.

I sat in a corner, covered from head to foot with the remains of the flour and potato soup. My face and hands were streaked with blood and I made myself cry…

Our group leader, the 'officer' whispered secretive orders to the police commanders and the peasant Karp…

The peasants of the village on learning that we were going on such a holy mission to catch Jews, brought us considerable food such as eggs, butter, pork, bread and a considerable number of whiskey flasks. The 'officer' ordered us to begin our journey.

Each man quickly packed a share of the food into his rucksack and began walking along the road which led to the right of the woods of the village of Kalk.

We went through thick forests of small trees. Along the way, the police asked me about the hidden Jews. They were interested to know if there were any rich ones and if there were any young women. They were greatly encouraged and pleased by my answers. I told them that they would find everything there: much money, gold, jewels and especially young and beautiful women…

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After having marched for three hours, our 'officer' told us to stop. “We must”, he said, “have a rest and a bite to eat”. All the weapons were stacked together in piles of three. We sat down and began to feast. They ate and (rank whiskey without end and 'out of the goodness of their hearts', they even gave me plenty to eat. Meanwhile, the 'officer' took out a map and showed the already half-drunk policemen the place where they would find the Jews with their cabins. Naturally, this place was very, very near…

Encouraged that they were very close to their goal, and imagining the 'juicy morsel' that awaited them, the policemen again renewed their drinking. At the end of the meal, the policemen laid down to rest on one side and all the 'Germans' on the opposite side. Peasant Karp and a completely inebriated policeman were sent to guard me and the weapons… In a few minutes, all the police fell into a deep sleep.

The 'Germans' quickly awoke from their 'sleep'. They took up the loaded guns and in seconds all the policemen were shot to death. Only one person was 'spared' – peasant Karp. He was to be brought back alive to the detachment in order to hand him over to the parachutists whose three companions had been killed through Karp's treachery.

On the tenth day we returned to our detachment. The same day that we returned, Karp was hung. On searching his belongings, we found a pocket watch with a Hebrew inscription. The inscription read: “In memory of the wedding of Dov Farber”. This watch was a wedding gift to Berl Farber from his father-in-law.

* * *

The detachment commander Satanovski was happy at our return. He received us joyfully and said that he had had a premonition that our mission would succeed.

He said that our group leader, the 'officer' was 'one of our best and cleverest sons of Russia. He knows ten languages including perfect German, he is an able diplomat and well-qualified for such missions”.

“Yet”, said the commander Satanovski, “during the entire ten days that you were away, I was restless and could not sleep. Who knows – war is war and anything can happen!”

“Friends, you are tired from the strain and from

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the journey. Each of you gets three days furlough. However, I am also giving you the following order: No one is to know where you have been and what you have done. For disobeying this order, you will receive the severest of war-time punishment”, said the commander.

The Polish partisan detachment “Kastiushke” which numbered some 300 Poles and 8 Jews, was in the vicinity of the large village of Multshitch (about 80km from Pinsk), in large and thick forests deep with swamps.

The detachment had under its protection a camp of relatives consisting of about one hundred Polish families who had fled the slaughters caused by the Ukrainians. There were also a number of Jewish souls in the camp, unfortunate remnants of the tens of thousands of Jews who were cruelly murdered by the Germans along with the Ukrainians and Byelorussians.

I was appointed by the staff to act as driver for the families of the partisan fighters. The detachment would not stay in one place for very long. We would often change locations in the forests.

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, 1943, a camp Jew came to the commander of the detachment with a request that they be allowed to hold communal services on the following day in a nearby barn in the forest. The commander was a young, healthy and handsome man who spoke and wrote Polish well and who had arrived by airplane from Moscow a month earlier with the ten other Polish parachutists.

The commander spoke little and was unusually stern. No one had yet seen a smile on his handsome face. His orders to the partisans as well as to the camp refugees were always brief and curt. He had traitors and informers shot without mercy. We Jews began to notice a good streak in his character as soon as he arrived at the detachment. That is, he ordered that his food and kitchen overseers should not abuse anyone by lessening their food rations so that the Jewish refugees would receive just as much as the Polish and Russian refugees.

On the morning of Rosh Hashanah, the commander sent for the Jews who had asked him permission on the previous day to pray together in congregation. He answered with a smile that had not been seen on his face since his arrival:

“If you think that your god will help you as a result of your prayers, then go entreat him. “My god”, he said holding his weapon against his heart, “is my gun and my grenade. The German murderers understand that language better and it reaches them faster. Your pleas and prayers reach your God just about as much as they reach the Germans. But pray, and entreat your God as much as your heart's desire. I have no right to hinder your religious feelings. Pray as much as you like, but let it be quiet”.

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him when he fled from the slaughter. He wrapped himself in the tallis and prayed while the others, the remnant of tens of thousands of Jews who were murdered, slaughtered and buried alive, were chocked with tears, pounding their heads against the walls and sobbing in violent spasms.

Human words are too poor to describe these heart-rending scenes, when close to thirty unfortunate Jews, men, women and children, desolate, lonely and orphaned, vented their tears and their rage over their great misfortune.

Many Polish refugees from the camp and partisans from the detachment gathered around the barn. Many of them cried along with the Jews. Who knows what was oppressing them? Perhaps they were regretting what role they may have had in helping the Germans kill the parents, husbands, wives and children of these Jews that were here and praying now.

When the cantor, a good singer with a hearty voice and a pained heart, began saying the Hinini ha-oni prayer, the tears literally flooded the barn. At that moment, the detachment commander, Colonel Satanovski came riding up quickly on his horse. He requested a short intermission in the prayers and, seated on his horse, he said the following:

“Comrades! Why are you crying? We are still alive, so what is there to cry about? The Germans are retreating thanks to the severe beatings rendered by the brave Red Army on all fronts. It won't be long now before Russian soldiers will be strolling the streets of Berlin, over the entire accursed German land and over the dead bodies of the German murderers. They day of vengeance is near! However, our partisan situation today is not better but somewhat worse than before. We must increase our vigilance. The Germans will be hard to displace. We and all the other courageous partisan detachments have destroyed all the bridges and railway lines. The Germans find themselves in a desperate situation. They know that the partisans are now their greatest danger. Therefore, they have dispatched special divisions to destroy us. Also from the west, from Germany, they have sent out German divisions to help. We are in the middle. However, all the roads are blocked. For the time being, they cannot get to us. Every night, large Russian partisan groups are dropped by airplane. They are mining the roads in the path of the retreating Germans. They are being torn to pieces in the fields and in the forests. As long as we don't fight them in open battle, the brave Russian army is doing that with great success, we can avoid great casualties. Whether all of us who are here will survive is hard to know. Perhaps we can hope.

