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During the first days of the German-Polish war, Nazi airplanes bombed Markuszow, and almost half the shtetl was burned down. Our house too went up in smoke. If not for the efforts and hard work of the Markuszow firefighters with the help of the civilian population, not a trace of the shtetl would have been left.

The homeless Jews, and even those who still had houses, left the shtetl en masse and went to the neighboring villages. After things calmed down, we returned to Markuszow and lived under the occupiers.

Several months passed like this, until a decree was issued that all the Jews remaining in the Jastkow gemine were to go to a labor camp. Only young people had the right to work there. I, along with my brothers, Hershl, Itsl, Getzl, and my sisters, Feige and Perl, went to the camp. Our father and mother remained at home. We worked in the fields from sunrise to sunset. German and Polish overseers were not stingy with their blows and insults. There were also cases where they shot a Jew for the slightest transgression of the posted work rules. Terror and fear dominated the camp, and created despair and bitterness in us.

I was fifteen years old at the time. It's possible that my youth was responsible for the thought of escaping from the camp to be born in me. All my senses told me that it would be very hard for me to overcome all the violence and persecutions, or to look on as the exhausted Jews were persecuted. I entrusted my brothers and sisters with my plan to escape. They urged me not to try this, because the Germans would shoot me.

The urge to run away was, however, great. Taking advantage of an opportunity, I ran away

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from the Jastkow estate. By day, I hid in the fields and forest, at night–stole into a stable and slept there. But before that, I went to a farmer I knew, and begged for a piece of bread. Most of the time, I was not refused. I lived for several months like that. I used to sneak into Jastkow a few times, and meet with my brothers and sisters.

Nathan Westlshneider–in the time of the occupation

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himself for transport to Belzec. They both begged me to go with them. “What will be our fate, will be yours.” After wavering for a few minutes, I decided not to go with them to Belzec. I parted from them with an uneasy feeling. Who knows if it would be for the last time?…

Then I went off to the Jastkow estate to my brothers and sisters. I managed to get into the yard unnoticed. There I learned that my two older brothers, Hershl and Itsl, had been transferred to another estate called “Wigoda.” We were sitting there telling each other about our mutual problems, when we heard the sound of machine gun fire. A riot had broken out in the camp, and it soon became clear that the whole yard was surrounded by Germans and Ukrainians, so that no one could escape. I was stunned. Nevertheless, I began to look for an exit, but everything was surrounded. It was clear to me that if they caught me, an escapee, my life would be over. I had no choice but to rely on fate, maybe it would also this time, as in other times, avail me.

I was staying with my youngest brother, Getzl, and my two sisters. The previous night was spent in fear waiting for what the morrow would bring. In the morning an order was issued that everyone had to immediately leave the estate and board the waiting trucks. Where to–no on knew. Accompanied by blows from Germans and Ukrainians we climbed aboard the trucks, and after several hours, we came to a camp called Dorohucza, not far from Trawniki. When we arrived at the camp, we were driven out of the trucks with blows, and led to the prepared barracks, fifty men in each. Since it was night, they ordered us to go to sleep.

In the morning, they conducted a roll call. We were arrayed in columns, counted, and sent off to work. What did the work consist of? It turns out that, six km from the camp, there were peat bogs. Beginning at dawn, we dug out the peat, cut it into cubes, and set them out to dry. Everyone had to meet their quota, or they were murderously beaten, and later–shot. Going to and from work was transformed into hell. We often had to run the six kilometers during which the Ukrainians used to goad the dogs that accompanied our march. More than a few were bitten by the enraged beasts. We used to march three in a row, and for the whole

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time, we had to maintain our ranks. Food consisted of 100 g of bread and a half-liter of watery soup with a little bran. After a day of hard work, we returned to the barracks and lay our weary bones on the wooden planks. We became apathetic and indifferent. Everyone thought we would not get out of there.

The thought of escaping did not leave me even from this well-guarded camp. This time, however, I thought about how to bring along my brother and two sisters. For several evenings we looked for a way to flee, but nothing came of it. Disappointed, we returned to the barracks. My sisters began to try to convince me to try my luck alone, and get out of there.

