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List of the Jewish partisans from Markuszow who, with weapons in their hands, fought against the Nazi murderers and their accomplices.

(In alphabetical order):

Iberkleid Yosef, “Yuzhek” (killed)
Iberkleid (His brother. Now in Israel)
Breinski Simeh (killed)
Gothelf Yerocham (killed)
Gothelf Yakov (killed)
Gothelf Yechiel (“Heniek.” Now in Australia)
Gothelf Chana (killed)
Wichter Shaul (killed)
Westlschneider Nathan (in Israel)
Teitlboim Yehoshua (From Plouszowice, killed)
Loterstein Michal (Now in Paris)
Loterstein Manye (killed)
Laks Veveh (“Wladek,” killed)
Laks Shmuel (“Dziad.” Now in Israel)
Laks Shmuel (Ben Meir, killed)
Morel Shloime (Now in Poland)

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Morel Itzchak (killed)
Melhendler Chaim (“Heniek,” killed)
Ettinger David (“Dodek,” killed)
Pelz Moishe (“Martchin,” Now in Israel)
Pelz Motl (“Michal,” killed)
Fishbein Hershl (“Yuzhek,” Now in Brazil)
Fishbein Itzchak (killed)
Fishbein Avrumtche (“Adash,” Now in Israel)
“Kozak” Yosef (killed)
“Kozak” Lozer (killed)
“Kozak” (name unknown. Killed)
“Kozak” Itzchak (“Yuzhek” from Plouszowice. Killed after liberation)
Kerschenblat Mordechai (“Martchinek.” Now in Paris)
Kestelman Tenochem (“Todek,” killed after liberation)
Kandl Tobeh (killed)
Kerschenblat Moishe-Noach (Now in Australia)
Brother-in-law of Rosenstein (Now in Israel)
Rosenberg Isser (killed)
Rubinstein Yerachmiel (killed)
Rubinstein Dovid'tche (“Stach.” Now in America)
Rubinstein Shmuel (“Sever.” Now in America)
Rubinstein Blumeh (Now in America)
Reich Meir (“Andzei.” Now in Israel)

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About ten years have passed since my terrible experiences in Markuszow itself, and in various hidng places in villages and forests, ten years since the pain and suffering of a spectator in front of whose eyes one's nearest and dearest were killed–so everything is all still so fresh in my memory, every deathly fright and experience so deeply etched into my heart, so that it is not especially a struggle to remember in order to put everything down on paper. The hell of Hitler shook us to our very core, and brought us to the edge of the abyss. It seems to me that I should not be allowing myself to keep within me those nightmarish hours and minutes where I struggled for my life. Every Jew, no matter where he is must, and is required, to feel and experience all that we underwent. May my mind and hand guide the pen, may it tell of our pain and suffering for generations, our heroic battle and tragic destruction. May the following words also serve as a yorzeit candle for the unknown graves of my nearest ones, my flesh and blood, who died for kiddush hashem.^[1]

It is hard for me to begin immediately from the days of the churban. I can still see before me our shtetl Markuszow, situated on the Lublin-Warsaw road. The main street, Lubelska, consisted of two rows of closely connected wooden houses along the length of the road. On one side of the street, the market separated itself off–a large four-cornered place with somewhat nicer houses. One of them housed the gemina^[3] office. The main street was almost completely inhabited by Jews who also had their shops there.

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Markuszow Jews dealt in anything you could want, but making a living from it–that's another question.

A big market day took place every Monday in my hometown. Farmers from the surrounding area came with their products. Incoming merchants and storekeepers used to put up their stalls, topped with a canvas roof, and lay out all kinds of manufactured goods, haberdashery, clothing, boots, shoes, and knitwear. The other side of Lubelski Street, somewhat away from the road, a large paved area with a wide sidewalk, buzzed like a beehive. Here the Jewish storekeepers bought butter, cheeses, sour cream, and poultry from the women farmers. A little farther away from the main street was the horse market, known as “targowice^[4].” Here they dealt with horses, cows, pigs and other livestock. Hard-working and sweaty Jews ran around trying to earn the little that they looked forward to all week. Really rich Jews did not exist in our town. Better situated–yes, but far from wealthy. How disappointed and bitter were the Jewish shopkeepers and dealers when it rained heavily on Mondays and crowds dwindled. All debts, expectations, and hopes for a good return were lost in the drops of rain that fell on that day…

After a market-day, the shtetl looked like an earthquake had struck. Street sweepers had to work long hours to return the shtetl to its normal appearance. And not only on the main street, but also in the side streets. Our backstreets were mud-filled all year-round. On one side almost only Poles lived along with a few Jewish families. On the other side, mostly Jewish families with a few Polish ones mixed in. Here in the side-streets lived mostly the tradesmen who worked hard and “earned little enough to be able to live, and too much to be able to die.” No, life was not easy for the Jews of Markuszow. Nevertheless, no one complained. An old Jewish habit: better to live with faith rather than sin against God…

The youth of the shtetl–exactly like the youth of all the shtetls in Poland, had no future, struggled for their survival, and dreamed of aliyah and emigration. It was especially hard when the Sejm^[5] tribunal frequently called for economic boycotts against Jews, which was commonly associated with antisemitic positions. Our parents clung to the pitiful existence that others wanted to take from them with force.

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The shtetl youth began to wander, some to Polish cities, mostly to Warsaw, some emigrating to other countries, and some to Eretz Israel, the land of hopes and dreams. Those remaining in the shtetl continued to live in the atmosphere and conditions described above.

There were three parties in the shtetl: 1) the trade union with a membership of only Jewish workers (other than a few organized Polish workers). Everyone knew that the trade union was actually the Communist party of Markuszow. 2) The left Poalei Zion–a worker's party that had a larger youth membership. 3) The Zionist organization that was, in my opinion, the largest in town. All the Zionist inclined Jews belonged to it. The parents were General Zionists. The youth belonged to Betar. When Zabotinsky^[6] left the Zionist organization, Betar and the General Zionists could no longer exist in one locale, and the latter had to find a new location. When two youngsters from different parties got together, an acrimonious debate would often ensue that did not always end peacefully. When, for example, Betar would celebrate a national holiday and bring in speakers from the central organization, the proletarian conscience of both worker parties–communists and left Poale-Zion–could not rest and with united efforts they would interfere with the enterprise. Obviously, this took place with blows and scandals, and whoever had more strength and perseverance was victorious…

This is how Jewish Markuszow existed with its pain and joy, with its hopes and desires–until the outbreak of WWII that put an end to all the obligations we had to each other.

The first days of the war were immediately felt in the shtetl as refugees from western Poland began to arrive in their journey to the east. From them we learned that German airplanes were attacking civilians on the roads, and that thousands of fleeing men, women and children were being bombed and strafed. These reports put fear in everyone. Nevertheless, it didn't occur

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to anyone that a little shtetl like ours, with no war industry, nor military objectives, would be bombed by the enemy. We were all shocked that the neighboring town of Korew was bombed at the beginning of the second week of war, on Friday September 8 1939, and was practically destroyed. The air raid on Korew was a warning to leave Markuszow, that it would share the same fate. The Jews in town began to leave for the nearby villages with their most essential and valuable things.

This careful approach was later completely justified. On Monday, September 11, a squadron of airplanes appeared over Markuszow and began to drop bombs. The civilian population began to run in panic, and was pursued by the German pilots who shot at them with machine guns. More than half the shtetl was destroyed in that air raid. The following day, a large number of airplanes reappeared and finished their work of annihilation. After the two murderous air raids, over forty victims were counted, mostly Poles, because the Jews of Markuszow had fled the shtetl beforehand. It should be emphasized that the bombs were not directed only at the official structures, the mill, the shul, the church and other public buildings, but also at the houses around the market. Not long after, German tanks appeared in town. Markuszow was now in the grip of Hitler.