“The Germans have burnt down everything from Pinsk to Mazir and Zhitomar. We have a directive from the highest command in Moscow to destroy, without mercy, all German followers and traitors. In my refugee camp, we uncovered an entire family of German spies. Over ten of my dear partisan lads were killed because of them. Tonight, the entire family of eight will be hung. Although only the daughter was actually guilty, the entire cowardly family knew about her treachery. Let us hope that we will endure all hardships. Long live the Red army!”

After finishing his speech, the commander turned to the cantor wrapped in his tallis, and said the following: “Listen now, continue your prayers. Say what you were saying before I came to the barn”.

The cantor covered his head with his old shredded tallis, leaned his thin and dried hands against the eastern wall of the barn and began to tearfully intone the words of Hinini ha'oni.

The commander got off his horse, smoked a cigarette, leaned his left shoulder against his horse, looked the entire time in the direction of the forest and, with quiet attention, listened to the sad and tearful melody. I noticed that tears were in his eyes…

* * *

The war was over. I returned to my home town and encountered destruction and a huge mass grave. All was lost. I was sent to Ravne where there was a job opportunity.

In the administrative office of the town commandant, I met a man dressed in a handsome black suit with carefully combed hair. He was conversing with the commandant. I could not take my eyes off him. I had seen this man somewhere before and I could not remember where. The man noticed that I was looking at him with special interest, and he abruptly asked me: “Don't you recognize me comrade?” “Well my friend”, he said, “If you don't remember, it doesn't matter. It is not necessary my friend. Everything evil must belong to the past, to history”.

When he left the administrative office, the town commandant of Ravne asked me: “Citizen Hochman, were you in his Polish detachment called Kastiushka during the war?” I didn't let him go any further: “Yes, yes, that's right! He is the commander of my detachment, the Polish colonel Satanovski!”

“No, no”, interrupted the Ravne town commandant: “No, not the Pole Satanovski but the courageous hero of the Soviet Union, organizer of all the Polish partisan units on Soviet soil who is now decorated with all the highest medals by comrade Stalin himself and who is now a frequent guest, along with all the other distinguished personalities in the Kremlin – a colonel and heroic partisan, the Jew Moshe Satanovski!”

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Miriam Bragman tells of her Partisan Activities

In mid-July, 1941, towards the end of the week when the Germans had been in David-Horodok for several days, a rumour spread that the Russians were returning. The Germans retreated along with their town helpers.

The murderer, A. Maraiko, who stood at the head of the local authorities, fled to Pinsk with his cohorts. When they asked him why he abandoned the town without an organized management, he replied that he had fled because of shooting from the Jews and Russians. Sunday, the Germans returned, bringing the murderer and his henchmen with them.

They soon ordered the Jews to wear a blue start of David on a white band on their sleeves. That same day, they took the men 'to work' beyond the town. Several hours later, we heard shooting from the direction that the men had gone. Who and what? No one knew. We hid our father in the cellar and when the gentiles entered to look for me, we created uproar to divert their attention.

That same night, in pouring rain, I suddenly heard crying. I saw through the window women and children with sacks on their backs. In reply to my question, they told me that all the Jews were being driven across the bridge and out of town. My father quickly put on women's clothes and we all stood together in the crow: my mother, my father, my sister Faigele and I. Along the road, we were encountered by a gentile who was inspecting the crow and he recognized my father. Words were of no avail. He returned with him to the town.

The rain poured. The women and children were brought to a manor alongside the river on the way to Staline. They assured us that they would return us home just as soon as they had completed their search for weapons in our houses. Meanwhile, the gentiles from the vicinity arrived and they began to plunder and grab whatever came to hand. One of them struggled with me, threatening me with a knife if I would not give him my coat. However, I did not give it to him and he left.

At night, the murderer Maraiko came and took away Rivka, Yossel Yudavitch's wife, her two daughters, Molle and Yentl; Leah, Elya Bragman's daughter; and Malke the pharmacist Yashe Yudavitch's wife. He also wanted to take my sister Faigele; “Why should she have to suffer here”, he said. But I refused to part with her under any conditions.

In the morning, Vanke and a band of cohorts drove us off the manor towards Staline. They shot into the air, pushed and chased us. The older ones could not hold up and fell along the way. When we were not far from Staline, they turned us back toward David-Horodok.

One kindly gentile, who had known my maternal grandfather, Hertzl Luria the timber merchant, took us away to his farm at the time that the others were returning to David-Horodok. I learnt later that they were crammed into a ghetto in the town which they had surrounded with barbed wire.

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According to his plan, Faigele and I would work in the field and mother would stay in the house. He treated us very well. However, two days later, when he went with us into the field, a neighbour from the village passed us. “Now that you've been seen, you can no longer remain with us”, said the gentile, “because my life is also now in jeopardy”. He brought us to some relatives on another farm and he went alone to Staline to get yellow patches which was his usual routine.

When he returned, he drove us in his wagon through the forests near Staline where he let us off. He took our belongings in his wagon and transported them to Staline. We walked the rest of the way to Staline. The gentile refused to take any gift or money from us.

In Staline, we hid several days with Ester Blizshovsko but our goal was Sarne. My aunt, my mother's sister, lived there. We walked to Dombrovitz and we drove from there to Sarne by wagon. We stayed in Sarne for five months until they established a ghetto in the Jewish quarter. It is noteworthy that certain Sarne gentiles did not want to leave the border region of the ghetto. Most of the Jews survived in the ghetto by selling their belongings and utensils. We did not want our aunt to have to support us so we moved to other lodgings which were provided by the communal committee.

There were several David-Horodokers with us in the ghetto: Gold Finkelstein and her mother Yently; Zelda Finkelstein and her daughter Sara and Haike Finkelstein with her two daughters, Manie and Rive. Gold Finkelstein had her personal problem to add to the general woe. During the days of the holocaust, she gave birth to a daughter on her twelfth wedding anniversary.

All the Jews were required to register on two separate occasions over a six month period. At the second registration, they established a ghetto for recently arrived Jews from Dambrovitz and the surrounding region. Then the killing began. Every day, five hundred men were transported to the trenches which had been prepared in the forest outside of town.