One dark night around one o'clock, I snuck over to the last barrack near the barbed wire, and crawled on my stomach over to the gate. I lifted the wires with the greatest care, and was ready to crawl to the other side when suddenly all the lights in the camp came on and bathed the area in light. At the same time, I heard a shot, and a bullet passed through the bottom of my jacket. I began to crawl back, but I felt the jacket burning. I quickly took off the garment, and half dead, went back to the camp where my brothers and sisters had already mentally bade me farewell knowing that the shooting and the reflectors were meant for me. I quickly got undressed and lay down in my spot as if nothing had happened. The Germans quickly carried out searches in the barracks, found nothing suspicious, and after a few shots meant to scare everyone, the camp quieted down.

Two days later, I again tried my luck, but this time–from work. We used to take the harvested peat in carts to a place where they were cut up and dried, and at the end of the day we would turn them upside down and leave them overnight. Then we lined up in columns in order to march to the camp. When the carts did their last round, I crawled under the upside-down cart, and lay there for about a half hour. When it became quiet, a sign that everyone had returned to the camp, I crawled out of the hiding place, and began crawling on my stomach in the direction away from the camp. It became dark. I began to walk through the fields. After about ten kilometers, very tired and hungry,

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I came to a farmer, and asked him where I was, and which way led to the Lublin region. The farmer was a good man. He answered everything, and also gave me something to eat–bread and pork. I openly told him where I was coming from. He took me outside and by the stars, told me which direction to go. I walked all night. At dawn, a farmer I met told me I was not far from Lublin. Nevertheless, I was afraid to wander around during the day, and I hid in a field. At night, I was transformed again into the eternal wandering Jew, and about two am I came to the village of Plaszowic, went into a stable, and spent the last hours there. But in the morning there was no place to go, so I stayed in the stable. The insecure, and afflicted life that I experienced before I went into the Dorohucza camp, began again. I spent my nights in a different place than my days, and received food from more than one farmer's hands and was able to sustain life.

I lived like that for several weeks, until the Germans issued a strict order that any Pole who hides a Jew would be immediately shot and his household goods burned. Those Poles who would bring Jews to the authorities or reveal their hiding places would be rewarded by the German forces. Those Poles who still harbored a certain sympathy for the persecuted Jews were frightened by the German threats, knowing that no good would await them for helping a Jew. The more evil Poles, and there was no lack of them, were tempted by the promised kilo of sugar and the reward for a Jewish head. The danger for Jews in my situation was now greater and more serious. I therefore decided to go to my brothers who were working on the Wigoda estate in order to discuss what to do next. At night I went to the estate, came to a farm hand I knew, and asked about my brothers. He replied that my brothers had been taken away. According to reports, they were shot along the way. Shattered by the news, I left the estate and wandered with no goal or direction. One thing was clear to me: better to die in a field than return to a slave-labor camp.

Wandering like this at night I came to the village of Moszenki, went into first best stable and was looking for a suitable spot to lie down. Suddenly I heard a voice in the darkness:

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“Nathan, is that you?”

I approached the figure and recognized Dan Fishbein, my good friend from Markuszow. We hugged and began to dance with joy at the meeting. He described his experiences. I relayed to him everything that had happened to me lately. Then a whole host of questions about what was happening in Markuszow to the Jews there. Dan knew that the shtetl was now without Jews. They had been taken to an unknown destination. But in the forest there were some young Jews from the shtetl belonging to a partisan division. They had acquired weapons, and were now leading the life of forest heroes. This news greatly cheered, and surprised, me. I told Dan that we must at all costs get to the partisans. Dan agreed with me, arguing that if we made it to the partisans we would be saved, because the farmers would not want to help us, and even if they did, they would betray us to the Germans at the first opportunity, or kill us outright. We began to search for the Markuszow group.

This was in autumn 1943.