As soon as the Nazis occupied Poland, Jewish life became chaotic, subject to the caprices of any SS officer or other German murderer. In some communities, they immediately began their murderous work among the Jewish population. Markuszow meanwhile endured Germans entertaining themselves with Jews, especially with the older ones they saw in the street. Our brothers went around beaten and full of fear for the immediate future. Young people, mostly men, were anxious that they would be grabbed for work at any moment where they would be beaten some more and humiliated. Many of them fled to the Soviet border that, at the beginning, was not hard to cross.

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Little by little the situation normalized, if one can use such a term. That means that we simply got used to the problems as the folk-saying goes: “Baheet zol men veren tsu vos men ken zich tsugevoinen.”^[7] Jews returned to the burned-down shtetl. They do what they can to earn a living. Several families live together in one small room, and the better-off begin to rebuild their houses.

Just as in other cities and shtetls in Poland, a Judenrat and security service (police) was established. The German gendarmes appointed a Markushow Jew, Shloime (Shliamke) Goldwasser as the elder, against his will, and ordered him to put the Judenrat together. At first, there were no SS or Gestapo in the shtetl, and therefore, we experienced no special problems. From time to time German military units would stop in town, quartering there. There were cases where individual German soldiers would come into Jewish houses and enjoy some friendly time there. However, during market days (Monday) if German gendarmes showed up, the Jews would quickly pack up and leave, and with terror in their hearts, wait for the devils to go back to wherever they came from.

When it came to money, the Judenrat always strived to accommodate German demands. To the credit of the Markuszow Judenrat, it must be said that they always found the right approach to dealing with the German murderers, and for a while, they always managed to avert many decrees against Jews that other shtetls could not manage. During all this, everyone lived in fear, because any German ruled over any Jew's life. The first winter of war passed with constant visits by the Germans who used to come from the nearby sugar factory where they were stationed, and would drive out the youth to various jobs. Our young boys would often return beaten, humiliated, insulted by the supervisor, a savage sadist. At that time, we would hear of individual Jewish martyrs, but it was not yet on a mass scale. It was hoped that we would survive the enemy's efforts.

Life in the shtetl carried on. Jews continued business, and some did not bad. Our tradesmen worked, each at his trade. Many Jews rebuilt their dwellings, and there were even some Jewish weddings celebrated. Love affairs were carried on, and it was hoped that Hitler's defeat would occur.

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We would get together quite often in private houses, discussing everything and everybody, talk about the latest war news that Poles we knew passed on from the secret radio broadcasts they heard. The bizarre news was the theme of such get-togethers.

Persistent rumors circulated that the Germans were preparing camps for Jews where they would be forced to labor under the worst conditions. This scared everyone. By summer, 1940, it was officially known that in the larger cities raids were carried out on work-eligible men, or the Judenrat itself supplied the required contingent of Jews. It was hard to get anyone out of the camps, and they were rarely seen coming back again. We also heard in Markuszow that in Warsaw and Lodz ghettoes were set up where Jews lived in terrible hunger and privation. A little later we saw living proof from there–starving and exhausted Jews who in mid 1940 got out of the Warsaw ghetto and wandered all over Poland looking for food. Living skeletons appeared then in Markuszow. We received them with open arms, fed them well, found them a place to sleep. After eating well and resting, they continued their wandering. Some of them hired out to farmers, just to get enough food and a place to lay their heads. As mentioned, the little shtetls were not yet familiar with ghettos. For the moment, they left us alone–but for how long?

In the spring of 1941, large formations of German military passed through Markuszow in the direction of Lublin. That Pesach we had our first Jewish victim. A seder was being celebrated in a house and it was lit up until late in the evening. A military unit happened to be passing through Markuszow, and they were suspicious of why there were still lights on in the house. The officer, a little drunk, entered. One of the young people present, Shloime Goldstein, the shoichet's^[8] son, was so overwhelmed and confused by the unexpected visit, he hid in a cupboard. The officer found him and killed him on the spot. Everyone was petrified by the event.

With the outbreak of the Soviet-German war, our conditions became significantly worse. The Judenrat was forced to supply a number of young people

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for forced labor in a camp by the Vistula. The Judenrat was later successful in exchanging this group for another where my brother, a 17 year old boy, also ended up. After a certain amount of time spent regulating the flow of the river, both groups managed to return home. Afterward, one after the other began to issue anti-Jewish decrees. First an order was issued that all Jews must give all their furs to German soldiers who were freezing on the Eastern front. After–an order that no Jew could leave his present home and travel away from the shtetl on pain of death. Nevertheless, few Jews were very upset by the latest decree. At night, through byways, they went to nearby villages in order to earn a little living, but every one felt the danger in the air. Through various reports, it became known to us that the Germans made frequent attacks on the Jewish population in the shtetls, shooting and murdering without mercy, and that they led old people and children to unfamiliar places from which they never returned. We awaited horrible events that made our lives difficult and desperate.

We learned from Poles coming from Lublin that in this old Jewish city a deportation of thousands of Jews had taken place. German gendarmes, Gestapo, and Ukrainians entered Jewish houses, dragged out the men, women and children, not sparing the old, drove them to the train station, loaded them in freight trains like useless baggage that one wants to get rid of, and sent them to an unknown destination. The sick and weak were shot on the spot. Even the healthy, for the slightest suspicion, or merely on a German's or Ukrainian's caprice, received a bullet in the head. The Poles further related that many dead Jewish bodies lay about in the streets, having been dragged out of their hiding places discovered by the Germans, their dogs and the Jewish police. The routing of the Jews in Lublin took two weeks. Very few were left. They were used for various tasks by the Germans. Even though the news seemed highly accurate, we were still reluctant to believe it; that you could kill masses of people. There was also a rumor that Lublin Jews were being sent to Holland, and that the Jews of Holland would be brought to Lublin. It didn't take long before we knew the terrible truth.

There was a feeling that we were on the brink of disappearing. There was no Messiah to challenge Hitler. Among the youth, the idea of resistance was beginning to ripen

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even though under the conditions in our shtetl this resistance could not take on any realistic form. After the liquidation of the Lublin Jews, they took to the shtetls in our powiat^[9] and then we understood that the tragedy would not bypass us. Every day that passed was a victory for life–but what would tonight or the following day bring?

The horrible day arrived. It was the last day of Pesach in the year 1942. We knew that two days earlier the entire Jewish population of Kurow was liquidated. A day later, the Judenrat was notified that tomorrow, one o'clock, all the Jews in the shtetl had to assemble at the city hall. Everyone could bring a backpack with things and food. We already knew (and more so, felt) what that meant. Everyone was filled with despair, disappointment, resignation. Most made peace with their fate, and determined to show up. In the meantime, they tried to talk themselves out of the tragedy. An 18 year old girl, who had just matured during the occupation, explained: “Let me pretend that I had experienced everything already, I'm now 70 years old, and it's time to die.”

This last night we spent in our homes, readying ourselves for the last journey. But not everyone obeyed the Germans and showed up at the assembly point. Many of the youth escaped from the shtetl. Entire families who had Polish acquaintances who promised to hide them, left for the villages. Everyone did what they thought was best, what they needed, and what opportunities they had to escape from the hands of the murderers. My two brothers (died with partisans) left for a nearby village. My sister and her husband (also died) went to a Polish acquaintance in the shtetl. My mother and I decided to present ourselves at the city hall, because I believed it made no sense to hide, especially since our Polish neighbors displayed no willingness to help. They had always hated us, and now there was no reason to hope they would help, especially since to do so meant the death penalty. The Germans not only threatened, but also carried out their verdict.

The following day at one o'clock, the Jews of Markuszow arrived at the city hall with their packs on their backs. There a band of German murderers awaited them under the leadership of the Nazi murderer notorious in our region, Gedde. I stood in the row near my mother. They quickly separated us.

