[Page 408]

On July 1, 1941, “The New City” was filled with a huge number of Hitler's troops. I was afraid to stay alone at home and I went to my father-in-law, Leizer Joresh. In the evening, I returned home to sleep. At midnight, I heard a strong knock on the door and, before I could figure this knocking out, the door was violently breached and the infamous Ukrainian murderer, Petro Bicz,^[1] burst in with five of the Gestapo. One of the murderers aimed a pistol at my heart and demanded gold. My mother and my wife, who was holding a baby in her arms, begged them to leave us alone because of the baby. After they did not find the sought-after gold - the murderers left and did not harm us.

I understood that it was not good to remain in the New City, where there were not many Jews, and I decided to stay with one of my acquaintances in the Old City. When I got to the city, I saw that the large synagogue was entirely engulfed in flames and the “Yeshiva” building and the Beit Ha-Midrash [=house of learning] building were burning, too.

The caretaker of the Beit Ha-Midrash, Shmuel, had a son-in-law named Shmuel Pritzker. That one fled with his family, six people, in the direction of the New City. The Germans caught him and brought him to the mills near the “grobovzina” [=gravestones]. They killed him and his family there and threw their bodies into the swamp. When I learned of this, it was very painful. I gave two villagers a decent “fee” and they dragged the bodies out of the mud and I buried them.

In those same days, they murdered the dentist, Dr. Shlugleit, with his wife and mother-in-law. They were killed where they lived, in the Gurewitz house. After a few days, the Germans, along with two Ukrainians and one Pole, brought Holtzman and Shoshana Bernbaum out and took them to the Christian cemetery and killed them.

The Germans created a list of the important people of the city. I, my brother-in-law, Leibl Glis, and my two nephews, Pini and Moshe Milrod, were on this list. I expected that they would come to take me any minute. A Jewish policeman from the “Judenrat” came. His name was Yisrael Poner, the brother-in-law of Yankel Katzman, and told my wife that the commander of the district police demanded that I come before him immediately. And if not - I bear the responsibility.

At this time of distress, the head of the city police, Petro Garbovsky, stood to my right.

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I went to him and, with tears, I asked him to save me. He advised me to go home and to not present myself. I did as he said. I lay in the attic all night and cold sweat covered my body from the fear of what would come. At six in the morning, my sister's daughter came to me and, with bitter crying, told me that her father was no longer among the living and her brothers had been killed, too.

Petro Garbovsky sent his two brothers to me to warn me not to be found at home. They kidnapped about 500 Jews that day. They took these 500 holy souls outside the city and killed them. Eventually a Polish man, my friend from work, showed me a depression in the ground and said: 500 of your brothers who were killed on the Pritshista holiday are buried here. When they were buried, there was a mound of dirt. Now the corpses have dried out, the mound has disappeared, and the earth has sunk.

After this mass murder, kidnappings for work continued and of course - no one returned home. Only Wolf Finkelstein (he is in Russia) and Motl Shimshones survived, miraculously. Things continued like this until the mass annihilation on the eve of the Shavuot holiday. Two thousand policemen were brought then from Zhytomyr, whom the local Ukrainian police joined. They surrounded the city on all sides and no one managed to escape.

In the early hours of the morning, the slaughterer came upon “The New City.” The Germans, with their Ukrainian helpers, went systematically from house to house and brought the Jews out. When they surrounded my house, my wife, Bunya Joresh, said to me that I should jump out of the window, perhaps I would be able to escape and remain alive. I had only tried to get up on the windowsill and behold - a bullet from the murderers split the air and there was no escape.

Their entry into the house was strikingly ruthless. This is how wild animals look when they go out at dawn to hunt. They didn't even let us take bread and water with us. They took me, my mother, Dvora, my wife, Bunya, and my three sons, Akiva, Avraham, and Emanuel. From my house, they went to my mother-in-law's, Aidel Joresh, and took her and her daughter-in-law, Rivka, and her two daughters, Etel and Mire'leh. Then they went to the home of Yaakov Joresh. He was lying sick in bed and was not able to get up. The murderers shot at him, but he was only wounded. His daughter-in-law took the one little girl with her because the second little boy was sleeping restfully and it would have been a shame to wake him. She was certain that the Ukrainians would be humane and would let her little boy sleep. When the Ukrainians entered and saw that Yaakov Joresh was still showing signs of life and not only that, but his grandson was sleeping the sleep of the righteous - their anger burned and they rained down upon them a shower of bullets. They took the grandfather and his grandson out and buried them in a pit that they dug in the courtyard. This murder and the burial of these holy ones was carried out with the help of several Ukrainians.

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From there, they went to Zalta Orecha.^[2] They took her, her daughter, Malka, her daughter-in-law, Genia, and their children. They brought us all to the city, to the killing valley. On the way, we saw many dead lying in the streets. We came to the assembly point next to Dudya Feldman's house. There they separated the men from the women. I can't forget the crying of the children. It seemed that the adults had made peace with the terrible and horrible necessity and they cried secretly. The children did not understand what was happening and thought that their tears would soften the hearts of the murderers.

We were expecting a murderous death, some Germans approached and separated about 200 young men and women from the mass that was taken for death. I was among them. Later it became clear to me that we were needed by the murderers as a labor force. I cannot forget the shocking picture that emerged around Chana Milrod. She was a lovely young girl. At that moment, she sat next to her mother, her aunt, and her brothers. They had taken her father out to be killed long before. The mother worried that perhaps the Germans wanted to keep the daughter alive and said to her: what good is it for you to remain alone, bow your head, the Germans won't notice you, and we will go together to Kozak. However, a Gestapo man came to her and said: you are still young and beautiful and strong. No matter, when your strength fails and you can no longer move - there will be a place waiting for you in one of the pits in the Kozak forest.^[3]

I was one of the “happy ones” who remained alive and I worked in a quarry near the city. The general manager of the enterprise was a decent man and he did everything for me so that I would live.

The manager revealed to me that complete annihilation threatened the remainder of the Jews of Korets and that, therefore, I should flee for my life. I went back to the ghetto, packed a small bag, and prepared to flee to the forest with the goal of joining the partisans who already operated in those days at a distance of hundreds of kilometers from Korets.