When our transport arrived at the spot, we all began running away from the trenches towards a hill over near Sarne – a splendid target for the German guns. My sister Faigele was wounded. While running, I heard a voice: “Run daughter!” To this day I don't know if that was my mother's voice. In any case, I never saw her again.

We came to a stream and I washed Faigele's foot. We spent the entire night alone in the forest, terrified by horrible visions. In the morning, we discovered a small house in the forest and we went inside. Faigele's foot had become swollen and so she lay down and quickly fell asleep. I went outside to look around and to try and find some Jews. When I

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returned to get Faigele, people in the house told that she had gone with the shepherds. I later learned from the village teacher that Faigele had been dragged into the woods and forced to lay on the ground while they drove back and forth over her with a bicycle until, with terrible pain and suffering, she gave up her pure and innocent soul.

I went off on the pathway crying bitterly until I finally dropped off into an exhausted sleep. A gentile woke me, brought me into the forest and succeeded in finding me a hiding place. Early next morning, I set off walking again until a wagon stopped and gave me a ride to a nearby farm. I went into a house and asked for a drink. I found two Jews there. After I ate and drank, the Jews showed me the road and warned me to hide away from wagons. I went on, but suddenly I heard the sound of an approaching wagon. I quickly hid in the bushes. To my great terror, the wagon stopped near my hiding place. My soul nearly left my body before I realized that the wagon contained my friends from the farm. They drove me in their wagon to the family of a Jewish doctor who lived in the forest. I stayed with them for a month. At night, we would go to the gentile houses to beg for food, even a dry crust of bread. The trees served as hiding places during the night.

One gentile woman treated me very kindly and invited me into her home once a week. There I would wash my hair. She gave me a cooking pot and some salt – a very scarce commodity. The pot had two advantages. One was that I ate warm cooked food after having wandered for weeks through the cold forest. Most important was that potatoes, which were half-burnt when roasted over a fire, could not be eaten entirely without any waste.

Another gentile woman hid me in the forest when the Germans appeared once. Afterwards, she brought me back to my friends. One night, while we were warming ourselves by a fire that we lit in the forest, a man with a gun suddenly appeared and said: “I am a partisan. We have a wounded man”. By the light of the flames he examined each one of us until he came next to me and stared at me. Suddenly we heard a shot and a cry: “Get going!”

Everyone ran away but one by one they returned. The doctor called his daughters to come back saying that they would 'take care of him' if they would not return. Afterwards they all searched for me calling me by name again and again, but I lay the entire night hidden in the bushes. In the morning I returned to the group. The doctor praised me and said: “You were smart not to come…”

That is how things were for several months until the outlaws, whose leader was Bandero and who called themselves “Banderovtzes” began catching Jews. At that time the partisans showed up. I begged them to take me with them but they refused. Then I said to them: “finish me off if you won't honour my wish”.

They finally consented. At the beginning, I worked for several months in the medicine section, accompanying the wounded in wagons and nursing them. Later, when I had proven myself courageous and bold, I was assigned to the information service. My job was to go to the villages, find out

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the number of German soldiers in each place, how many weapons they possessed and where their commander was located. When I brought back the accurate information, the partisans would attack each place and destroy it.

There was a landing strip built near Zhitomar where the Soviets landed airplanes of the Red Army, evacuating our severely wounded and providing us with supplies and weapons. The airplanes would come at night and we would light fires to guide them in their landing. Once an enemy airplane circled overhead. Thinking it was one of ours, we lit the fires. The airplane veered off and headed towards Kiev. A few hours later it returned and gave us a 'present' of bombs.

In one of our raids, we overran the village of Amiltshana near Zhitomar. The retreating Germans were convinced that they were opposing soldiers of the Red Army. While we held the village, we ate and drank ceaselessly. We followed the system of 'take from this one and give to the next one'. We would take from one person and then repay him with what we took from the next person.

One of my jobs was observation. Once, while I was sitting at my post, I didn't notice that our people had left the area and the Germans were coming up. However, I wasn't abandoned. A horse and rider were sent to retrieve me and we succeeded in escaping in the last minute before the Germans marched in.

This was but only one of the many miracles that happened to me.

After we had extricated ourselves from Amiltshana, I was again assigned as an observer. About a kilometre away from me, deep in the forest, our people were stationed with a cannon. I was to warn them when the enemy approached. To lose a cannon was for us a far greater tragedy than to lose one of our own people, and I was no exception. I suddenly heard the sound of horse's hooves. “Halt”, I shouted. “Who's there?” and I whispered the password. My situation was intolerable. Whoever did not carry out his duty, even when guiltless, the penalty was death. With my luck, they were our men. In recognition, I was given a medal.

One night we were riding our horses near a train station. We watched over our horses as if they were our own eyes because they were our most important means of communication. We handled them properly, as best we could. When we saw that their strength was exhausted we would confiscate fresher and stronger horses along the way.

At crossroads we would separate and ride in various directions back and forth in order to confuse the enemy. At one time, we passed the train station and I became separated from my unit in order to change my horse. When I returned, no one was there. I had indeed acquired a fresh horse and I had a gun. But I was alone. I wandered alone for a week without seeing a single soul. I was so weary that

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the gun became too much of a burden for me and I parted with it as a 'friend'. On the eighth day, I came to a village. I entered a cabin and asked the residents if they had seen horses and riders in the vicinity. “Yes, yes! I saw them” answered the man of the house. “Sit a while. Relax. I'll come right back”. I decided that he was a village official and I used the moment of his departure to get out of there. I left my horse and all my belongings.

I later went into several houses and ordered the residents to give me food and to do me no harm if they didn't want to deal with the partisans who were coming after me. At last, I went into a small house and again asked if they had seen horses and riders in the region. After I had promised a proper reward, the resident went with me to show the way. On the tenth day of my wanderings, I was re-united with my people.

Once we were surrounded by the Germans and they shot at us from all sides. Our situation was hopeless and we began to say farewell to each other. A portion of us succeeded in breaking through the enemy line and escaped, leaving the wounded behind. We were soon given the order to turn back and rescue the wounded. Many fell in the renewed skirmish. Many of our people also died at Brod, especially a number of Jews from Dombrovitz.

The enemy had a widespread espionage network. Not infrequently, we would arrive at a certain place and come under attack by enemy planes. We would always withdraw in the direction taken by the enemy airplanes.