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The Germans separated the young and the old. The young were allowed to go home, and the old, accompanied by Polish police, were sent to the shul building. Seeing that my mother was going along with the others to the shul, I stole into the row and took her away. My mother was very confused. I forcefully took her hand and led her out of the line. A Polish policeman saw it all, but turned his head away. I was lucky–my mother came home with me.

During the first deportation, the Germans demanded “only” 500 Jews promising thereby that they wouldn't bother the shtetl anymore. We believed them because we wanted to believe. What choice did we have? We told ourselves that if they got the number demanded, the rest would be saved.

The [older] Jews taken away spent the whole night in the shul building. Heart-rending scenes played out there. The children wanted to see their parents feeling that it would be the last time. Disregarding the danger, many children tried to get their parents out from the place you don't come back from. There was however the opposite case. Mendl Ettinger, a member of the Judenrat, took his mother out of a hiding place and brought her to the shul being deeply convinced that he was doing the right thing, because a younger person would not have to go in her place.

The following day, when the unfortunate ones were to be taken away, the remaining ones hid fearing that if there were not enough they would begin grabbing people in the street. But there was no need to be afraid. Our parents were taken to the train station from whence they never returned. The weak and sick were shot along the way. The Jews of Markuszow later went out to gather the dead bodies and bury them. Little by little the hidden Jews crept out of their hiding places and returned to their homes. There was not one Jewish house that was not missing people from its family.

After the first deportation, an order went out that all the Jews in the shtetl had to move to that part of Markuszow where the majority of Jews used to live before the war. There were also attempts

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to create a work office for the youth of Markuszow believing that its establishment would prevent a further deportation. Such a workplace was established in the village of Kloda, 5 km from Markuszow, where they dug stones in a quarry. But there was no calm to be had. Those who worked, as well as their wives and children, hoped every day that they would not take them from the work directly. For five weeks we lived between hope and despair until another order came requiring us to assemble at the city hall again. This time most of the residents left town. Only a few tens of Jews showed up. They were all taken to a work camp in Konskowola. A small number remained in the shtetl and some managed to escape back to Markuszow.

Our family was split up again. My mother and two brothers went away to a village at the second deportation, while my sister and brother-in-law and I went to a Pole they knew in town, because it was easier to hide in smaller groups. For two weeks we lay hidden in an attic and in a horse stable. But the SS realized that the number of Jews in the shtetl had greatly lessened, and the day after the second deportation, they began to search and spy along the roads that led to the surrounding villages, and whenever they encountered a Jew, they shot him on the spot. Not far from our hiding place, some Ukrainians found a sick Jewish girl who the parents either couldn't or didn't want to take with them. She too was shot on the spot. The shot echoed in our ears fearfully close. We were certain that someone had pointed to our attic, and we would be quickly killed. In the evening, the Ukrainians left the shtetl and it became a little quieter.

A little while later, Jews snuck into the shtetl in the nights, took care of various things, and did some business with the money they had acquired thanks to the dirt-cheap but worthwhile things they had sold, anything to survive the critical period. At the beginning, many Poles behaved favorably to the Jews, even warning them when the Germans were coming. The outspoken antisemitic position came later, dictated from above, that is from the Polish government in exile located in London.

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We acquire weapons

On the fifteenth day of hiding in the attic, my younger brother came and told us that there was a farm not far from Markuszow where they were taking on Jews for work in the fields under the supervision of Germans. We decided to abandon the horse stall and move over to the farm. There we found a great many Jews from our shtetl and from surrounding places. The mood among them was depressed, because they had a supervisor who used to afflict and persecute them with sadistic pleasure. This degenerate would beat them for the slightest thing. Along with this, there was the constant fear of being taken away from this place–because where else can one be sent from here other than into the arms of death. We realized this was a devil's game, because no matter how much zeal the Jews would demonstrate, they would receive the stick from the overseer. And not just this. We felt that, after doing our work, we would in any case be condemned to die. Everyone posed the question: why try hard, why use up all our strength when we are sentenced to death. We returned to our hiding place in the loft of the horse stable.

At night we used to steal into the shtetl, meet with Jews who had been in various hiding places, and get reports. One man told us (it was later confirmed by other Jews) that in certain shtetls in the Lublin powiat, Jews were living in their own houses, conducting business, and were not experiencing such calamities. We left our hiding place and went to those places where Jewish life was still carrying on. First we arrived at a village. After–in the little shtetl of Kamionka where my remaining family members arrived. We rented part of a small room from a poor childless family, and established ourselves there. We lived from what we sold, and what we could still sell: a suit, better underwear and things of value. We had little left at this point because we were impoverished by the war. During the deportations we were left with practically no means to live. We did not stay long in Kamionka. We left for another village in the hopes of a better economic solution. Also a village was safer than a shtetl. We believed that in the village,

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we could work with the farmers, eat well and earn some money for the future. We had forgotten, however, that the harvest was over, and that there was little work on the farm. My sister could sew a little, so she would earn a little from the women farmers. When the time came to dig potatoes, everyone had work, although it was exceedingly strenuous, because we were exhausted and spent after what we had endured, and from poor food. Only the thought that we would finally get something good to eat and maybe save a little for even worse times, gave us strength and endurance. We would return from work dead-tired and with callused hands. We worked like this for the whole potato season. But we did not succeed in benefiting from the accumulated potatoes with which we were partially paid for our work.

On October 11, 1942, a decree was issued that all the Jews from Lublin powiat should present themselves for Belzec. A day before, my two brothers, Yankl and Yerocham, received a guest–Mordechai Kershenblat (now in Paris). They began to talk secretively, and we understood very well what that meant. My brothers were always saying that in the event of a final deportation, we would take off to the forests with weapons in hand, and what would happen would happen. Mordechai already had a pistol that he had taken from a German whom he had lain in wait for behind some bushes, and taken his weapon after he killed him. He threw the dead body of the German into the river. Now the three young men went to the village where the family Kozak, an old acquaintance, lived. There they found two youths from Markuszow whom the farmers had promised weapons to. They succeeded in getting several rifles. One of my brothers went off with the armed group. My sister and her brother-in-law went off separately in order to hide in a different spot. My mother and I went to my oldest brother who was hiding not far from us in order to consult with him about what to do next. I was of the opinion that we should present ourselves to Belzec like all the other Jews, because with the little money we had it was impossible to survive. My mother had a different opinion however. She argued that rather than being sent off to a concentration camp and dying a slow death there, it was better to be shot in the freedom of a field. We understood that there was no chance we would survive the war. There was only a question of what kind of death and when.

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We parted from my brother. It was pitch black outside. An autumn rain was pelting down, as if the weather were weeping for our fate. On the way, we encountered my father's brother and his wife and children, and a good friend of theirs. We all headed over to a farmer they knew, and stayed in his stable until morning. He came to tell us to leave as soon as possible, because he was afraid.

In the village of Bogucin we knew many farmers with whom we had done business for many years. But most of them refused to take us in declaring that they were afraid of the Germans. It wasn't until evening that we came to the house of a poor farmer that my mother had sold a kerchief to before the war. We sat there for a while and asked if we could spend the night for which we would pay him. He hesitated a bit but still agreed. We spent several days there. It turned out however that the farmer with whom we had stayed before had followed us and knew where we were staying, because my sister-in-law by chance had gone to see him and had asked if he knew where we were, and he told her–and she found us right away.

We were now three people in the hiding place. My brother tried to get weapons for himself. But our landlord, the farmer, got truly frightened that it was known in the village that he was hiding Jews. He told us to leave for a few days, until the suspicion disappeared, and after, we could return. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go at that time. In a field, we came on a partially built barn, and stayed there for a few days. My mother would sneak out at night to a village to bring us food. Once she told us that a colonist from western Poland, a fanatic antisemite who used to persecute my mother in pre-war times when she was doing business in the village, had sniffed out that we were hiding in the area, and he was jumping out of his skin to find us. We immediately decided to leave the barn and go back to where we had previously lived. There we could not find a permanent place and for a week we trudged along–where we spent the day, we did not spend the night.