On the way, I was caught by the Ukrainian police who suspected me of being a partisan. They brought me to the house of Zalman Witman, where the Gestapo were. They beat me severely and threw me in the basement. At six in the morning, the manager of the quarry came to the Gestapo and petitioned for my release. He told them that an expert worker named Zaika had gone missing and, if they didn't free me, the entire factory would be shut down. The head of the Gestapo considered the matter and decided to free me temporarily because I'm in his hands in any event and what difference would it make if I moved around for another few weeks, and in particular that the new project needed me.

I returned to work and continued to work for another three months. I worked together with captive

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Soviets. I learned from them that they had dug pits in Kozak. I understood what that meant and prepared to flee. A group of 12 organized itself, Misha and Leona Gildenman, Lazar Gershfeld, Wolf Milrod, Herschel Katzav, and two of the daughters of “Berke, the porter,” among them.

We escaped to the village of Mys Chekhova. Our goal was to get in contact with the partisans. In Mys Chekhova, I was together with Shmaryahu Katzman; Riva Horenstein and her son; Rachel Weinstein and her son; Shaike, the wagon driver; Michael (his father was the owner of a windmill near the village of Golovanitsya [=Holovanivsk?]); and Nechem'ke Markus. One day, Rachel Weinstein went to find bread. The Ukrainians caught her, wrapped a rope around her neck, and strangled her. A young man from Mezhyrichi walked with her. The Ukrainians did the same thing to him, but he pretended to be dead and the Ukrainians thought that he had been strangled. This young man returned to us with the rope still wrapped around his neck and told us about the bitter end of Rachel Weinstein.

From other forests, Berel Basyuk and his son, and also the son of Yoska Kaminstein, joined us. Once, during a chase that the Germans and Ukrainians carried out in the forest, they were caught and the murderers killed them very slowly in order to drag out their dying twitches. Aryeh Katzman and Mordechai Berman were murdered on the same day.

When I was in Mys Chekhova, Poles came to me and told me the terrible story of the bitter end of Yoelik Molier. Who didn't know Molier? The Christian residents, too, respected him. They took Rav Yoelik from his house, tortured him, and threw his body next to the village of Ritschke [=Richka]. The Poles said they had seen with their own eyes hungry dogs eating the bones of Rav Yoelik and ravens pecking out his eyes.

After we were unable to find the partisans, we returned to the city, Lazar Gershfeld and I. In Korets, there was a known criminal, a famous criminal, by the name of Pavlo Kowalec.^[4] Before we left, we gave him a proper “gift” and stipulated the condition that, if we were forced to return to him, he would give us shelter in his house. Pavlo kept his promise.

After the destruction of Korets, only isolated Jews remained, who by hiding in bunkers and attics had managed to escape the bitter fate visited upon the Jews of the city. In the discovery of hidden Jews, the children played a very tragic part. When a Jewish child was caught wandering in the street, he was severely tortured by the police so that he would reveal where Jews were hiding. The child couldn't withstand the torture and was forced to reveal everything. We cannot, God forbid, judge these children harshly. They went up in flames and died as holy and pure martyrs along with all the Jews of the city.

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Once Pavlo Kowalec came to me and told me that Velvel, the son-in-law of Wolf Firkes, his daughters, Matal and Pesia, Velvel's wife, and the young daughter, Chava, were hiding with a Polish family. The matter became known to the Gestapo and they slaughtered the Polish family first and then all the Jews who had been hiding there.

We stayed hidden with Pavlo for the entire winter and, when the snow melted, we returned to the forests. We felt somewhat secure because partisans were active in the area. We wandered from forest to forest. Once, when Poles attacked us, Lazar Gershfeld was murdered. I was able to escape.

In February 1944, I returned to the city. It had already been conquered by the Soviets. I thought about one thing and one thing only: revenge! I contacted the NKVD [=a precursor of the KGB] and I gave them the names of the murderers who were well-known to me.

I spilled out all my hatred on the head executioner of Korets, Mitka Zawierucha^[5], may his name and memory be blotted out. Two of the young people of Korets, who had seen the horrible deeds of Mitka with their own eyes, remained alive and came to the court to testify against him. One was the grandson of “Berel, the water carrier” and the other was the son of Leibl Komets.

These boys had only been wounded and the Ukrainians had covered them with a light layer of dirt. When the killers left, they shook off the dirt and escaped into the forest under cover of darkness.

I don't know what happened to Mitka in the end. The Soviets were apparently not interested in executing him.

When I left Korets and continued my wandering, before it was known what would be the fate of this cruel murderer, and the mystery of his end has not been solved to this day.

Translator's footnotes:

1. Petro Bicz Return
2. Orecha Return
3. Chana remained alive. She succeeded to escape to the forests, joined the partisans, and fell in one of the battles near the village of Klitsk [=Klyetsk]. Return
4. Kowalec Return
5. Zawierucha Return

[Page 413]

The Germans entered the city in Tammuz 1941. They came from the direction of Rovno [=Rivne]. On Friday night, a group of scouts appeared and the Russians began to retreat. On Shabbat morning, many squadrons of planes appeared, which darkened the skies and rained fire upon the city. The bombing was terrible and the Soviet army began to clear out of the city.

All the Jews of the city who lived in the center fled to Brezhdova Street and hid in cellars. When we came out of our hiding places, the city streets were bustling with Hitler's troops. Right when they had just entered, they set a house that stood in the center of the city on fire. The murderers held axes in their hands and they greeted us with wild shouts: your end has now come, cursed Jews! We fled each one to his own house. There was a dentist in our city by the name of Dr. Shlugleit. The Germans entered his house, murdered him, his wife, and his mother-n-law.

Two hours after their entry, the murderers burned the large and beautiful synagogue, which was the pride and glory of the city. The Ukrainians immediately began to plunder and loot the houses of the Jews. They presented the authorities with a list of the rich and important people of the city. They immediately took them out to the village of Poshtchov and murdered them there. Efraim Góralnik, Alter Góralnik and his son, Leibl Góralnik, Yossel Kleiner, Yaakov Chavulkis, Baruch Huberman, and David Raznoshik were among those killed.

After the murder of 350 Jews on the “Pritshista” holiday of 1941, next to the sugar factory - there was a break in murderous activity until the eve of Shavuot in 1942. The Germans chose the holiday of the giving of the Torah, whose highest command is “Thou shalt not murder,” as appropriate to carry out the mass murder of the Jews of the city. They had no mercy on the old or the sick. They killed the sick in their beds. The Ukrainians came in their carts and put the dead in them. The blood of the dead flowed from the carts and covered the streets. The Ukrainians enjoyed the sight of the blood. They shouted aloud and clapped their hands from joy.