In Lemberg we came in contact with the Red Army. I was appointed head-nurse for a transport of wounded and typhus victims to the rear area. A number of them were lying on the ground. I fulfilled this function for the Red Army for one week. That same week, we dug a grave for a partisan who had survived many battles but died in an accident. I said a short eulogy over his grave. After that, I resolved to leave the partisans and do something for myself. At the time we captured Amiltshana, I became a close friend of one of the village girls. Now that the region had been cleared of the enemy, I came to her house. We were joined by several wagoners and young people who were going the same way. My girlfriend's house had remained intact and her family unharmed. I was there scarcely a month when I began working in the office of a large sawmill. I had to change my residence but I returned each Sunday to spend time with my companions.

So I spent several months until I heard the news that Pinsk had been liberated. I decided to return home. I procured a passport and travelled to Sarne. I wanted to continue on my way to David-Horodok but I met friends in Sarne who wouldn't let me go because: “there is not even the memory of a Jew there”. I reluctantly remained in Sarne and took up the offer to work as a clerk for the commissar of the military stationed in

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Sarne. The NKVD also offered me a job which I refused. A short time later when I was ordered to the front with my military unit, I decided to remain with the NKVD.

I was awarded the rank of an officer and I was quartered next to the residence of the commissar. Before I started working, I was given the longest detailed questionnaire I had ever seen. I kept that job for several months. During that period, there were still marauding bands that pillaged and staged pogroms. The NKVD uniform protected me. I was also saved by the fact that I often appeared together with the commissar, just the two of us, and each such appearance had a powerful impression on everyone, especially those who planned to harm me.

My closeness to the public prosecutor also enabled me to arrest several gentiles who I recognized as murderers of Jews.

On a certain day, I decided to travel to Amiltshana for a farewell visit. Since I could not afford to travel on my salary, I was forced to sell paper at a high price to cover my travel expenses. However, I was caught and arrested.

An NKVD employee, who was arrested for a similar crime, was punished by taking twenty five percent of his wages until he had completed his obligation. I was freed after much effort and a report was sent concerning me to Sarne. When I returned to Sarne, I again enjoyed the commissar's trust and he never deducted a groshen from my wages.

The transports of supplies and troops all passed through Sarne which also served as a military camp. When a troop train would stop, I would put two or three bottles of whiskey in my rucksack and go to the station to trade with the soldiers for clothing which was plentiful on the trains. Once I came there, the railroad NKVD policemen surrounded the train and started a search. Before they searched me, I succeeded in getting rid of the whiskey. When they brought me to my commissar, I feigned ignorance, saying that I was there as an NKVD officer.

Half a month later, I requested a release from the NKVD and an emigration permit. My commissar reminded me of my arrest. Nevertheless, he sent me with a letter whose contents I do not know until today to the commissar of Ravne.

The guards would not let me see him and they tried to get rid of me with various excuses. I would not be put off and I went in. He read the letter and sent me back with another sealed letter whose contents were also unknown to me. I gave this letter to the commissar of Sarne and all the obstacles in my path were set aside.

I drove to freedom.

A letter to Detroit

Michael Nosantchuk of Rublye describes the horrible events in a letter to his brother Berl Nosantchuk of Windsor. The letter writer escaped from Rublye, joined the anti-Nazi partisans and later joined the Red Army. The letter was published in The Forward by Yakov Nosantchuk of Detroit.

The letter writer is the only one of his family that was saved and one of the few survivors of Rublye, David-Horodok and Staline. He escaped in the midst of the slaughter as if by a miracle and joined the ranks of the partisans. Later, he joined the Red Army.

Mr. Yakov Nosantchuk gave us two letters to publish. The first letter gives us a general overview of the conditions that the Red Army soldier endured and the second letter describes the details of the horrible slaughter.

He writes in the first letter:

“Today is the happiest day of my life. That is how I feel as I read a letter written in my brother's hand. How many days and nights did I think of only one thing; that you should only know of the dark fate that had overtaken us. Escaping from the dark ghetto, from the murderous hands of the Germans, wandering around in the mud, swamps, woods and marshes alone and forlorn, worse off than a dog. I had only one thought – how can I let my brothers and sisters know? Will someone in my family even know of my death, of what I endured? More than once I wanted to end my life, but remembering you, I encouraged myself. I kept up my hope and, with all my strength, I endured everything. My only aspiration was to get hold of a gun and take revenge. It was not easy for me to decide to join a partisan detachment. From the detachment, I went on to join the Red Army. I was in Lithuania, Latvia, later on the front lines outside of Warsaw and I ended in the darkness of Berlin. I took revenge for our innocent spilt blood. But the great wound will not heal”.

“In 1941, around the 16^th of Av (I remember it was a Sunday), the horrible slaughter occurred in David-Horodok. With the pretext that they were being sent to work, everyone was gathered outside of Horodok and shot to death.

At around five o'clock in the afternoon, I heard guns shooting, one after another. I settled deeper in the bushes and waited until someone came from the village. The first to announce the bitter news was the shameless Marko.

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Just two hours earlier, everything was peaceful. Everyone sat at his work, whether at the forge or at sewing. Suddenly everyone was dead! Including Yakov. A short time ago he was telling jokes and now he lays dead. Why? Fifty three martyrs were murdered with Hanale's father and Gitle's husband among them.

Before he died, Yakov said a few words. They had taken them out, bound together in groups of three, into barns and there they shot them. Soon came the realization that all were gone in Horodok as well.

I managed to get away unnoticed to Avdai in Haresha. The murderers soon realized that I was not amongst the bodies and they began searching for me. However, Avdai knew how to hide me. In Staline, the black SS were not yet active. They had seized only David-Horodok. In Rublye, the perpetrators were local gentiles. I received a message from our Moshe Haim, may he rest in peace, that I should come to Staline. I went there. The unfortunate women of Horodok and Rublye had been driven out of the villages of Harisha and they were robbed of their belongings before their eyes. The gentile Nikolai Pusiks pulled Yakov's boots off Haye's feet (our Golde's daughter). (I later saw him while with the partisans, and we killed him). The unfortunates then wandered through the Brezno forest. Nowhere would anyone let them in.

They created a communal organization in Staline and with much money and sacrifice; they worked to allow the unfortunates to enter Staline.

On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, I sat with our brother Moshe Haim. Suddenly two thugs burst into the house and took Moshe'le away for ever. Three days later, we learned that they had tortured him to death. They had stuck him with prods and tore pieces off him. On the second day of Rosh Hashanah, 1941, at 12hr midnight, he gave up his holy soul in a Staline jail. I found his body six months later and I buried him wrapped in his talis near Aunt Golde's grave.