There was no choice but to return to the farmer who had promised he would take us back as soon as it quieted down.

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But we could not stay more than a few days with him. He forced us to leave saying he was afraid.

Homeless again, alone again–without a goal, or a direction. One of us said: Go to Wole, there are forests there and a village as well. So we went to Wole, and to our great joy, we found many Markuszow Jews there who, exactly like us, did not want to present themselves for expulsion. Many Jewish families from the shtetl had made themselves accommodations in cunningly hidden bunkers hard to discover. The people felt so secure and free in the forest that they walked around freely during the day. It gave the impression of a free autonomous Jewish neighborhood, as if there were no Germans in Poland. At night they used to buy food and bring water from the surrounding Wole and Meszno villages.

Wole farmers used to come to the forest to chop wood and freely watched the Jews' movements. The residents of Wole village were always voting for the Left, and their behavior to Jews was much better than the farmers of the whole surrounding neighborhood. But in a time when their lives were endangered by the presence of hidden Jews, a few helped the Germans search for Jews. More about this later.

In the Woler forest we met my sister and her husband who was armed. Several men who had their own weapons used to go get food for themselves and their families. Some of the women supported themselves in the village, and my sister also had a promise from a farmer that he would prepare a bunker for her in his stable. Here we also learned about the death of my younger brother, Yerocham, and how he died.

He, my brother-in-law, and a few other Markuszow Jews left for the shtetl one night in order to get to the highway to Przybyslawska. Suddenly they encountered two armed Poles on the road who identified themselves as members of the Polish workers' party (P.P.R.) which helped Jews. A pleasant conversation ensued between the Jews and the two Poles. Suddenly one of them wrenched the rifle from my brother and shot him. The rest of the group was so stunned they ran away in great panic. It turned out that the two were actually

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a reactionary band of bandits that ambushed Jews. My mother was devastated by this sad news. She went into spasms of crying in that farmer's hut where we were hiding. Involuntarily, some bitter words slipped from my mouth that I regret to this very day.

“Your tears are useless, because the same fate awaits us all. It may come to pass, mother, that you will have to mourn all your children.”

That is how the bitterness and despair of my younger brother's death spoke from me. There was a basis for skepticism with regard to the hiding, because the “Jewish autonomy” could not persist for long in the forest. The farmers from around there had begun to say that all the Markuszow Jews were in Wole, and that they, the farmers will end badly because of them. And they began to drive the Jews from their hiding places. Rumors spread that the Germans were preparing a big attack on the forest.

At the Kozaks in Wole there was a large group from Markuszow they called the “Kozaks” (because of the name of their landlord). My brother, Yankl, was among them. Because of some differences of opinion, he left the group, a group of ten that had hidden in the places in the Lubliner powiat they had come from. Among them there was also a girl, Tobe Kandl. Several weeks later they all met their doom in a tragic way. One of the Poles alerted the Germans that there were armed Jews there. They surrounded them and shot them all. The only one who was able to save himself was Mordechai Kershenblat.

At that time, Jewish prisoners-of-war appeared in our forest (we called them “Plenne”). They were Jewish soldiers from the Polish army who had fallen into German captivity in 1939. They had worked in Lublin, at Lipowa 7^[10] in the workshops created for them. In the early years, they benefited from their status as prisoners-of-war and received certain rights. After the Jewish population was deported from Lublin, they were declared ordinary Jews, and they knew it meant their death. So the majority of them acquired weapons, escaped from the camp, and succeeded in getting to our forest. It was of course their boldness and courage that led to their escape from the camp.

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My brother, Yankl, after leaving the Kozak group, joined with other youth in Wole who had their own weapons. My brother-in-law was also in the group. We also heard that a certain Tolka, from the Red Army, and his companion, Alexei, had escaped from German imprisonment and were in the forest. Our armed youth from Markuszow congregated around Tolek, a non-commissioned officer of the Red Army, good-natured and sentimental, a truly Russian person. Even the Polish famers demonstrated sympathy for Tolek. The whole group, the Markuszow youth and the escaped prisoners from Lipowa, represented a certain organized strength that could not be denied. Our youth really began to idolize Tolek, saw in him an authority that had to be respected by all. He was chosen as commandant of the group, and my brother, Yankl, (“Ivan”) became his representative. The PPR organization in the village recognized the partisan group as their comrades-in-arms. Now they began to talk about sabotage and diversion actions against the Germans. The farmers got more weapons. They also dragged in from somewhere an old, rusty machine gun, and when, one day, the 40 armed men marched by on the Garbow-Wole road, the farmers later told of a detachment of 400 partisans.

While I was hiding in the forest, I did not have the chance to see my brothers. The oldest, Yechiel, was traveling with another group of armed youth. Meanwhile the rumors of a big raid the Germans were preparing for us were getting stronger. Just at that time, I suffered from a really painful foot rubbed raw by the too-large boots I was wearing. My sister-in-law reported to me that a farmer in the village was ready to hide two people, and proposed we go over there because there was a separate room. Never mind about the painful foot, I never contemplated leaving my mother in the forest. My sister, however, convinced me that it would be dangerous to stay in the forest with a bad foot, especially as we were expecting the Germans. That same evening, my sister-in-law's brother led me to the village.

I later learned that after I left, my mother moved over to the bunker of the Goldschlager family. A division of German army surrounded the forest and shot every Jew they met.

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It should be noted that they didn't shoot women, and left them free in the forest. After the raid, my sister-in-law went to the forest, saw my mother and relatives, and brought back greetings from our near ones.

We had nothing to complain about with the farmer we hid with. In general, we sat in his house. If someone showed up, we quickly went into another room, which resembled more a closet.

After the first raid, we saw through the little window in our room a large number of German soldiers approaching the forest where our partisans were. They encircled the whole area with machine guns. Our hosts, a half-intelligent farmer couple that had fled from the Russian occupied eastern territories demanded that we leave the house, because the danger was closing in on them too. Seeing our despair and sorrow, he said to his wife, “Putting them out on the street is putting them into the enemy's hands. Maybe it would be an idea for them to go to the stable, but each one of them should dress in your clothes so as not to arouse any suspicion. Even if they were seen from a distance, they would think it was her going to the stable.”

We did just this. We got into the farmer's clothing and one by one we went from the house to the stable and from there to the barn where we covered ourselves well with straw. We stayed there for a whole day. Throughout, we heard the sounds of machine gun fire and rifles echoing. We knew that there was a heavy battle for life going on among our dear partisans. They were fighting for their survival, for my mother, my near and dear ones, and townsfolk. Yes, our feelings did not fool us. When we returned to the farmer's house in the evening, he told us about the horrible slaughter the Germans perpetrated in the forest. We promised to pay the farmer if he would take us to the forest at dawn.

On the Meszno side, hard by the forest, a farmer hut stood. We went in there, and the Pole told us that yesterday the Germans had discovered all the bunkers, and many people were shot on the spot. Only the bunker from the Rubinstein family, and the Lubliners (the escaped prisoners-of-war) remained. The farmer also told us that we wouldn't meet up with anyone in the forest, because a commission was to come. I couldn't understand why a commission was necessary. But returning to the farmer in daytime

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made no sense. It meant risking your life. So we decided to wait here. Soon two youngsters appeared from Komienko who we knew well from the time we had been hiding in that shtetl. We began chatting with the boys, when suddenly, my sister appeared. She was dressed as a villager so as not to be recognized as a Jew. She told us that her husband had made arrangements with a farmer for a few days (well-paid, of course), and on the day of the raid, she was lying in bed wrapped in the bedcovers, and could not move, because on that day, the farmer's house happened to be full of people. Now she has nowhere to stay. A farmer in Wole promised her a bunker, but it came to nothing. While digging the hiding place some German had come along and asked the farmer what he was digging. He replied that he was preparing a potato cellar for the winter. The lie succeeded. The Germans left, but the farmer became too afraid to hide Jews. I related to my sister how it was going with us, that the farmer was not keen on letting us stay, not ruling out that if we suggested one bunker for us all in the barn, he might agree, if he was well-paid. In any case, I gave my sister my address. Suddenly, my brother, Yankl, came in the door accompanied by Tolek, the same one who in our imagination had acquired a legendary persona. I had not seen Tolek yet. Now this partisan commander renowned in the whole area was standing before me. Both were carrying small arms and were in a great hurry. Our happy reunion was short-lived. They left right away. They gave us to understand that it was not safe to be in the forest today. We learned where they and their group were to be found (among whom was my sister's husband). Nevertheless, we went to the forest hoping to find my mother, or at the least, learn of her fate. We believed that she had gone to the farmer, Boguczin, where we had previously stayed. In the forest we met my oldest brother with a few more partisans. We described the situation to him. My brother promised to take us back to the farmer, and see to arranging everything.