Dan Fishbein and I wandered over fields and meadows looking for a sign of the partisans on those dark nights. We wanted to join up with them and fight together. We slunk through the nights like shadows afraid to speak a word to each other. Suddenly we heard a noise, and marching people appeared not far from us. One behind the other. We thought they were Germans, and we stopped in fear. Nevertheless we were curious to hear what language they were speaking, because we were not completely certain they were German. Tense and stressed, we heard a few words.

It seemed to us they were speaking Yiddish. We still couldn't believe that Jews had marched by. We strained to hear, holding our breath–and again Yiddish words came to our ears. Not being completely certain they were Jews, we followed them–but at a distance of 500 meters. We were warmed by the simple thought: maybe these were the Jewish partisans the farmers used to talk about with great respect? A while back

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some farmers promised us that if they encountered the partisans, they would tell them there were two youths from Markuszow looking for them. It was a lucky chance that we ourselves should meet them in the field–perhaps our wandering would end?

Nevertheless, we did not dare approach the armed group. We still were not one hundred percent convinced that they were those we had been seeking for so long. Following their footsteps we went on for about a half hour, until they came to the village of Moszenki. Then we saw lights come on in various farmers' huts–a sign that the partisans had entered. I stole into a stable, stood there for a while, and began to get closer to the window. Through the windowpane, I clearly heard the guys speaking a hearty Yiddish, and I had no doubt anymore that they were ours. I wanted to go back to Dan who was waiting not far from me, and give him the news, but one of the partisans noticed me. Suddenly I heard a shout. “Stoi! Padnie!” (Stay! Down!) Before lying down on the ground, I saw a rifle aimed at me. On the ground, I said, “Swoje!” (One of us).

The partisan ordered me to get up and come closer to him. My heart began to beat rapidly, because the joy at meeting the partisans was spoiled by the uncertainty: are they really Jews? I was still speculating that they could be disguised Germans who often used to fool hidden Jews and later murder them mercilessly. But spending a lot of time thinking about it was not permitted. It was now too late. Had I made the slightest movement away, the partisan would have shot me immediately. With fear and hope I began to get closer to the armed man, who probably recognized me as a Jew, because he immediately asked, “Amcho?” I answered with a question, “Are you the Markuszow group?” He replied that in his group there were a lot of Markuszow youth. And still with his rifle, he

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led me into the Polish hut where I found some youths I knew well from my hometown: Moishe Pelz, Velvel and Shmuel Laks, Shmuel Rubinstein (“Botchan”)^[3], Mordechai Kershenblat (“Martchinek”) the Morel brothers from Garbow. Among them, there was also a greater number of prisoners-of-war who, during the Polish-German war in 1939, fell into German captivity, and after having been in several camps, ended up as slave laborers in Lipowa 7 in Lublin.^[4] They were trained soldiers who organized the escape from Lipowa 7. Some of them arrived in the Lubliner forests and joined up with our Markuszow partisans. Now I found the whole company seated at the table. We embraced and wept for joy for a long time, and talked a lot about our experiences. We ate our fill for supper, something we had not been able to do for years. The night passed in happiness, and the time came to set out on the road. I asked about the most senior in the group, and they pointed out an escaped prisoner-of-war called Yeger. We both approached him about joining the partisan group. To our great astonishment, we were denied. Yeger's reasons were that we had no weapons, and the partisans had no spare ammunition. We had to wait, the commandant said. If the partisans succeeded in getting more weapons, another partisan group would be established, because smaller units were more secure. In any case, Yeger promised, we would be the first to get the weapons, as soon as they could lay their hands on some rifles. The situation was, in general, tense. The Germans were persecuting us, and if we showed up in a larger group, the news would soon get to the Germans that 300 armed Jews were marching through the village. Meanwhile, seeing our crestfallen faces, Yeger consoled us, that they would set us up with a local farmer, and nothing bad would happen to us until they returned from the forest, and that they would probably take us with them to the forest.

And so it really happened. The partisans left us with a farmer who had to take care of us, provide food, and anything required. They made the farmer responsible for our fate. On one hand, we were happy that our wandering was coming to an end, and we were more or less established in a stable place. On the other hand,

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we could not so easily digest the fact that after so much searching for the partisans, we had to separate again–and who knew for how long. Our insistent demands to be taken to the forest were met with no answer. There was no choice but to remain forsaken again. The partisans left, and we stuck ourselves in the hiding place waiting impatiently for their return.