Liave, covered in tears, said the graveside Kaddish. Zelig Fishman was with me. He helped me. The face of our holy brother was already decomposed but I recognized him anyway. Frumke, Ganye, Haye and Rachel also came running to help. We made the funeral without the knowledge of the Germans.

After Moshele's death, I began a different life. I became a part of a family of orphans and widows. I would look at the children, especially Aviva'le, and my heart would nearly break. Aunt Golde held out well but then the light began to go out. At Hanuka, she breathed her last in our house. All the Rublye widows wept for her. We made a quiet funeral because the Germans forbade funerals.

But we didn't have much time to think of the dead. The great burden of all the orphans and widows fell on me. I turned in every direction trying to keep them from starving. We had a minyon in our house. Father, may he rest in peace, would say Kaddish with Liave. The first Kaddish was for the Rublye martyrs, next for our brothers and then for Aunt Golde. Father would say little, just bite his lips and keep silent. Often he would scold

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the women when they began to cry and then he would begin to shed tears too. I was forced to play the role of a hero, but at the same time shed my own tears.

One could not appear on the street after seven o'clock in the evening. We wold sit behind closed shutters. Often Ganye and her children would come through the garden and we would sit together. Not infrequently, we would talk about you, whether you knew what was happening here and what you would think when you found out?

Thus we sat in the house the entire winter.

On the eve of Pesach, 1942, they drove Ganye out of her house and then us as well. At that time Zelig Fishman, may he rest in peace, gave us considerable aid. There then began rumours that they would make a ghetto in Staline. How many trials could we endure? How many tribulations? They were flaying our skins. By the eve of Shavuous, they had completed encircling the ghetto with a fence of 15 wires, one post every two or three metres.

We received the order to move to the ghetto. It is impossible to describe the picture. Everyone carried what they could – one must live. Father, may he rest in peace, took his cane and went into the ghetto. We were assigned a small room: myself, Golde's Shia, cousin Yakov's five-year old son Michalke and our parents. Not far from us was Ganye with her children and Frumke.

In the ghetto it was forbidden to take anything in or out. The death rate reached twelve/day. People became swollen. I would look at mother's feet and I would shudder. We talked of nothing but eating. We found ways of smuggling food into the ghetto. Then came the terrible knowledge that they were shooting all the Jews. We couldn't believe it. What does it mean? How could they? Small children? Old people? It cannot be?

Until the black day came, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah 1942, there had been 7000 souls in Staline and all were killed. The graves were prepared. They were first stripped naked and then forced to lie down in the graves, then shot in rows.

I will never forget the last night in the ghetto. I stayed with mother until 3 o'clock. We kissed and kissed, cried and cried with your photographs pressed to our hearts, we said our farewell to you. Father recited the confessional prayer. Mother bathed and put on clean clothes, preparing for her death. She then drove me out of the house: 'Go away from us! You will survive. Hide yourself. Don't stay with us! Perhaps you will be able to avenge us and tell of our fate'.

At that moment I didn't believe mother's words. How can I survive when we are surrounded on all sides? I went away with the idea that our parents last minutes would be easier if they thought I had survived.

So I left the dearest and most treasured, forever! A thousand times I cursed that moment when I left. I often wished that I had lain down

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with them and embrace d them as all the martyrs did before they died.

I stayed in a cellar with Valyen Malatchnik for 18 days after the slaughter in the ghetto. I thought of everything, looking for ways to get out. My heart told me that if I could only get out of the ghetto I would know how to get along. I tried to get Valyen to go along with me. However, at that time, his wife was also alive and in hiding. Others who were still alive included: Bela Malatchnick, Nissl, their daughter Bashele, Shalom Durtzin with his wife and child. Their family was still intact and I was already an orphan. I would meet them at night and try to convince them to try to find a way to escape with me. They decided to wait for a miracle and they remained there.

I began to search for a way out by myself. On the 18^th night after the slaughter, I groped around in the dark ghetto – doors, windows, all were broken. All the houses were vacant and I thought I had stumbled over the dead body of a martyr – my hair shuddered. I had only one thought – life, life! How to get out of there?

At that moment, I encountered another living person. I quickly went over to him. I thought that he was another unfortunate like me, trying to find a way out. How shocked was I to see a tall gentile standing before me – the biggest thief in Staline (he now sits in jail) and he led me out of the ghetto.

Vlyen, Bela, Nissl and Shalom were found and shot to death several days after my escape.

I then began to live my golden days. A lone survivor in the world, wandering about. I owe gratitude to Saltis Avdain, Kvadok and Lavonin Malak Mamonovitch – they helped me out until I could fend for myself. That is to say, I joined a partisan detachment. I will not describe my further experience. They are not important.

I believe that what I have written will give you more-or-less a clear picture of what happened to us.

We have with us here from Rublye, Avraham Shulman, the Levi's two sons. They are longing for their aunt Edel Shulman in New York and they do not have her address. If you can, dear brother, find out her address from the Rublye people and let her know about the two boys. Let her write to them to my address”.

[Page 119]

May, 1946. The transport that drove the repatriates (Polish citizens who spent World War II in the Red Army) including myself, to the Polish People's Republic, stopped at Klatzk, a small town in lower Silesia. There we all had to climb out and begin to build a new life.

Should I anchor myself here or search for a more central town? Was it more important to be here or in a large city? Naturally, I was lonesome and forlorn, without a relative, a helper or a friend. I decided to settle where fate had led me and I stayed in that town.

I had in my possession the list of names of the David-Horodoker murderers which I had succeeded in acquiring while riding in the transport. From time to time, I took out the list and read through the names of the murderers who had killed the Jews of David-Horodok. There was the name of the father of sinners, the most to blame and chief murderer, the feldsher Ivan Maraiko, may his name be blotted out, and after him, his trusted accomplices: the lawyer, Ivgeny Yavplov and his wife Marusya; Kasarev and his three sons, Siamyon, Kulaga and his son Grigory, Damyon Maraiko, Straiko, Hantshl, Krim Levkovski, Polukoshka, Kazalovski, Gritzkavitch and a lot more – may their names and memories be blotted out.

They are probably even now going about – these murderers – free as can be in the Polish People's Republic and they are comfortably enjoying themselves with the robbed possessions of the Jews. That thought would not leave me alone. I resolved that I must find and unmask them at any cost. Jewish blood must not be spilled wantonly! I must be the blood-avenger for my David-Horodoker brothers and sisters.