Suddenly two youngsters came running from the village, Staroscin, and breathlessly related how some farmers had captured about 30 Jews, and they were all being driven to Markuszow

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to be handed over to the Germans. They were begging for help to rescue the Jews and save them from certain death. My brother said that it was essential to get in touch with Tolek's group who were near Meszno, and it might be possible to free the Jews with our combined forces. Tolek was however against the action. The partisans themselves were also despairing and crushed by yesterday's German raid. Nevertheless, some of them went off to help the captured Jews, but found no one on the road.

The forests around Wole were too small to support a group of partisans for an extended time. The Germans had good information about our partisans, and we could expect a second, bigger attack to finally liquidate the partisans.

We all began to feel as of the earth was shifting beneath our feet. Remaining in the forest was risky. The tactic of changing to another house or hiding place every day stopped working, because in the groups there were a number of girls some of whom had weapons. But most importantly, most of the partisans fell in love with the girls, and separating now was not so easy. The young men and girls wanted to share their fate together. Even Tolek fell in love with a beautiful girl and did not want to be split up with her. We actually met Tolek's group in the forest. They were all tired, dejected and poorly armed. Not everyone had a rifle or an automatic pistol and ammunition belt. Outside, German murderers were prowling, armed to the teeth, and a not overly friendly Polish population, although on meeting with the partisans they adopted a comradely attitude. It was hard to distinguish friend from foe. We parted from Tolek's group and left with my older brother, Yechiel's group. We entered the forest again to go to the bunker my mother had been hiding in. There in the forest we met a small group of gloomy and despairing Jews who had succeeded in saving themselves during the attack. But they could not flee far, because no one would take them in anywhere. So they returned to the forest, and tried to reestablish themselves. We were cursed–because of our appearance and with bringing tragedy to the farmers' homes that served as a refuge for us. Hunted like dogs, we came again to the same place where so many of our own were killed just yesterday. We were all certain that

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the same fate awaited us the next day. But as long as we are able, we will continue the struggle for survival. So we were now standing by the fire, blackened by smoke, and cooked our food. In the bunker, we found mother's coat and basket. We were certain she had been killed in last night's slaughter. We learned, however, that during the attack, my mother had left her coat and basket behind and gone to the village of Tomaszowice where we used to live. She went off with another woman. There the farmers caught her and handed her over to the Polish police in Jastkow. At the time, a group of mostly Markuszow Jews was working in the Jastkow court. My uncle's fourteen-year-old nephew who worked for the landowner happened by chance to see my mother under arrest. She managed to give him the little bit of money she had on her, and said: “Take the money, my child. Because where I am being taken, money is of no value. It will be of use for you.”

From Jastkow my mother was taken to Majdanek where she had to endure all kinds of torture before she breathed her last.

My sister said goodbye to us, and returned to her previous hiding place. That was what she agreed on with her husband. I, on the other hand, went back to my place in the company of my brother and his group. My brother gave the farmer a little money and promised to repay him better if he would agree to dig a bunker for us in his barn. As soon as the farmer gave his assent, my brother left to look for a temporary place for us until the hole was ready. Finally we moved into a bunker similar to a den. It was impossible to stand upright there for any length of time. We had to always be seated on a bit of straw. The hole was dug in the barn that bordered the stable. To get to it, you first had to go into the stable. The farmer himself, had to work hard to get to us to bring us some food before he could reach our hiding place.

A few days later, my brother-in-law came to the farmer, and it took a long time before he could convince him who he was. My brother-in-law

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pleaded with the farmer to allow my sister to come, paid him more, and one evening my sister came to our bunker. There was only place there for two people, and we explained to the farmer that he had to enlarge the bunker and fit it according to our instructions. Since it was the eve of an important Christian holiday there was no talk of the farmer carrying out the work. For the same reason, he didn't want to borrow a shovel from a neighbor so that we could dig it out ourselves because his shovel was broken. We had no choice, and we dug with the broken shovel all day and night until the hole was wider and deeper. Now we could make it a little more comfortable, although another person arrived. We constructed a bunk on which four people could lie, and if necessary, five.

Tolek and his group, not knowing where to put themselves, decided to make a bunker in the forest, store food for a longer time, and to be careful. In that bunker there were many young people from our shtetl, and the prisoners-of-war from the Lipowa camp, and Jewish youngsters from Lublin, who had no weapons. Those of us hiding in the farmer's stable did not approve of the flight to the bunker, because it was winter, and every step out of the forest would leave footprints in the snow and betray the spot. My sister argued however that we all have the same chances of dying, and since her husband was in the forest she wanted to share his fate. My sister was ready to move to the forest, but on New Year's Day, my brother-in-law, and my brother, Yankl arrived. They told us that there was a bunker for us in the neighborhood of Gutanow. Tolek's bunker was not suitable, because they were not careful there, people went in and out, and it was impossible to hide from strangers' eyes. My older brother proposed to the younger one that he leave the forest and come to him, but without his girlfriend, because the farmer did not want any women for any price. Obviously, it applied to my sister who my brother-in-law explained could not go back with him to the bunker, because they would all be in danger. My sister however had her back up, and no longer wanted to stay with us.

They were all together in the bunker for a week. Then my older brother went back to his place, the second brother and my sister and brother-in-law

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to the forest in Tolek's bunker. This time we parted from my sister and brother forever.

Sad days arrived. We spent 24 hours a day sitting in the bunker, almost without moving. Pictures of the recent and far past floated by: dear faces, which were tragically ripped away, revealed themselves with full effect. It is hard to come to terms with the fact it all really happened. Fear for the survivors stares from every corner.

Food is brought three times a day. We try to determine the mood of the farmer and his wife from their faces, because we always suspected them of hiding things from us. There was something unspoken in their few niggardly words. We were constantly asking for news of the outside world, whether they heard anything of Tolek's group. They tell us about the unlucky Jews betrayed by the farmers to the Germans; of desperate brothers of ours who have no place to go and who surrender themselves to the murderers. They often share political news, news from the front, and sometimes a newspaper to read. We begged the farmer to bring something to read, but he refused. He didn't want to borrow it from anyone, in order not to arouse suspicion. Early one morning, we heard too much activity in the barn. We quickly extinguished the lamp, and tried to remain quiet, and unmoving. We heard movement in and out of the barn. Since no one had brought us our midday meal yesterday, we did not know what was happening. It wasn't until evening that the woman brought us something to eat. With fear, she told us that somebody had revealed to the Germans that she was hiding Jews. She suspected her woman neighbor who was with her Christmas Eve just when my sister-in-law happened to be there. She had begged my sister-in-law to leave the bunker that very day and help her get ready for the holiday. My sister-in-law even made her aware of the danger of this help because on Christmas Eve no one comes to visit. Nevertheless, on that day a neighbor did show up, and saw my sister-in-law at the window, and she surely informed the Germans, because just as they arrived with Polish policemen from Kamionka, they immediately asked where there were Jews and began to look in the closet, among the clothes and in the attic. Then they took the farmer out of his house, and she was certain he was going to be shot. Fortunately,

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the oldest of the Polish police was a good acquaintance of her first husband, and seeing her in such fear, he promised her, as he is a Pole, that nothing bad would happen to her. They then went into the barn, searched, tried to push a bayonet into the earth, and even approached near the entrance of the bunker. We were in great fear of our hiding place being discovered if not for the Polish commandant succeeding in distracting the Germans. The unwanted guests finally departed, and the farmer's wife firmly decided that if any of our near ones showed up she would tell them to go back where they came from.