After that, they broke into the hospital. There were birthing mothers there. The murderers kidnapped the babies, hacked them to pieces, and gave the wretched mothers two sections of the bodies of their babies and said to them: take this scum with you and bury it in the Kozak forest.

Also my son and I were brought to the death pit and there is something to tell about how we were saved from the annihilation and remained alive.

Korets was lucky to have some Germans who secretly were among those opposed to Hitler's blood regime and did everything in their power to save Jews from death. One of them was

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Robert, who was said to be a veteran Communist, who worked among the Nazis as an emissary of the Soviet intelligence service. A day before the slaughter, Robert brought me two wheelbarrows for repair and warned me that, if I had not fixed them by five o'clock - it was on my head. Exactly at that time, the German came, took the fixed wheelbarrows and, patting my shoulder, asked me to come the next day at nine to the German restaurant and he would give me a package of food. And again he warned me, if I did not appear - it was on my head.

In the early hours of the morning, they took all the Jews to Kozak and also me, my son, and my wife among them. We got undressed along with everyone and we waited to die. Suddenly my son said to me: Dad, Mr. Robert is running! He turned to him with tears: Robert, save us! Soon they will take us out to kill us! - That's why I've come - the German answered.

He went to the head of the Gestapo and said to him: I need this smith and his son. There is a lot of work for them and there is no one else to do it. Give them to me. No matter. They won't escape from your hand. When they finish the work, you can do with them what you wish. The soldier said: I won't give them! It is my responsibility to kill them immediately along with all the Jews. The commandant heard this arguing and asked, what's the matter. Robert told him: it's like this. The commandant ordered to leave us alive for a few days.

On the way, Robert spoke to me secretly and ordered me to flee to the forest immediately. He promised me that, to the best of his knowledge, the Germans would not come to the forests. He consoled me that the day was not far off when the Nazis would flee in panic from the lands they had conquered. I parted from him, fled to the forests, and joined the partisans there.

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On the eve of the Sukkot holiday in 1942, before the ghetto was liquidated, a group of six people, me among them, broke the confinement seal and succeeded in reaching a Ukrainian family that lived outside of Korets.

Our goal was to reach the village of Wodnik, 12 kilometers from our city. However, we traveled the first five kilometers and were caught by Ukrainian policemen who returned us forcefully to the Korets police.

On that day, every Jew who was caught outside of the ghetto was thrown into the basement of the police building so that he could be executed at the beginning of the “action” in Kozak. We knew what to expect, but a great miracle happened: when we got to the police, the captain, Danilog, was summoned to decide our fate. He knew my mother, Chana-Rachel Gurewitz, and thanks to her, he decided to let us go. He shouted at us, seemingly: “What? You flee from your homes and it's up to us, the police, to guard your possessions? Return home immediately.”

We returned to the ghetto with mixed feelings: we were happy that we had been saved from the murderers and sorry that our escape had not succeeded.

That same day, Mr. Baginsky, a Pole from the village of Yuzfovka who had worked in the past for my mother, came to us and promised her that he would save me. I disguised myself as a Christian child, joined him and his son, and we went to his house. He hid me there for 8 days. At night, I slept in the attic of his house and during the day, he would take me out to the forest and supply me with food and water for the entire day.

On my third day with him, Mr. Baginsky came back from Korets with “news from Job” [=tragic news]. In simple and terrible words that pricked my skin like a sword's punctures, he described the destruction of the city. He recognized the son of my aunt, Noach2 Tschuvoy, among the murdered who lay in the Kozak pits. With raised hands, they took my aunt, Leah Tschuvoy, who was hiding with my mother in a shelter, with all the rest of the Jews who were in the ghetto. He didn't know anything about the fate of my mother or my sister.

It is impossible to describe my feelings, the feelings of a ten-year-old boy, whose family and only relatives had been killed, who remained alone and lonely in a world full of enemies, with no hope to save his life.

I wanted to return to my city, Korets, and what would be, would be. But Mr. Baginsky stopped

Apparently he was mistaken. Noach was killed in other circumstances, as I will explain later.

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me and asked me to be patient and to wait for clearer and more reliable information. I suffered terrible and difficult torments for five weeks until one night I heard from Mr. Baginsky the happy news that my mother and relatives had been saved and were not far from me in the forest.

Around midnight I went out in the company of Mr. Baginsky. It was very cold. After about two hours' walking in the forests, we came to the hiding place of my mother and relatives by the village of Wodnik.

It is impossible to describe in words my feelings when I saw my mother. I felt like a fledgling who had been returned to its nest. My relatives told me what had happened to them: they hid in a bunker on Brezhdova Street in the home of Chasia Bok. The bunker had been built by my mother and the conditions there were too difficult to bear. There was room for eight people there, but since the beginning of the “action,” an additional seven people had been stuffed in. Along with them were the owner of the house, Chasia, the wife of Chaim, the bookkeeper, and their little daughter, who was sick and who cried and shouted at the top of her lungs and endangered the lives of everyone in the bunker.

A terrible and awful scene that they will never forget happened before their eyes: one of the people in the bunker began to choke the child in front of her mother. The wretched mother, seeing the blood dripping from her daughter's nose and mouth, decided without hesitation to leave the bunker and turn herself over to the murderers. Her last words were: “My conscience won't let me remain with you. I don't want you all to be killed because of my daughter.” And she left the bunker.

The door hadn't even finished closing and already the shrieks of the murderers, who had entered hearing the shouts of the girl, were heard.

The situation in the bunker kept getting worse. The water and food were finished. Bodily strength continued to weaken and despair attacked everyone. Sarah'ke Fuchs, the daughter-in-law of Chaim Lazar, couldn't hold on and hung herself to end her suffering.

Chances of fleeing, which were considered every evening, became fewer and fewer because an armed Ukrainian guard roamed around day and night close to the place and more than once used his weapon. After the annihilation of all the Jews who had been caught in houses and attics, searches by groups of Ukrainians, who knew about Jews in the bunkers, worsened. In this manner, the bunker in which my mother, my sister, and my relatives were hiding was discovered.

In a moment of silence before death, the voice of Nikolai, from the village of Morozovke, was heard, asking if my mother, Chana, was in the bunker. Without a lot of thought, my mother went to the door of the bunker and, recognizing Nikolai, begged him not to hand her over to the police. During this conversation, a policeman appeared and asked, are there Jews in this house? To the great surprise of

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those in the bunker, Nikolai answered that there was no one and promised my mother that he would save all the people in the bunker.