A few weeks after my arrival in Poland, the Kaltzer pogrom broke out.

Turmoil seized the survivors and the Jews began a mass exodus from the country whose soil had absorbed the blood of millions of guiltless Jewish victims and was still not sated.

It was 'natural' for me to be carried along by the great stream of survivors. My friends tried to convince me to go. However, a hidden power would not let me leave the place. I stayed to search for the murderers despite the fact that many of my friends thought it was 'madness'.

* * *

[Page 120]

I decided to get a job in the district ministry where they had offered me a responsible post. In a short time, I had won the trust of the director himself.

The ministry director was a middle-aged man with an authentic Polish moustache and whiskers. He was easy-going and direct. Every word that came from his mouth was first considered, weighed and measured. His relation with people as well as his general appearance was sympathetic. The man was highly honourable, a devout communist and an outspoken idealist. His pure Aryan outward appearance, his authentic Polish family name, his wonderful Polish literate speech and his pure Polish accent all indicated that here was a Pole of many generations. It is interesting to note that later, and under different circumstances with this 'authentic Pole', I found out that he was a good-hearted Jew.

One morning, the director invited me into his office and requested that I travel with an expert to Breslau to purchase a taxi for the ministry. He added discreetly: “I know that you are a Jew and I am sure that you will carry out this mission successfully”.

I thanked him for his confidence and I willingly accepted the mission, hoping without any foundation for it that I might find traces of the David-Horodoker murderers in that large city.

* * *

I carried out my mission in Breslau, purchasing the taxi and its necessary accessories and I had to wait another three days so that I could take everything together back to Klatzk. I decided to utilize those three days to search for traces of the murderers.

Wandering through the streets of Breslau, I chanced to run into my friend Avraham Moshe Greenberg, a Jew from Lamzshe who was now the community leader in our new town. He told me that his object was to purchase poultry in Breslau for the kaporas ceremony for the Jews of Klatzk. He suggested that I come along with him and help him buy the poultry. I took up his proposition with pleasure thus becoming a partner in a good deed.

We went to the market place which was filled with thousands of people and hundreds of kiosks with their proprietors. I recalled the time when there were millions of Jews in Poland and I imagined that same market place filled with Jewish merchants and peddlers, without whom it would have been impossible to conceive of such a market day. Who have believed, I thought, that this all had disappeared so quickly?

Walking along side Greenberg and absorbed in my thoughts, the unbelievable suddenly occurred: a gentile, who was selling herring at his

[Page 121]

stand, began to stare at me. Instinctively our eyes met. Abruptly, he asked me in Russian: “Are you a compatriot?” A few seconds later he added: “Are you Moravtchik?”

I was startled as if by an electric shock when I unexpectedly heard my family name spoken in the Russian language in a foreign city amongst strangers. I thought I was dreaming or that I was hearing a voice from another world.

Fortunately, I did not lose my presence of mind and I quickly reasoned that this person might have something to do with David-Horodok and perhaps he was one of those that I was seeking? “And who are you?” I asked him in Russian.

Instead of a reply, the unknown person began to draw back and stammer: “Excuse me. Perhaps I made a mistake. I didn't mean you”. “Say who you are!” I began to shout nervously: “Just now you called me by my name. You certainly know me from before”. A crowd of people gathered. My agitation grew from moment to moment as I continued to demand that he tell me who he was.

The unknown man remained silent. He bowed his head as if he were searching for something on the ground. He realized that he had given himself away. “Militia, militia”, I began shouting in a shrill voice which I myself did not recognize.

In a few minutes, two militia men arrived. I explained to them that I suspected this person of collaborating with the German occupation forces during the war and participation in the extermination of the Jews of David-Horodok. The militia men ordered the gentile to lock his stall and they took us both to the police station. After inspecting his documents, it became apparent that he was one of the David-Horodoker citizens whose name figured in the murderous regime.

At the time of the first inquest, which was made on the spot in my presence, the murderer turned to me and said: “Moravtchik, who are you arresting? I had an unimportant position with the Germans. Why don't you arrest Ivan Maraiko who was mayor of David-Horodok under the Germans. He was responsible for the killing of all the David-Horodoker Jews and despite that, he is now a free man in Warsaw?”

Thus, I was set on the trail of the chief murderer Maraiko and I understood that this beginning would eventually lead to the arrest

[Page 122]

of all the remaining murderers who were on Polish soil. I do not exaggerate when I say that this day was the happiest day of my life since the beginning of the war in 1939.

I had lived to see the fruition of my dedicated work. I was proud of my achievement even though I knew that the vengeance would not return my dear David-Horodoker brothers and sisters to life. At the same time, I took stock of the situation and realized that the basic groundwork would have to be done first and that it would not be easy.

My resolution to carry out the holy work to the end became even firmer and the beginning gave me the courage, strength and enduring vigour to continue my efforts to find the remaining murderers.

* * *

The feldsher, Ivan Maraiko who had many Jewish clienteles, had immediately put himself in the service of the Germans and he was appointed by them the town mayor. From the first day, a terror campaign was waged against the Jewish inhabitants. One of the most valuable men in town, the dentist Itzhak Edel, was shot with his son Gedaliahu on that day.

Aharon Slomionski, a respected Hassidic Jew, was thrown from the bridge into the Horin River. Simha Misholov and Motl Kviatni hid themselves with their 'good friend' Ivan Maraiko who took plenty of gold and silver for his services. A few days later, Ivan Maraiko drove them out of hiding, ordering the citizenry to kill them. Simha Misholov was killed before his own house in front of his wife and children.

The Finkelstein family who were valued by the citizenry, especially the Christian shoemakers, were murdered along with all the other Jews despite their having paid a huge ransom and despite the pleas of the Christian shoemakers to the authorities to let them live as 'good Jews'.

Rabbi Moshele demonstrated unusual courage and selflessness on behalf of his community. Every day he would come to intercede with the murderer Ivan Maraiko and try to affect the repeal of the decrees against the Jews. Finally, he was driven to the slaughter along with all the other men. Wrapped in his tallis and tefilin, he gave a sermon to the doomed Jews before he was killed with them.

Barush Yosef Katzman and his sons managed to avoid the execution by hiding in a barn. They had provided themselves with food for two weeks.

[Page 123]

and they hoped that they could escape into the forest.