Several days later, the farmer's wife brought us food and the terrible news that the Germans had discovered Tolek's bunker. They could not take the bunker for a whole day because the partisans bravely defended themselves. The Germans then made holes in the bunker and poured in gas and smoke. No one knows exactly how they met their end, because no one survived. As the farmers related, after digging up the bunker, all were found dead. At the same time, the Germans shot the remaining Jews who were hiding in the forest on their own.

At that time there was a case where a Polish family in the area that was hiding a Jewish family was shot, and their household goods went up in smoke. All this kind of news devastated us completely. Now we knew that none of our nearest and dearest were alive. In our despair we agreed on the worst: If in the next little while no one from our family showed up, we would present ourselves to the nearest police station, and put an end to this kind of life. These sorts of thoughts we did not even hide from our landlords, even though lately they had behaved very favorably to us. As it later became clear, this change was the result of the Soviet victory at Stalingrad where the Germans experienced their first painful blows. Goebbels gave an alarmist speech and it seemed that the war was ending quickly. Our landlords, in their naiveté, believed that after the victory over Germany, the Soviets would reward them for hiding Jews, and they tried to dissuade us from such an unjustified step.

Meanwhile a happy rumor was going around: In the Jastkow region,

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there was a group of armed Jews. We were gripped with the hope that one of our near ones was present there. We hoped and waited. One evening we heard sounds of someone trying to enter our bunker. By the noise, we figured it was one of ours. First a pair of boots appeared at the opening, then riding breeches, and I was sure that it was my older brother. I cried out, “Yankl,” but when his whole body came into the bunker it turned out to be my brother-in-law, Isser Rosenberg. He looked really depressed. In a broken voice, he told us that Yankl and Chana were dead. They had died in Tolek's bunker. This news hit me like a thunderclap. I convulsed in tears and all the experiences of the last years issued from those cries. I don't know how long it lasted, but when I had calmed down, my brother-in-law began to tell us of how this tragedy had happened.

A group of five men, occupants of Tolek's bunker, were sent out by the commandant to go to the villages in order to find food for the forest dwellers. When the five did not return so quickly, Tolek sent out another five to find out what had happened to the first group. My brother-in-law was among the second group. Luckily, both groups met in the forest, and happily began to go back “home” to the bunker. They were all shaken seeing the bunker which now resembled a big grave, especially since it was there that they had hoped to survive the horrible times, and instead had met their death. In sorrow, the ten men threw away everything they had with them, and went off into the woods where many Markuszow Jews were still living. Now they chose another tactic. They organized another place in the forest, but did not leave it during the day. Not until night did they go out looking for food, but at a distance of 10-15 km from the hiding place. My brother-in-law further related that if someone did not return during the night, he remained in the house a whole day in order not to arouse the suspicion that there are strangers wandering around the neighborhood. He was now in a group of ten men, among them eight from Markuszow, one prisoner-of-war, and one Pole. All of them had by chance been saved from death because they had been sent out for food for the residents of Tolek's bunker. My brother-in-law also met my brother, Yechiel, who had gone out to find out what was happening. He had absolutely no idea that

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such fearful attacks took place in the area. My brother-in-law warned him not to dare to come here because of the serious danger. He must wait until things settled down a little. And they agreed on a place and time to meet again. My brother-in-law left us a little money and told us to give the larger part to the farmer. We, to the contrary, proposed that he should do it because it would make a greater impression on the farmer, and he wouldn't deny a partisan. He then went to the farmer's house, gave him the money and promised to reward him well if he kept us longer. Our landlords, understandably, readily agreed to let us stay.

A few days later, my brother, Yechiel, came with a friend from his group. Together we now mourned the death of our brother and sister and were convinced that if they had taken our suggestion to stay with us in our bunker, it was possible they would still be alive. Now all we had left was to mourn their young lives.

We transmitted to our brother the time and place where he could meet my brother-in-law's group in order to combine them into one unit which numbered up to eighteen men. And so it came to be. As commandant they elected a certain Yeager, one-time prisoner-of-war, and my brother-in-law as his deputy. Other than this group there was another Jewish group in the forest made up of only prisoners-of-war, and a few youngsters from Kamionka. At the time there was no Polish partisan movement of any significance. There was just an underground movement of the PPR (Polska Partia Robotnicza) (Polish Workers' Party) that called on the Polish people to revolt, and performed small diversion actions. There were reactionary groups that did not recognize the Jewish resistance organizations and in general held that Jews in Poland had no right to exist. In keeping with this position, they murdered every Jew they came across. They also wanted to destroy the Jewish resistance groups. The Polish population was divided into two camps: one–under the influence of the reactionary Polish government in London. It was their position that now was the right time to get rid of the Jews once and for all, and that not one of them should remain alive. Against this, the left wing socialists and

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the communist workers' movement took into their battle ranks all elements without exception that wanted to fight against the German occupier. They gave the Jewish fighting groups moral and practical help, although some of them were not able to free themselves of the prejudices against Jews–prejudices that had been rooted for generations. In many cases, they ruled too negatively on the actions of the Jewish group, not taking into consideration the special circumstances in which they found themselves. There were also cases when our Markuszow group lost the trust of those who were the only support in these savage times that called for heroism. Because on the one hand you had to show readiness and capability for friends and sympathizers in order to carry out courageous acts against the a German occupier and his authority, and the group really did carry out such bold attacks on German interests. So one evening they set fire to the big dairy in Garbow that was on the main highway not far from a German station. This dairy supplied butter for the Germans, but in the flames a lot of documents that detailed how much the surrounding farmers had to supply also burned. This fire not only brought real harm to the Germans, but it also helped the farmers of the area because for some time they were not forced to provide products for the enemy. From time to time raids also took place on German posts that always ended successfully. Our people did not usually suffer any losses. On the other hand, it was necessary to demonstrate a strong hand against the outlaw Poles who helped the Germans in their annihilation work, handed over individual Jews to the murderers' hands who actively participated in the deportation of the Jewish population. A merciless, forceful hand was necessary with regard to the German collaborators. We Jews had nothing to lose at that time, because all that was beloved and dear had vanished. Our closest ones were dead, our homes were destroyed. But the farmers still had something to lose, and they knew that you could not trifle with Jewish partisans, that there is a power that demands blood for blood. The Jews hidden in the villages felt somewhat more secure because the farmers knew that behind every hidden Jews lay a connection to the partisans. Our partisan group also had to have enough food and money because they had to pay the poorer farmers for hidden Jewish families.

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Our heroic fighters knew how to take care of themselves. They used to get food from the richer farmers, especially by confiscating pigs that were destined for the German contingent (those pigs had rings in their ears). A monthly contribution was levied on the landowner afraid to oppose the Jewish partisans' wishes. There was one landowner, the Leszic nobleman who refused to pay the sum allotted to him, and brought in Germans to guard his property. Our partisans did not count on this and organized an attack. Because of a premature shot, the undertaking failed. My cousin, Hershl Fishbein, was wounded in the stomach. The partisans retreated. But when the Germans left, the partisans constantly attacked his holdings. The nobleman and his son would hide.