It was decided that Nikolai would bring the people outside the city at midnight. At 8 o'clock the next night, he called my mother outside, explained the flight path to her, and requested that, in a few minutes, people come out of the bunker two by two and run to the meeting point. My mother came to the door of the bunker and explained the flight path. She shouted at my sister, Yehudit, who was suffering from strong headaches that day, so that she would be one of the first to flee. But my aunt's daughters who were saved only the next day said that, in the fateful moments of flight, Yehudit fell asleep and, in panic, they did not wake her.

The first pair who succeeded in leaving the ghetto and getting to the meeting point were my mother and my aunt, Leah Tschuvoy. After them came Noach and a few other people from the bunker. When my mother saw that Yehudit had not come, she asked Nikolai to return immediately and save her daughter and the others who still remained in the bunker.

He immediately fulfilled his mission, but he returned with “news from Job” [=tragic news]: the guard next to the bunker had changed and he couldn't do anything.

At that moment a shout was heard that the police were chasing us. Leah Tschuvoy and I turned one way and Noach and the rest of them - in another direction. That evening, the two single women reached Wodnik and nothing was known about the fate of Noach.

The end of the people in the bunker was very cruel: they were discovered by the murderers at 11 the next morning. My aunt's two daughters managed to escape and joined my mother and my aunt, but the rest, my sister among them, were executed.

My mother went to Mr. Baginsky and asked him to take care of our new hiding place with Mr. Nadolsky in Yuzfovka. During the first two weeks of our being in that place, we began to get used to the new life, a life of daily suffering, hunger, and fear. One day we got a dear visitor whom we had not expected: Noach returned to us and told us about his much-suffering wandering since we parted.

We had not yet calmed down from the abominations that we had experienced when Mr. Nadolsky told us that there would be precise searches in the village the next day for the purpose of confiscating crops. At midnight, he brought us to the forest. When we got there, we understood immediately that Jews were hiding there. The signs were remnants of a campfire and roasted potatoes strewn around the area. As we were investigating the place, we saw a body, which we could not identify due to the darkness. A great fear came upon us. We jammed together in one corner and waited for the light of day. And only then did we identify the body of

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the painter, Shikher, the son of Eliezer, the painter. The water bottle was still in his mouth. He was murdered by Ukrainians who abused his corpse, dug his gold teeth out of his mouth, and stripped him.

We went a few steps away from the body and divided the daily portion of 100 grams of bread per person among us. We were still chewing on the bread hungrily when we heard shouts in Ukrainian: “Stop! Catch her!” We managed to flatten ourselves on the ground when we saw a wild goat that the shepherds had not managed to catch. We threw a stick at her and, very afraid, she changed her direction and so did the shepherds.

After about five weeks staying with Mr. Nadolsky, the Korets district police decided to arrange precise searches in the forests and in the area around Korets in order to catch the rest of the Jews who were hiding in the forests and in the homes of farmers, to bring them to the Kozak pits, and thus finish covering the pits.

On one of those days we heard the sound of much shooting: the Ukrainian police had come near to our hiding place. We were certainly saved from death due to the goodness of Mr. Nadolsky's heart, who decided to flee to the forest and left us in our hiding place in his house. With trembling hearts, we all shrunk ourselves into a corner and heard the voices and steps of the murderers who were moving around near the granary. Our great luck was that they did not find us.

Two children of the children of our city were found in the house next door and were immediately murdered.

Out of fear of the Ukrainian police, we were forced to leave the place and we continued our life of wandering in the surroundings of the villages of Wodnik and Kerchik where we met merciful people, thanks to whom we remained alive.

In the meantime, the rumors about partisan units operating in the area in order to carry out various activities were verified. Our goal was to join them and be saved in that way.

The winter of 1943 was very harsh in Ukraine. We, in particular, felt it. The cold was unbearable and our feet were bare. The forests stopped serving as a refuge for us because the Banderovts gangs were roaming around there. We found shelter in the granary of an acquaintance of my mother, Antek Sheplinsky. We stayed in that place for about a month. One night, unending pouring rain fell. We hid ourselves among the piles of straw in the granary and fell deeply asleep. We woke up to strange voices coming from the courtyard. We saw people dressed as partisans and, from their Russian speech, we figured out that these were real partisans.

Mr. Sheplinsky told us happily that his son was transporting the partisans to a sabotage action in the farm next to the village.

When Mr. Sheplinsky left, Noach got up and, without saying a word, began to run

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towards the partisans who had already left the courtyard. He caught up to them and presented himself as a Jew pursued by the Germans and his sole desire was to join the Russian partisans.

They received him willingly and he joined them. When they got to the farm, it became clear that there was a German force there and they immediately retreated. On the trip back, it became clear to Noach, following their crude behavior, that these were not the real partisans that he had hoped for. When they got close to the village of Kerchik, the wagon driver, Mr. Sheplinsky's son, whispered to him that he should try to flee because these were Banderovts gangsters.

Noach jumped from the wagon and began to run to us to tell us about the foreseeable danger to our lives. The Ukrainians jumped from their wagons, spread out in the area, and set up an ambush. Two of them chased after Noach and caught him not far from us. The cries of Noach, who was stabbed fourteen times, were heard.

I immediately ran in the direction of the cries, but one of the murderers forcibly pushed me. After the cruel murder, a command was given to bring us to the forest. There they separated out women and children. Mr. Sheplinsky was there, too. He was the first victim. He was stabbed twenty-four times with the murderer's daggers. His cries could be heard far away.

I was the second victim. The same dagger that had skewered my cousin, Noach, was aimed at me. When the daughters of my aunt saw the dagger next to my body, they broke out in terrible shouts. At that fateful second, a scout appeared and told the captain who was holding me that the Germans were coming close.

He immediately raised the dagger from my body and ordered us to flee. White as death, I got up from my place and joined my relatives who had gathered around Noach's corpse. We dug a pit by hand and the body, which was still warm, was buried with our tears covering the fresh grave.

The heavy mourning over the loss of our dear young Noach, hunger and despair that had reached a peak, brought us to the grave of the holy one daily. And I, a boy of 10, the only male in the group, said “Kaddish” for the soul of Noach.

Despite the suffering, our spirits did not fall and we continued our wandering with courage and with a strong desire to live, to be saved from the hands of the murderers, and to reach a place of safety. But a lot of months passed before we got there.