We didn't have to wait long. A few weeks later, my townspeople returned, knocked at the farmer's door, and the first question asked of him was if we were there, and how was our health. At that time, we didn't get to see each other. They were probably on their way to a mission. But after they left, a young farmer came to inform us that we had to report to headquarters in the village of Wole. We ran there as quickly as possible. They didn't detain us long there, and gave us weapons. They immediately began to teach me how to handle the rifle. I became a partisan!

It's hard to describe the details of forest living in a camp of armed fighters who lead a partisan life, and an underground war with the hated enemy. We used to derail German trains, and shoot at the fleeing soldiers. At night we also attacked German patrols–and always with success.

Our membership in the partisans also meant membership in the PPR–Polska Partia Robotnicza (Polish Workers' Party) the only political movement in Poland at the time that helped the Jewish youth in the forests, arming them, and fighting the Germans. Our entire Markuszow group, plus the prisoners-of-war, belonged to the PPR whose headquarters were in the village of Wole. We would meet other partisan groups in the forest practically weekly among whom there were many Jewish youth. Our group from Kamionka distinguished itself particularly. There was also a Polish partisan group from the village of Przypisowka. Thus there were partisan groups that ruled in the whole region. The Germans were afraid to show themselves in those areas.

Several months later, we received an order to go to the Parczew forests where a large partisan group from the People's Army (Armia Ludowa) was being concentrated. Our group went off to the agreed-upon spot, but before we got there we had to engage in a battle with the Germans. In truth, we didn't spare any bullets for the

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Nazi murderers. But several heroes from our ranks fell, among them the Markuszow Jews: Velvl Laks, and David'tche Ettinger, as well as the young Yosl from Staroscin who particularly distinguished himself as a fighter. David'tche Ettinger had been wounded in the legs, but seeing as he was in danger of falling into German hands, he shot himself. When night fell, we got away from the battle with the Germans, and went off toward our assembly point. We arrived in the Parczew forest the following day. There, a massive military camp was revealed to us with the necessary equipment, and most importantly–thousands of partisans preparing for the decisive battle. A big celebration was taking place there with the participation of general Rola-Zymierski,^[5] colonel Moczer (Myetek)^[6]–ex-officer of the Republican army in Spain, and the Jewish partisan leader, colonel Bolek Alef^[7], and a Soviet captain with the name of Zemsto (Revenge). We also met a group of Jewish partisans from the Parczew neighborhood and from the shtetl, Wlodawa. Our Markuszow group was attached to the Fourth battalion led by captain Zemsto. The battalion, exactly like the others, was divided into platoons. Our guys remained in one platoon. We bonded with each other, demonstrated loyalty and aid, lived as brothers. We spent several weeks in the Parczew forests.

In the meantime, our army was growing. More and more Poles joined the partisan ranks. There were no more Jews in the forests. Not because they were afraid to live a partisan life, but simply because there weren't any Jews left. At that time–end of 1943, the Germans had completed their bloody work of annihilating the entire Jewish population and very few were able to escape their criminal reach. The only consolation was that the partisan army kept on growing. We were a serious force. We captured many villages and settlements. The partisan kingdom was spread over the entire region.

The front approached closer by March 1944. At the same time, Soviet partisans came over from the other side of the river Bug, well-armed and equipped with all the necessary instruments of war. Thanks to this influx, we were transformed into a large army. Previously,

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we had had to acquire our own provisions, and our entire arsenal consisted of a few rifles. We considered ourselves extremely lucky to get a machine gun. Now we became real soldiers from partisans. We were just missing uniforms. Everything else was like a regular army. They taught us how to use the most modern weaponry.