PPR also used to order the Jewish partisans to liquidate individual Poles who served the occupier, that the party deemed harmful and awful. Although we were sitting in the bunker, we knew exactly about the slightest activities of our heroic guys, either via the reports that my brother-in-law and brother used to accurately pass on during every visit, or through our landlords, the only connection between us and the outside world. Sitting in the bunkers we followed our partisans, among whom were found our closest relations, with our minds

We sat in our bunker like this until summer. Meanwhile, the neighboring farmers began to gossip that partisans were coming to our landlord too often, and that he must certainly be hiding Jews. The suspicion among the farmers was so strong that it began to threaten serious danger for the farmer and us. One evening we left the bunker we had been living in for months. We went to the Tomaszow region in the company of my brother and brother-in-law to look for another hiding place. We went on foot, because we didn't want to take a carriage. Sitting so long in the bunker had produced an effect on our legs. We didn't have enough strength to go ten km, and my sister-in-law declared she could go no further. We met a Pole in the village of Wole who belonged to a Jewish partisan group. My brother decided to install us with the same Bogucin farmer we hid with after the first deportation. My brother, however, was not successful,

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and we went on further, even though I was very tired and footsore. We came near the village, Tomaszowice, going on footpaths through the wheat fields. Suddenly we saw two people coming toward us. My brother and brother-in-law got their weapons ready. As the people approached, one of them called out a password and my brother answered. It became clear to us that these were people from the same organisation. It turned out that they were members of the B.Ch. (Bataliony Chlopskie–Peasant Battalion) who had a favorable attitude to Jews and often helped. The four combatants talked and we entered the village of Tomaszowice.

Meanwhile, my brother-in-law got me to a farmer where Hershl Fishbein was also hidden. He had been wounded in the unsuccessful attack on the Leszic property. After spending a few days there, my brother-in-law, with the help of the partisan, Moishe Pelz, brought me over to a bunker where there were already two Jewish families, acquaintances of Pelz. They all survived the war.

It became apparent now that, after having been sitting so much in one spot, having to walk 50 km had significant effects on my health, especially my legs, which were as swollen as blocks of wood. With great effort and pain I dragged myself to the new bunker, which in the final analysis, was only 2 km from my previous spot. My legs hurt for a long time, and for the two weeks I was sitting in the new “home” they gave me much pain. Then I learned that several families had left the bunker my sister-in-law was in, and I decided to move over there. After having been in the new spot for a couple of months, two Jewish women came over: the sister and sister-in-law of Shmuel Rubinstein, who is now in America. These two women had been at the Jastkow property where dozens of Jews were slave laborers. When the Nazi annihilation actions reached there as well, the two women managed to escape. It had been planned in advance when they met with their partisan brother. The Jastkow Jews were taken to the Poniatowa^[11] extermination camp, and they succeeded in escaping. We remained here until liberation. The two women were, Blimeh Rubinstein, and her sister-in-law, the wife of David Rubinstein (Teitleboim). Her husband

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was taken from Jastkow to Poniatowa. He managed to escape from there with his father. The two women were placed in the bunker. Our landlady was unhappy about this and she began to neglect everyone. She argued that she could not serve so many people, she had little food. But we were not bothered by her neglect. We hoped that we could maybe save another two Jewish souls.

A little while later, David Rubinstein arrived at our bunker. He stayed until the partisans could find a weapon for him.

We were four women now in the bunker. Everyone had someone close in the partisans. We were always worried about the fate of our fighters. Our days and nights in the hiding place were long and lonely. We understood the insecure ground on which they stood due to the spy network the Germans had set up. By chance, they succeeded in uncovering three Poles who had the job of spying on the partisans, and handing them over to the murderer's hands. These three men went around to the villages asking about Jewish fighters. One of the farmers, a friend of the partisans, immediately informed them of this. In one village they succeeded in uncovering the Poles. They were given a hearing, and having no other choice, they admitted that they were on a German assignment. They understandably received a well-deserved punishment.

In winter, 1943, several Jewish partisans were passing through the village of Lugow, a nest of the antisemitic A.K. (Armia Krajowa–Home Army). The Poles attacked the partisans, and Itzchak Morel of Garbow fell in the battle. He was shot by his one-time Polish schoolmates.

The Jewish fighters would come quite often and tell us of their successes, of their connections with various Polish fighting organizations, and about the suspicions and worries that were upsetting them. After they left, we would be seized by sorrowful thoughts, and moods. “Will we ever see each other again?” Danger lurked at every step, and at all times. And we ourselves,

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buried alive in the bunker, felt the flutter of death at the slightest rustle or movement coming from outside. We were convinced they were coming after us, that someone from the village must certainly have noticed that we were brought food, and had betrayed us to the Germans. Or maybe we spoke too loudly?! If we heard the German language, we felt certain that they were coming after us. In those moments, we would stiffen with fear. We didn't start breathing again until they had left the village. At such times, a ray of hope entered our living grave: Maybe we would survive after all?

We tried to drive away the difficult mood and days by talking about our relatives, friends, acquaintances. They were actually the whole shtetl, our Jewish Markuszow–the living as well as the dead. By that time, already mostly dead. In those moments we forgot that many of them were already dead, and told many stories about them, anecdotes and funny happenings. And as much tragedy as there was at the time, it was not free of comic moments. We would often, for no special reason, break out in hysterical laughter, or spasms of weeping. Yes, our nerves would give out and we were too weak to overcome them.

There was nothing to read. But we had agreed that the farmer's wife would buy a paper every Sunday. She did in fact do this, and according to German information and statements that they are moving the front lines, we understood that the war was going against them. We imagined the picture of Germany's defeat and our liberation. About the latter, we used to frequently talk a lot, although more than once we doubted we would live to see that moment. It was hard to believe that we could once again be free to move about, go to the movies, or theater. It became painfully clear to us when we heard free conversations and carefree laughter from outside that this free world outside was closed and forbidden. The longing for that lost world was particularly hard at those times–and everything appeared hopeless and tragic.

As much as possible given the conditions, we tried to observe the rules of elementary hygiene. We got toothbrushes and toothpaste. Once a week, our landlady had to get us a bowl of hot water. For this treasure,

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we had to conduct a long debate and negotiation with the farmer. He argued that he didn't understand at all why it was so essential to wash, since we weren't doing any dirty work. “My wife does all kinds of dirty work, yet she only needs to wash once every few months.” Even with such a powerful argument, he was unable to change our minds, we would not give up the water, and so everyone got a bowl of warm water once a week. After washing, we changed our clothes that we used to wash in the farmer's house. Two of us would leave the bunker, and do the work in his house.

We only yearned for fresh air. Even though we knew how dangerous it was, we would steal out and fill our lungs with fresh air in the quiet and cold of the night. The stillness around us was sometimes broken by the baying of a dog. Once at the surface, we always held our heads high, looked at the star-filled sky, and began again to dream about God's little world, and asked ourselves for the countless times, “Why is it forbidden for us to live and breathe. Are we worse than other people or nations?”

In the month of November, my brother-in-law fell tragically. Not far from the Wole forest, a group of partisans went off to lodge at a farmer's. While someone was cleaning and manipulating a pistol that he had taken from a Pole in Markuszow, the weapon discharged. The bullet went through the hand of the partisan who was cleaning it, and through the heart of my brother-in-law, Issar Rosenberg, who only cried out, “Oi,” and fell down dead. We were only told about this occurrence much later, after our persistent questions about his absence. He was one of the frequent visitors to our bunker. The partisans would give us various excuses: that he was off on a meeting with the representatives of the party, or that he had an important task to do. Until our landlord, who had gladly received my brother-in-law, complained to the partisans why they were keeping his fate a secret. Since he was known in the region as a bold and courageous fighter, the partisans spread a rumor that he fell during a skirmish with the Germans, His heroic deeds were talked about in the whole area. On more than one occasion, he would enter a village with several partisans, and no one dared to oppose them. For a while, the Germans put a high price on his head.

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When we got the terrible news, we knew that it represented a great loss for us. Of all the partisans, he was the most concerned about our welfare, and provided everything needed. When people came and told us he fell in battle with the Germans, I also went along with that version, even though my brother had previously told me about the true events and the reason for his death.