Original footnote:

1. From the diary of a 10-year-old boy (the Editorial Board). Return

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My bitter fate was to be saved and to remain alive. I say “my bitter fate” because what's the point of my life after I lost what was most precious to me, after my dear daughter was devoured, this pure and gentle angel who, during those sad and threatening days, would complain again and again: Mommy, the world is so beautiful, the skies are so clear, why don't we have a place in this beauty? She spoke like a wise woman, like a great person.

I am a refugee from the grave. I fled from the awful valley of murder and I saw many graves, the graves of our dear ones and our darlings, the beauty and wisdom of the city. Many of them were not properly buried and the murderers abused their holy bodies. I saw their broken fingers and feet dumped in the streets of Korets.

Pictures of the killing and the destruction live in my memory, the time when all of Korets became one gallows. The screams of those taken to death beat in my heart like the roar of waves, that we not forget them, that we guard their memory in our hearts, and that we tell those who remained alive how they were tortured and how they were killed.

And I remain as living testimony to those awful days. And I will simply tell what my eyes saw, without embellishment of language, things as they were: a teacher by the name of Chaya Bernboym lived in my vicinity and she had a friend named Holtzman. I saw two Poles and three Ukrainians bringing the two unfortunate girls, bringing them to the Christian cemetery. With the savagery of animals of prey, the murderers rained a shower of bullets on them. They fell into a pit that had been prepared beforehand, covered in their blood.

Once, while walking innocently in the street, I saw a scene of brutality: they took the wife of the righteous Rabbi Yankele, Golda Shotzman, and Tanya Gershfeld out of their houses. They spread shit on their faces, gave them brooms, and ordered them to dance and sing.

They found a red flag in the home of Esther Kiperband. They said that she was a Communist. The murderers wrapped her up in this flag, dragged her out into the street, and killed her there. Sarah Silberman and Dvora Litvak were killed with her because they suspected them of being from the Komsomol [=Communist Youth League].

One day a group of young people gathered in the garden by my house. The Germans ordered the girls to launder underwear and the boys to bring water from the river. The murderers hung huge and heavy vats on rods and put them on the shoulders of the unfortunate youngsters. The drop down to the river was pleasant, but not the climb up, which required great effort even without a burden on the shoulder. The Germans urged them on and did not let them rest. When they came up with

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great effort onto the hill, the murderers kicked them, they rolled down and the vats after them. They had to draw water again and come up, and so this matter was repeated a couple of times. The young men became weak and weren't able to move. The Germans gave them a severe beating and the youngsters twitched. Some of the young men had sisters who stood up on the hill and, seeing their brothers dying, raised a shout and pleas for mercy to release them. However, the filthy ones closed their ears and only when it seemed to them that the young men no longer showed any signs of life - did they get up and leave.

I went once to stand in a line to get bread. A girl by the name of Chaya'ke walked with me. Her mother's name was Zlata de Farberin. Unintentionally, she went up on the sidewalk, which was forbidden to Jews. A policeman hit her with a rifle butt and pushed her into the street. A stream of blood burst out of her head. At that same moment, a car full of Germans passed by. The murderers' vehicle got on top of her, ran her over, and dismembered her, like one dismembers a cat.

The evening before Shavuot, before the great annihilation, they took Esterman, the mute seamstress, out of her house. She opposed it and refused to go. They dragged her forcefully, killed her, and buried her under the convent. The nuns went and complained to the authorities, why had they buried a Jewess among them? They went and removed her from there and buried her some place else.

The most terrifying thing I saw was connected to the wife of Yoska Krautopfsich. She hid with her son in one of the basements. The murderers discovered her and killed the child in her arms. They brought her to the death pit with the dead child. However, the mother refused to acknowledge that she was carrying a dead child in her arms and kept speaking to him the entire time, stroking him and kissing him.

The evening before Shavuot I was working for the engineer, Navarov. An entire company of SS men appeared at his house. Seeing them, I felt that the extermination was coming close. I took hold of my daughter and we went up to the attic. The Germans went wild in the engineer's house. At 2 in the morning, I heard voices and shots. I heard the voice of Yankel, the son of Avraham Sitner, who had married into the Ukrainians that they would let him live. I heard the voices of Esterman, Leah Wachbroit, and her two children. All night, I heard voices tearing the heavens. At 4 a.m. it got quiet. The Germans returned to the courtyard of the Nurov house, bathed, sang, and danced.

Two days later, the engineer's wife came up to the attic and asked me to come down since the danger had passed, since the Germans had announced with large notices that the Jews who were still alive were not in any danger. I came down with my daughter. I saw the great destruction. Books were scattered, ripped tallises and pillows. They gathered all of us. We were, approximately, 1,100

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people. The Jews did not believe the assurances of the Germans and knew well that their fate was sealed. I fled to Nurov's house and hid in the attic of his barn.

On Rosh ha-Shanah, I stole into the ghetto. I saw that about two minyans [=20] of Jews had gathered in one house. Two children, not from Korets, who had fled the slaughter in one of the nearby villages, happened to come by. They begged to be allowed into the place of those praying so that they could mourn the deaths of their parents who had been slaughtered in front of them with such great cruelty.

The few Jews of Korets lay on the ground, prayed the “Al Het” prayer, and asked for mercy. Their tears boiled and could melt a heart of steel, but they did not melt anything nor did they change their bitter fate.

[Page 429]

On August 11, 1941, the first slaughter in “small” measures took place. About 300 Jews were exterminated then behind the sugar factory. The murderers especially abused Rav Yankele. They brought him out naked to the outskirts of the city with only his underpants on in order to dehumanize him. The Ukrainians ridiculed him: Jew, where's your god? You don't have a god. The rabbi was silent and did not reply to his abusers. His blood mixed with the blood of the rest of the Jews of our city who were butchered on that day.

About a month later, a second slaughter took place - of men only. About 300 men were taken out to the Suchovulya forest and executed there. My father, Buzye Vilner, my brother, Vaveh Vilner, and my husband, Shunye Shapira, were among the murdered.

However, these were just a “preface” to the big “action” that took place on Erev Shavuot 1942. I was standing in the Brodsky house on Monstriska Street and looking out the window. I saw how they dragged our loved ones to slaughter. They arranged them in rows and brought them to the Feldman house. From there, they walked to Kozak. I saw Chaya Wernick with her daughters and her granddaughter, Reva Breindes with her sister, Chasia Rosenberg, “Zlata de Farberin,” and many, many others among the marchers on their last journey. Armed policemen walked on both sides. The victims walked in silence and did not utter a word.