Two weeks later, when the food had run out, they came out of hiding. Afraid to go to the local gentiles for help, they went straight to German headquarters which was in Yudovitch's house. They explained to the Germans how they had managed to hide and they pleaded with the Germans to spare their lives. To their great surprise, they received the following reply from the Germans which was characteristic of German 'precision':

“We received the command to kill the Jews on August 10. Since that deadline has passed and we have no further orders, we will do you no harm and you are free”. As soon as Katzman and his sons went out of the German headquarters, they ran into the drunkard and murderer Elia Stavro (Stadnik) on the street. He took an iron bar and murdered them on the spot! It is interesting that, the same night of the murder, he went berserk, set his own house on fire and was burnt alive.

Ezra Solomionek also hid from the slaughter. A couple of days later, his neighbour Yasip Dubok (Matusiavitch) discovered him and murdered him.

The 'most important' work of the murderer Maraiko was his provocations against the David-Horodoker Jews, that is, against his patients from whom he had earned a living all of his life.

He and his accomplices had hidden iron bars, axes and several revolvers in the large synagogue and he then reported to the German headquarters in Luniniatz that they had 'uncovered' a weapons arsenal in the synagogue with which the Jews were planning an uprising against the Germans. On the basis of the provocation, the Germans ordered that all the Jewish men of David-Horodok be killed.

Over 3000 Jews, all the men over the age of 14, were murdered on August 10. They were buried in large mass-graves which had been prepared ahead of time along the road between Hinovak and Alshon.

In the last moment before the horrible slaughter, Maraiko pretended to intercede, letting it be known that he was working on the Germans to allow the Jews to ransom their lives with money or valuables. Many of the unfortunate victims believed him and they led the murderers to where they had hidden gold, silver and other valuables.

After several crates were filled with Jewish belongings, the Jews were led back to the place of execution where they were killed along

[Page 124]

with all the others. Maraiko personally took part in the killing, shooting the Jews with a revolver.

It is said that the cries of the unfortunate victims were heard many kilometres away. The covered mass graves were seen to move for three days because many of the Jews had been buried while still alive.

The women and children remaining in town were driven out of town by the murderers on the night after the mass-murder. They were not allowed to take anything with them. There were cases where women were driven out of their homes in their nightgowns.

After driving the women and children out, the local citizens and peasants from surrounding villages plundered all the Jewish belongings left behind.

* * *

The arrested David-Horodoker citizen did not know the current Warsaw address of Ivan Maraiko. Finding him would not be an easy task. I travelled to Warsaw several times to search for him. Unfortunately, my efforts were not crowned with success. I had almost given up the idea of finding him. However, as luck would have it, on one of my trips to Warsaw, I met a Jewish secret agent (Yehudah Spivak-Singer', now in Israel) on a train. On learning of my mission, he took upon himself the task of finding Maraiko.

After long efforts and searching, he finally found him in a small town near Warsaw where he was working as a doctor using a falsified diploma. Maraiko had grown a beard so as not to be recognized. I was overwhelmed with joy when I received the telegram from Spivak-Singer with the happy news of Maraiko's arrest. A short time later, his wife Darya came to me in Klatzk (to this day I am puzzled as to how she got my address) to beg for mercy, forgiveness and pardon.

My encounter with her was rich with dramatic moments: “Get out of my house, murderess. I don't want to see you and I don't want to hear about your husband”, I said to her and spat in her face. “I will not take offence because I was expecting such a reception”, she replied, adding at the same time that it was worth it if only I would listen to what she had to say.

At that moment the idea occurred to me that maybe it really was worthwhile to restrain myself despite my aversion and for the sake of the benefit which I might derive from listening to the murderess. Perhaps that way I could get her to give me the addresses of

[Page 125]

the other murderers. I told her to go down and wait for me in the street. I did not want to have that defiled person in my home.

Her entire conversation was an attempt to white-wash her husband of all sins, and thereby to convince me to drop my charges against him. Among other things, she told me that her son Misha had returned to Poland from England after the war (he was an officer on the Polish ship 'Pilsudski' during the Polish-German war which had been sun in battle), and he brought back with him a very charming Jewish woman who he had married in England and whom Darye loved like her own daughter. Later, I established that the information was unfortunately correct and that a Jewish woman had married the son of the murderer of the David-Horodoker Jews.

She contended that her husband 'unfortunately' had had no choice and was forced to take the post of David-Horodoker town mayor by the Germans. Acting as mayor 'naturally' he had tried to find ways and means of revoking the decrees against the Jews. In general he, Ivan Maraiko, was 'completely innocent' though he was forced to carry out the orders of Ivgeny Yavplov who as appointed district commissioner by the Germans.

My patient listening encouraged Darye and, in the course of the conversation, she let me know that she understood that I was in difficult material circumstances and that, as old friends, they were prepared to help me.

Her impertinent proposal so upset me that I began to shout and I spat in her face again as I started to go back into my residence. She began to run after me with apologies, pleading with me that I should listen to her again. In the meantime, I reminded myself that I had not yet accomplished my purpose in this conversation. I did not have a single address of the remaining murderers and so I remained listening to her again.

The conversation lasted six hours. They were six painful hours for me because I did not forget for a single moment that I was conversing with a beast in human form whose hands had dipped in the blood of thousands of my dear brothers and sisters, including my beloved wife and my four dear little children.

Yet, the entire effort had been worthwhile because I came away from the conversation knowing the place of residence of Ivgeny Yavplov and his sadistic criminal wife Marusya.

* * *

Before the outbreak of the Soviet-German war, the murderer Ivgeny

[Page 126]

Yavplov was arrested by the Soviet authorities for his white ___ and he was put in prison in Brisk.

When the war between Germany and Russia broke out, the Russians evacuated the prisoners in special transports deep into Russia. He and Lazer Rankin escaped the transport. A few days later, after their arrival in David-Horodok, Lazer Rankin was killed by the local citizens by order of his prison mater, the same Yavplov.

Arriving in David-Horodok, Yavplov immediately placed himself in the service of the Germans who appointed him district commissioner. In revenge for his arrest by an NKVD officer who happened to be Jewish, he was determined to kill all the Jews in town. His wife, the sadistic murderess Marusya, right after her husband's arrest, threatened, in my presence, that “there will come a day when I'll take revenge on the Jews because a Jew arrested my husband”. Both Yavplov and his wife Marusya fulfilled their pledges.