That same evening, they took us away from the bunker, because there was a suspicion that they knew about our bunker. One farmer, although well known by my brother, told him that he knew Jews were being hidden in the area. We moved to another location in the village of Wole. The bunker belonged to a woman farmer, a friend of the party, and it served also as a hospital for sick and wounded partisans. There was room there for eight people. As we later learned, there was also a sick partisan in the woman's attic recovering from a bad case of Typhus. He was very weak and had to stay in the hiding place until he regained his health.

As I already mentioned, the commandant of the partisan group was the Jewish young man, Yeager. He had escaped from the prisoner-of-war camp in Lublin, on Lipowa 7. At the beginning of 1944, the Polish workers' movements united. A common front was created from the RPPS (Robotnicza Polska Partia Socjalistyczna–Polish Socialist Workers' Party), PPR (Polska Partia Robotnicza–Polish Workers' Party, Communist), and other progressive elements who with their armed groups mounted a unified people's army (Armia Lodowa) that was known as AL. Because of the approach of the front line to Lublin with the victorious advance of the Red Army, larger partisan divisions began to operate in the area. Especially active were the groups on the other side of the river Wieprz, who had a tight connection to Moscow. With the help of airplanes, they received weapons, food, medicine, and military instructors. Soviet military airplanes dropped paratroopers very often to help the partisans.

Because of the new developments on the front, our Markuszow

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unit allied itself with the united partisan forces and began to operate far from our hiding places. We were saddened by the knowledge that their frequent visits would become rarer, and who knows if any of them would be able to come. But luck was on our side, because near to us a Soviet military landing was supposed to happen and our men had the job of being there. The commandant, Yeager, my brother, Shmuel Rubinstein, my cousin, Hershl, and several Polish partisans, among them a woman, appeared unexpectedly in our bunker. Women played an important role in the partisan movement as military liaisons. They also distributed illegal literature calling for the fight against the Germans.

Clearly, the unexpected visitors did not come with empty hands. Aside form food, they also brought encouraging news about the situation at the front. Only Yeager was not happy, and he openly said that he had a bad feeling. According to him, it seemed that terrible days were coming. Precisely because the Red Army was getting closer, the Germans would at all cost clear the way for their retreat and would clean out the partisans. The situation was becoming more complicated all the time, and there would be a lot of victims. Speaking thus, he drew a picture of how he would fall on a hill that would become his grave, and on a stone would be inscribed, “Here lies Moishe Yeager.”

The partisans went to the Opole region to wait for the landing. They bade us good-bye. The next morning we heard shooting. In the evening we again had a visit. My brother and cousin brought along with them Shmuel Rubinstein, wounded in both legs. They also informed us that Yeager was dead. He died in the following way:

Upon leaving us, the fighters went off in the direction of the Wole forest, and during the day, established themselves in a house in the little village of Meszno. That same day, the Germans had searched the village before the partisans arrival. Feeling certain that the Germans would not return soon, the partisans left the house and spread out in the forest. Suddenly a woman called out, “Germans!” It seems that somebody had revealed that there were partisans here. Yeager immediately ordered them to take a position behind the hill, and opened fire from there on the attackers. When he ran out of ammunition for his rifle, he reloaded with a new magazine, and poked his head up a little above the hill. A German bullet struck him in the head.

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The fighters told us more. Shmuel “Bochan”^[12] had bad headaches and had lain down in the house where they had been earlier. As soon as he heard shooting in the forest, he wanted to run there knowing that among the tall dense trees you were more secure than in a farmer's house The Germans saw him, shot at him, and wounded him in both legs. He fought back with all his strength, and dragged himself deeper into the forest because luckily the bones in his legs had not been hit. Not until after the slaughter, when my brother and cousin went through the forest looking for wounded comrades, did they find Shmuel in a bad way, and brought him to our bunker. They left him with us, and went back to the forest again to look for other partisans. Shmuel Rubinstein, lying in the forest got very sick, had a high fever, and according to all indications, he was now suffering from Typhus. We were not able to get him the medication required. The only relief from his pain we had was a piece of cotton and disinfectant. We cleaned and washed his wounds without having the slightest idea of how to do it. For fourteen days he lay in high fever. He became so weak, also because of the dwindling food supplies, that we were afraid for his life.

Meanwhile, we got more bad news: While crossing the river Wieprz, our partisans were attacked by Germans, and we paid with two victims. The dear boys who fell were David Ettinger and Veve Laks. It seems to me that in that encounter, my cousin, Hershl Fishbein was wounded for the second time. He was also shot in the leg, and stayed in our bunker until liberation. That same winter, there was also a badly wounded partisan, who came from Belzec, in our bunker. His nom de guerre was Stephan. He overcame the wound and other illnesses, got well quickly, and went straight back to his unit.

We remained in our bunker without money or medicine for our sick and wounded. Fortunately, our current landlady was not one of the greedy farmer women, for whom just the thought of becoming rich forced them to risk their lives and hide Jews. She did this out of purely human sentiments and good will to help the suffering and oppressed. She risked her life in the belief

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that she was doing the right thing. As a long-time member of the Polish Communist party she was free from racism, and behaved with tolerance toward Jews and anyone regardless of religion or nationality. She selflessly bore the heavy burden and gave aid in such terrible times, and didn't complain about her fate. After the liberation, she was murdered by her political opponents, the antisemitic and reactionary AK. I can still see before me the visage of this gentle and noble woman.

In spring 1944, when the Red Army was already on Polish territory, and their victorious advance was certain, a heavily wounded partisan came to our bunker-quarantine station. His name was Berl Bereza and during the battle at Vromblov^[13] he was wounded in the head. We were now five people in the bunker–three wounded men and two girls. (Blime Rubinsein and I). My sister-in-law, and David Rubinstein's wife had left for the partisans at the beginning of spring.

The echoing sounds of Soviet artillery now reached our ears. The red Army was in the Lublin neighborhood at that time. We were drawn to go outside, to the approaching liberation, but we knew that without news from the partisans, we didn't dare to take such a step. The recovered partisans were uneasy in the bunker. Disregarding our warnings, they often went to visit farmer acquaintances, party comrades, and they would bring us news about the German retreat. Once, leaving the bunker, they saw several Germans. At first they were afraid, but it was not long before the Germans began to take off their uniforms, their backpacks, and asked for the way to Lubartow. The partisans immediately returned to the bunker, and described to us what they had just seen in the village. The next day, we learned that the Russians were in Lublin already. Several days later, some comrades came to us and together we first went to Lubartow where we met with most of the Markuszow partisans, and with the Parczew partisan group under the leadership of Yechiel Grinspan. After spending several days in Lubartow, we all went to Lublin.

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The underground and persecuted A.L. was now in power.

The people's militia in Lublin was mostly comprised of ex-partisans. The then bustling Lublin took in the remaining barefoot, starved, tortured Jews from the forests, bunkers, and the Aryan side. Their eyes were full of fear even though they walked around freely in the lively streets of the city. The emptied-out Jewish homes, the frequent news about the murders of survivors, and the horrors lived through brought the She'erit Hapletah^[14] to Lublin where they were concentrated mostly on Lubartowska Street. The ability of Jews to recover from tragic experiences was also now wonderfully demonstrated. With extraordinary energy, the survivors began to rebuild their lives. Jewish committees and children's institutions were established. The renewal of a devastated Jewish life had begun.

1. Martyred for being a Jew Return
2. Term for the Holocaust Return
3. Polish community division Return
4. Targowisko, Polish, market Return
5. Polish parliament Return
6. Leader of the right-wing Revisionist party Return
7. Literally, “May we be protected from what we can become used to.” Return
8. Ritual slaughterer Return
9. Polish district Return
10. Lipowa 7 was a notorious forced labor camp in Lublin from 1939-1944. In November 1943 all the Jewish inmates were executed. Return
11. Located 36 km from Lublin Return
12. Nickname, Stork. Return
13. Phonetic transliteration. Unable to find actual location Return
14. Remnants of the survivors Return

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