I got lucky and got information about the coming slaughter. The sisters, Sonya and Fanya Barak, daughters of Chaskel Herzen, worked for a high officer in the Gestapo. They knew about the slaughter. The night before Shavuot, my good friend, Charkova, visited them (she was a Jew who was slaughtered, but not from Korets) and they told her about it. At 11 at night, Charkova came to me and told me the awful secret. As soon as I saw her, I knew that she had bad news. I told the neighbors about it, Rav Eliezer Yeruzlimski and his household, and everyone that I was able to tell.

My sister-in-law, Itta Shapira and her mother, Faiga Gutnik, and Eva Helfant, and I went to Avraham Brodsky's house. My friend, Sarah-Faiga Brodsky (of the Kaminsteins), lived there. Two German captains, who had revealed themselves as supporters of the Jews, lived in that house and we were certain that they would save us.

And, in truth, these captains did not disappoint. With their help, we found shelter in the basement of the

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Brodsky house. We were 11 people. Only the old Brodsky woman and her grandson did not come down to the basement. She said that they wouldn't kill her because of the boy.

My son, Aryeh, 2 1/2 years old, and I, Eva Helfant, Dvora Brotzka with her 5-year-old son, Faiga Gutnik, Eliezer Gilman, and the Shostak family sat in the basement. We constantly heard shots and shouts. We heard how the murderers came and took the old woman and her grandson away. The boy cried and shouted: Mommy! And the old woman talked to herself that she was going to die.

After the slaughter, we came upstairs. Moshe Kleiner and Yankel Peres were the first people I met. They told us that everything was over. The ground of the Kozak forest had swallowed 2,200 of the Jews of the city.

As we know from other testimonies, the Germans left a number of young and healthy women. Miriam Gloverman, who lived in the home of her brother, Eliezer Gloverman, happened to be on the field when they gathered the young women. I heard from her that the poor women sat on the ground from the morning until the evening, their hands crossed behind them, and they looked each time carts, full of the clothes of the killed, came from Kozak. Going back, they loaded these carts with the elderly and the children and took them to be executed. The Germans didn't take everyone at once and those who were taken to die parted from their loved ones, who still remained on the field waiting for their turn, with emotional, heartbreaking words.

After the first slaughter, I got a detailed description from Mrs. Fuchs of how they executed our loved ones. She succeeded in escaping from the pit, hid among the bushes in the thicket, and watched how they stripped the unfortunate ones of their clothes and brought them naked to the pit. They arranged them in rows in the pit and shot them. They covered them with a thin layer of dirt and placed a second row on them, and so on and so forth, until the pit was full.^[a]

When I went outside at 4 in the afternoon on the day of the slaughter, I saw the bodies of Yasha Spielberg and his wife, Fanya of the Shtilerman family, on Brezhdova Street. Apparently, they ran to escape and they killed them. We gathered them up and buried them.

In another corner, I found Shmuel Finkelstein, killed in the garden of his brother-in-law, Emanuel Citrin. He stood, wrapped in a tallit, in a deep and narrow pit. The Germans ordered him to dig the pit with his own hands, put him in it, and killed him. We gathered him up, too, and buried him.

What I saw in the Kozak forest is not possible to describe. Every week, we went to cover the pits because the foxes dragged the bodies of the dead out.

Original footnote:

1. Mrs. Fuchs was executed in the second slaughter. Return

[Page 433]

On the night before Shavuot 1942, at 4 in the morning, many shots split the air. This was the sign that the day had come - the day of the Jews of our city. And, in truth, the killers began immediately to gather our loved ones in order to send them to the death pits at Kozak.

I, a boy of 11, walked with my mother, Reiza. My sister, Chana, and my brother, Moshe z”l^[a], remained at home, hidden under the comforters. They were very young and my mother believed that the killers would not spill out their anger on toddlers and babies.

As a gentile woman told me after I was released, Ukrainian looters entered our house to steal the effects and furniture and, when they saw two children playing and having fun under the warm covers - they stuffed their mouths with rags and brought them to Kozak dead. And so their blood was mixed with that of their mother.

They gathered those brought for slaughter by the Feldman house - men on one side and women on the other. The children remained with their mothers. My mother, who in the last hours of her life apparently had the spirit of prophesy, turned to me and told me to escape to the men's side because her heart prophesied to her that my salvation would come through this.

And as my mother had foreseen, so it was: the Germans left 200 men and women alive, including 15 children, and I was one of them.

At 4:30 in the afternoon, we were set free from the concentration point and permitted to return - each one to his home. The Germans, desiring to hide their goals of murder and extermination, announced with great cunning in large ads that the murder event was over and that, going forward, they would not harm any Jew. And so, those who had hidden in basements, in bunkers, in pits, and in attics came out from their hiding places because no harm was expected for them.

I returned to our home. It was looted and broken. They had taken my brother and sister out an hour before. The bed was still warm from the heat of their small bodies. In an instant, old age jumped on me. I became an adult and suddenly understood the huge tragedy that had happened to me, in all of its unfathomable meaning, in all of its horror and terror. Just yesterday, these sweet ones had clung to their “big” brother, just yesterday I enjoyed the caresses and hugs of my mother,

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of which human language is poor in expressing the magnitude of their joy - and now all of them, all of them, had gone far away from me. I didn't even get the chance of a final hug of Chana'leh and Moishe'leh, to hide my face in front of them and pour out over them the last tears of parting. And now I have lost them, I remain alone, and none of my loved ones are with me. Life has run out for our house, run out.

I was still crying over my bitter fate and here, the flick of a whip chopped my flesh. A Ukrainian policeman fell upon me like a wild animal and his eyes sparked with anger and vengeance. “What's your problem, little Jew, that you are wailing, go away!”

I fled for my life and ran to Shkolne Street where my uncle, Abba Vidro, lived. I hoped to find him alive. It made me immensely happy that he had hidden himself in the basement of his house and the murderers had not discovered him. I told him what had happened to me and I also told him about the content of the ads of the Germans saying that no further danger to our lives was expected.

After two days, I found my second uncle, Yehoshua Rosenberg^[b]. I remained with them.