In a letter sent to me in Poland by Mikle Stollman-Russman and her daughter Nina from Detroit, there is a precise description of the ruthless acts of Iv an Maraiko, Ivgeny Yavplov and his wife Marusya.

Marusya particularly “stood out” because of her sadism. She murdered Yakov Gartzulin by herself when she found him hiding. She threw living Jewish children into the Horin River.

The arrest of the Yavplovs was accomplished with great difficulty. Sensing that the ground was burning under their feet, they fled the town of Zialano-Gora where they had lived and for weeks, they hid as fishermen in a small and secluded village.

Secret agents watched their house in Zialano-Gora and at long last they were arrested.

At the time of the inquiry, a hoard of gold, silver and valuables was found and confiscated from them. Of course, this was all stolen from the David-Horodoker Jews. Amongst other things in their possessions, there was a photograph of my two children, Sar'le and Itzhak'l with a Polish inscription. This was written by my little girl in her childish handwriting to their daughter Zoaye who had been her girlfriend before the war. In the seven year period before the outbreak of World War II, Yavplov and I had worked together in a bureau for pleas, translations and other office work.

The murderess Marusya wanted to use this photograph to show me what dear friends we had been, indicated by her having kept the picture with her entire the entire time without destroying it, and she tried to work on me to cancel their arrest.

She also told me that she knew that the Christian Alexandra Agradzinska had hidden a Jewish girl and that she had not informed on her to the authorities.

However, when I took out the material in my possession which detailed her and her husband's 'fine activities”, the murderess said not a word.

[Page 127]

And I? I began looking at the photograph and I could not take my eyes away from my children. I realized that I had lost my entire family, my wife, my four children, my parents, brothers and sisters, the entire Jewish community of my home town, all those who had been and had died so tragically. I looked and cried and looked. A torrent of tears flowed unceasingly from my eyes.

After a while, I found out that the murderess Marusya was trying to fool the investigating judge by pretending that she was gravely ill, hoping to get a medical release. I immediately travelled to Zialano-Gora and showed the prosecutor the letter of Mrs. Ile Stollman-Russman and her daughter Nina which detailed the sadistic activities of the murderess Marusya Yavplov.

The prosecutor was so overcome and moved that in my presence he ordered the arrest of the “invalid”, declaring that there was no place on free soil in the Polish People's Republic for such contemptible people.

In the course of the investigation, the Yavplovs revealed the residence of the murderer Levkovski from the village of Samihostitch.

When I arrived at Zgazshaletz and turned to the secret police to secure Levkovski's arrest, the commandant, who happened to be a Jew, was on furlough. When he was informed by telephone of my mission, he cancelled his furlough and returned to personally expedite and assist me in my task. In such a manner, one murderer implicated the next and, in a short time, they arrested Krim, Damyon Maraiko, Babka and others.

Understandably, each arrest was a story in itself, filled with dramatic moments, enormous efforts, with searching and travelling and even with personal danger.

It is interesting to note that the Polish security police warned me to be careful because my life was in danger. They told me not to go out alone at night, not to open my door until I was certain who was on the other side, not to go amongst strangers, etc. I paid no attention to their warnings as I energetically carried out my holy work.

The Polish security police appropriately valued my achievements and, in gratitude, they sent me a letter of appreciation which gave me a certain moral satisfaction for my untiring holy work. Understandably, my greatest satisfaction came from the arrest of the murderers.

From unofficial sources, I learnt that Maraiko's daughter, Ella, was later arrested. She had worked with the Germans as an interpreter. Also arrested were his two sons-in-law, Vaitavitch and Vialavaiski, who were officers in the pre-war Polish army and his son Misha with his Jewish wife from England. Misha had taken a high position in the Polish security ministry.

* * *

[Page 128]

My turn had come to immigrate to Israel. Unfortunately, I could no longer delay my departure. With pain in my heart, I was forced to tear myself away from my personal involvement and leave the finishing work to the Polish security organization.

Before I left Poland, I visited the secret police in Warsaw where I knew that all the arrested murderers were detained and were awaiting extradition to David-Horodok (which was now in the Soviet Union) where they were to be prosecuted at the site of their crimes. The investigating magistrate, Meier Piantkovski, offered to take me into the prison or to bring the murderer Ivan Maraiko into his chamber so that I could confront him. I did not avail myself of the opportunity, not wanting to look at his murderous face. In truth, there are times that I regret not taking advantage of this opportunity to see that murderer at the time he was suffering punishment for his sins.

At the same trip to Warsaw, I paid a visit to the Soviet Embassy and they promised me their full support in handling the case.

I would like to take the opportunity to street the unusual interest taken in the case by the Central Committee of Polish Jews in Warsaw, who provided legal (they supplied two lawyers to assist) and financial support.

I would also like to bring into the open a fact that shines a ray of light in the vast darkness that encompassed David-Horodok. A Christian with a noble spirit, Alexandra Agradzinska, was the only one in town to hide (at risk of her own life), a Jewish girl named Golde Kuzniatz (now in Haifa) through the entire time of the German occupation.

This fact is particularly noteworthy because all of the other Christians of David-Horodok, without exception, were crueller than the Germans towards the Jews. Alexandra Agradzinska was the only bright spot in the vast black blot that was the tragic David-Horodoker reality of those times.

I would like to take this opportunity to express our sincere appreciation and thanks to Mrs. Agradzinska who still lives in Poland. In gratitude, I have sent her the gift of a crate of oranges from Israel.

* * *

After my arrival in Israel, I proceeded with the case. I got in touch with the Polish Embassy in Tel-Aviv and I received verbal and written clarifications from them. At my request, the Warsaw prosecutor sent a number of affidavit forms to a court in Tel-Aviv in order to get the testimony of witnesses that were now living in Israel. In 1953, the testimony

[Page 129]

was taken in Tel-Aviv and then the documents were returned to Warsaw.

In August 1954, I revisited the Polish embassy. I feel it necessary to relate to my countrymen their answers to my questions.

I was told: “All of the arrested criminals are confined. How many murderers were arrested, where they are confined and whether they have stood trial yet – we cannot give you answers to these questions, yet”.

As compensation for these evasive answers, I received the following promise: “Patience, dear Sir; a day will come when you will know everything”.

Unfortunately, at the time of this writing, that promise has not yet been fulfilled.

Translators note: I am making an effort to trace the results of the trials. Thus far, I am unsuccessful but my efforts are continuing.

If any reader of this translation has any knowledge as to the outcome of these trials, I would greatly appreciate their contacting me. N.H.

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