At first, the Germans kept their promise and put us to work. Most of those remaining alive worked in the quarry that was very essential for the German war machine. My uncle, Abba Vidro, and I worked in the soldiers' restaurant. He brought water and I split wood for heating. When he passed in the street, the Ukrainian criminals ridiculed and mocked him, whipped all parts of his body like one whips a disobedient horse, and every evening he would return home scarred deeply, bleeding everywhere. He didn't close his eyes at night because his entire body hurt and his groans penetrated my sleep, too.

And so we suffered together from Shavuot until the night before Sukkot. On the last night before Sukkot, I fell into a deep sleep because I was tired from the hard work and I lay on the ground as if dead. In my deep sleep, I heard strong knocking on the door. I was scared and, in the darkness, I tried to cling to my uncle, who was laying beside me as usual. I realized in great terror that he wasn't there, he hadn't returned from work.

When I opened the door, a “sheygitz,” one of my father's acquaintances, entered and gave me the “news from Job” [=tragic news], that the Germans had decided to finish off and eliminate the rest of the Jews of the city. Soviet prisoners had already dug the pits, the city was locked up tight, they were finding the Jews in their hiding places, gathering them at the Weitman house and from there - to the pits at Kozak. My uncle, too, was already captive and waiting to die.

[Page 435]

The “sheygitz” advised me to flee from the house immediately and find a hiding place. As I went out, I saw that the city was surrounded by masses of German soldiers and Ukrainian policemen. I didn't even consider fleeing from the city because well-armed murderers were stationed on all the paths and exits. In the darkness of night, I evaded them and went up to the attic in the house of Shmaryahu, the miller. I stayed there three days and three nights, without food or water. I was sustained by dry hay that I found in the attic.

Silently, I removed two tiles from the roof and looked through the gap at what was happening in the city. I heard a lot of shots and each time saw that they were leading groups of Jews in an unknown direction. And the conductor of this “work” was Mitka Zawierucha …

On the fourth day, I felt that my strength was ebbing. I decided to come down from my hiding place because, in any event, I expected to die, better to die together with my brothers and my sisters. Opposite there was a restaurant of “volksdeutsch” [=ethnic Germans]. They had taken no interest in me and had allowed me to eat leftover food. But one “shikse” recognized me and immediately informed on me to the police. The policemen went up into the attic, searched and searched and did not find me. However, the cursed “shikse” stomped her foot on the ground and shouted at the top of her lungs: a little “zhid” is hiding here! So then the Ukrainian policemen went up into the attic a second time, checked and rummaged in all the corners until they found me.

They brought me to Zalman Weitman's store. The headquarters of the Ukrainian police was on the second floor. Almost 200 people were squeezed into this store. The crowdedness was terrible. There wasn't even space to stand up. We stood crowded and cramped together like a coop full of chickens. They didn't give us food or water and there was no air to breathe because the store was closed, without windows, and was strictly guarded from the outside by dozens of Ukrainian policemen.

The Jews arrived at the Weitman house broken and smashed - living skeletons. Faiga Kaminstein was brought on a cart because she was wounded. And here a naked Jew was brought, his body in a sack. This Jew didn't say a word, but rather prayed.

The thick darkness in the vapor of the closed and sealed store tortured my thoughts. I glanced between the cracks of the door and saw that all was dark and peaceful. The streets were empty and silent. The houses of the city were closed and silent and I did not see or hear anything but silence and darkness in the streets.

The night of horror came to an end. The stars became pale, the east became silvery, and in the distance, one heard the voice of a man reading. Life was waking up. Even in our hearts hope was awakening,

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that perhaps at the last moment, a miracle would occur. The Jews began to pray the “Shacharit” prayers and waited with beating hearts for what awaited them.

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting noise of a motorcycle approaching us. The doors were immediately opened and we saw a large convoy of 20 carts. In a second, all delusion disappeared. We are going to death and annihilation. And then a horror, impossible to describe in words, occurred. The wretched people went out of the store, screaming and crying, fell upon each other's necks and asked for forgiveness. The Jews said the “Vidui” [=Yom Kippur confession] with a voice that split the heavens. The Ukrainians ordered us to get on the carts. A policeman sat in each cart, armed with an automatic weapon, and armed policemen on motorcycles rode on the sides.

When they put Leah Markovetskiy on the cart, a mighty “Ha-Tikvah,” the likes of which had never before been heard, burst from her mouth. We all joined her, we all sang - we cried together with her and the murderers stood surprised. The pleasant and unforgettable Leah! She was in her most beautiful years, in her blossoming and flowering. The flame of life still burned in her body with all her strength and fire. In remembering her terrifying song, in remembering her face distorted with pain, my soul shudders to this day. This is how Jews have been martyred throughout the generations and throughout time.

The death journey moved from the place. From Korets to Kozak was a distance of seven kilometers. When we passed through the city, we saw Ukrainians standing and crying. Yes, there were those, too! They mourned us. The carts moved slowly. We went out to the fields. It was a nice day, a pleasant light gilded the fields. The voice of a calf was heard in the pasture, birds sang, many bands of storks celebrated in the light blue sky, preparing to migrate to the lands of the sun, the children of the Ukrainians were engaged in mischief, and everything was rejoicing and happy - and here they are bringing people to slaughter. I am so young, I cried in my heart, why am I fated to die?

We got to the place. I sat in the last cart. The deep pits were already prepared. They ordered us to undress - men, women, and children together and to pile the clothes up in one pile. The wretched people stood silent and petrified. No one spoke and no one called out. In terrible dread, carved on their faces, they waited peacefully for their souls to be taken from them. They were shocked and deep in delirium that is beyond existence, beyond life. Rings of people stood at the mouth of the pit - sick, tortured, anguished, depressed, and broken.

The Kozak forest listened while sunk in its silence, contemplative and wondering, as if it did not believe the terrible tragedy that was happening within it. The trembling leaves on their branches were full of anxiety. My heart beat within me as if it wanted to jump from my body. I asked to be the first to run to the pit because you know the meaning of standing by the mouth of the pit surrounded by hangmen and seeing how

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they were leading your most loved ones, your friends, your age-mates, with whom you had grown up, how they were leading them to death, and your turn would come later?

After everyone had undressed, they arranged them in sixes. They ordered the first six to jump into the pit and to lie down with their faces down. There was a young girl from Zhytomyr among the first to go down into the pit. She asked in all innocence whether the bullets hurt. They shot at her a few times while she was still standing in the pit, before she had managed to lie down. Berel, the locksmith, lay next to her. He took a burst of bullets and was still breathing and fighting with death. Yehoshua Nudelman lay in the pit and recited “Shma Yisrael.” But he didn't manage to finish his prayer because the bullets punctured his heart. His six-year-old son lay next to him, his brain smashed and spilled over his father's body. Next to them lay Faiga Kaminstein and my good friend, Peretz Weitman (from the family of Leibel Komets). Peretz suddenly felt that he was alive, broke out of the pit with what remained of his strength, and fled to the forests. However, as they told it, he was murdered about three months later near the village of Hoshcha. Gedaliah, the driver, fled, too, at the very last minute. With my own eyes, I saw how the Ukrainian policemen shot at him, but didn't hit him. The good Gedaliah lived for several months in the forests, but returned to Korets and turned himself in to the police because he couldn't stand life without his wife and children.

I went down last into the pit, which was already filled more than halfway. I looked at the smashed bodies and I heard blurry voices coming from the depths of the pit. I almost drowned in the huge puddle of warm blood that flowed and flowed. The freshness of the shattered brains attached itself to my naked body. A woman who still showed signs of life lay next to me. Her body, distorted by death struggles, curved to the length and width of the pit. With every stream of blood that burst from her heart, pierced by the murderers' bullets, came a frightening cry from her lips that froze my blood. Her lips muttered broken syllables, which were strangled by the dying twitches.

I lay in the pit, leaned my head on my hands, and waited to die. Mitka Zawierucha approached me and shot me twice. The first bullet hit my right rib and the second - my left rib.^[c] Fortunately, these were light wounds because the shots didn't penetrate my flesh deeply. Losing consciousness, I fell on the dead, wallowing in their blood.

The police left the place immediately and gentiles came to cover the pit. Suddenly I felt that I was alive because I heard steps approaching the pit. I heard one gentile ask another: how do we cover the pit? The second answered: cover it with a thin layer of dirt, like you did yesterday, because they will bring new Jews tomorrow.

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It seemed to me that one gentile noticed that I was alive, but didn't pay attention to that. They covered the grave with a thin layer of dirt. I lay there and did not reveal any signs of life. With hard work, I made a partition so that I could breathe. When I heard that the gentiles had finished their work and gone away, I got up and stood on my feet. I was wounded, but I still felt I had strength and that I was able to flee.

Leibel Kaminstein lay next to me. I took his underpants off him, which for some reason the murderers had not noticed that he was wearing, covered my nakedness with them, and got out of the pit completely drenched in blood. I remained standing at the edge of the pit, which still teemed with life. The shattered limbs of the dead still quivered, twisted in their dying, and wallowed in their blood. I looked in the frozen eyes that watched me as if to ask why? The weak voice of Leibel Kaminstein echoed in my ears, whose last word was “Kaddish”! That they would say “Kaddish” in memory of his soul!

It became evening and I felt cold. Suddenly, a warm hand rested on my shoulder. I turned my head and saw the forest guard, with his trumpet in his hand, as he cried bitterly. And he said to me: flee, boy, flee! Flee to the forest because there are enemies waiting for you here at every step. Flee and stay alive.

I fled in the direction of the forest completely filthy with blood. I got to a junction and stopped there. I happened upon a policeman and immediately escaped to the forest. A cart approached me in which were three gentile men and three gentile women. The men told me to go to the nearby village, but the women winked at me and, from their winks, I understood that the men were setting a trap for me. So I wandered until I reached the farms in Klitsk [=Klyetsk]. I approached a house - and they chased me away. I went to a second house and a third and they chased me away from everywhere. However, one gentile woman broke out in tears seeing my wounded body dripping blood and brought me into her house, gave me a pair of pants, and rubbed my body with the fat of a young cow, good for healing wounds.

When her husband came, a potter by trade, he told me that there were four Jewish kids moving around in the forest and he showed me the route to get to them. I got there and found them. They were Zlata Nudler and her brother, Yossi, Chana Wasserman, and Chaim-David Wyman [=Weitman?]. They were the same age as me - 11-12. When I ran to them, they fled from me because they didn't recognize me and thought that I was one of the gentile kids. These children had already been living in the forest for a few weeks. During the day, they roamed among the trees and at night, they slept in the nearby Polish village of Khartsyzk. The Poles were nice to them and brought food to their sleeping place.

After two days, the children left me and I remained alone in Khartsyzk. One night, a boy from Korets came to where I was sleeping. It was Yesha Milrod. He told me that in the next village

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there were a lot of Jews. We agreed to go to that village. The four children returned a little while later. I remained with one of them, Chaim-David Weitman, for about a year until he was killed by Androvitzes who were pretending to be partisans. I lay in a shack sick with typhus and Chaim-David went to bring me a little milk. The murderers caught him on the way and killed him along with a girl from Selashtesh.

I remained alone in the shack, sick and abandoned. One day, they brought Yakov Pe'er, who was also sick, to me. And so we lay, the two of us, burning up with fever.

I had reached the limits of my strength. I was entirely swollen from hunger. My eyesight became blurry and I was almost blind. I recognized people only by their voices.

I lay like this for a lengthy period of time until Avraham Golander (who lives now in Rovno [=Rivne]), Mumah Esterman and Binyamin Anopolskiy (who live in Russia), Herschel Esterman, Yaakov Milrod (killed later at the front), and Moshe Charif (who is in Israel) came. They brought me food and, little by little, I regained my strength.

As the Nazi enemy was crushed more and more by the conquering Soviet army - they began to take revenge on the villagers under the pretext that they were aiding the partisans. In that manner, the Germans burned down 36 villages. Of all these villages, only one smithy remained, where Yisrael Fuchs and Yaakov Glozband (who are in Israel) worked. I joined them and helped them in their work for which we got food.

After a time, the two were recruited by the partisans as blacksmiths and I stayed with a gentile as a shepherd and farm worker. I lived with this gentile until the area was liberated by the Soviets in 1944. I was then 19 years old.

Original footnotes:

1. They murdered my father in the first two weeks after the Germans entered the city. The murderers gathered then 300 Jews “for work” and my father was among them. No one returned from “work.” Return
2. Uncle Rosenberg managed to escape the city before the second slaughter. He hid in a village near Korets, but was discovered by a gentile who killed him on the spot. My uncle, Abba Vidro, was brought together with me after this to the killing pit and was killed. Return
3. Regarding the end of Mitka - see the testimony of Itta Shapira. Return

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