One day we got an order to get ready that night. We thought we would be going on a routine partisan mission: laying mines under the rail lines, or carrying out an attack on a German post. We formed into columns and began to march. We stopped after several kilometers and a high-ranking officer informed us that we would be getting weapons from Russia that evening. We were stunned by the news believing that now we would be coming into contact with the advancing Red Army. Some senior officers began to give light signals with green and red electric flashlights. About twenty minutes later, we heard the sound of several airplanes that were approaching our place. Soon white packs began to fall from the planes, and paratroopers began to jump from the flying machines. The wish occurred to me that it should have happened two years earlier so that many Jews could have been saved. For over an hour, weapons, clothing, and supplies fell from the sky. Then came the order to load everything into the waiting cars, and we drove back to our base. By daylight, there was no sign of the night-action that had given us such real aid.

It was late in the day when we got back to base. We grabbed something to eat and then fell into a deep sleep. After waking, we were ordered to form into smaller groups (druzhines) every one of which was provided with machine guns and automatic weapons. After getting the new weapons, the paratroopers came over to us, shook our hands and introduced themselves. They began to learn how to handle the weapons.

A while later, we occupied the town of Ostrow. We took the place without firing a shot, and set up partisan rule. We were no longer stuck in hiding places, but could walk around in the middle of the day. After dominating in that neighborhood

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for several weeks, we got word that Germans were coming. We immediately covered all the roads and waited for the enemy. When the Germans got close, we opened up on them with strong fire. A bitter battle raged which stretched on all day. The Germans suffered big losses, but our partisans also lost people. In my group, led by the partisan, Janowski, we lost several fighters. It wasn't until the evening that we got the order to withdraw. We moved out. Those nights we travelled about 60 km, before coming to the woods near Markuszow. The village was called Syry, near Amelin where the estate of the nobleman called Samokleski was found.

There were Germans quartered on this property with whom we began a battle, but with no result. There were no casualties on either side. In the evening, we withdrew in the direction of the Janow forests. We came to the village of Wromblow^[8] between Kuzmir and Opole. No sooner had we begun to unharness the horses, than the alarm was spread that Germans were coming. We soon heard the drone of airplanes. One German airplane dropped a bomb which landed on a wagon from headquarters. The driver, the Jew Botchan from Parczew, was killed on the spot. Before we could calm down from this attack, our scouts with binoculars saw a column of Germans approaching the forest.

That was at the end of May 1944. During their retreat, the Germans wanted to destroy as many partisans as they could, and they pursued the fighters with particular relentlessness. We received an order from headquarters to take up positions in the woods. We lay down in a quadrilateral, dug ourselves in, and waited for the Germans to get closer. Many bullets from rifles, machine guns and mines were hurled at us. We did not respond with any firing. We set fire to the surrounding houses in order to light up the battlefield, and see every movement the Germans made. A Russian partisan group from the “Tchapayevski Otriad” was with us. Aside from some machine guns, they also possessed an iron patience not to respond with one shot at the attacking enemy. Not until the Germans moved closer, believing that they had killed most of the partisans, did the Tchapayevskis open a powerful concentrated fire. We already had several dead. During that attack, my best friend from Markuszow,

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Dan, fell heroically in the battle. He will always remain in my memory…

The battle with the Germans lasted over an hour, and often changed to a fight with bayonets. The situation was becoming unfavorable for us, and the head-commander issued an order: we must break through the German lines at any cost. Their forces were significantly stronger than ours, and we were encircled, and had to break through. A violent battle ensued, and we succeeded in breaking out of the encirclement.

The next day, the farmers told us that they saw a lot of carts carrying dead Germans, a sign that the partisans had killed many Nazis. As night fell, our fear of the Germans diminished. In the end, we were the “heroes of the night.” And when they tried to bother us that evening, they received a real defeat. After this battle we left the wounded with the farmers, and held them responsible for the lives of the partisans.

Now our group had to split up. Some went off with colonel Bolek Alef. A second Jewish group to which I belonged left with captain Zemsto who, a few days later, was killed in battle while we were engaged with a division of the German army. Under the leadership of colonel Moczar, and captain Franek from the village of Przypisowka we arrived at the Parczew forests, and there we began to gather together the separate groups and reform them anew. Here we met a Jewish partisan group that had stayed in the forest a few days ago. Our battalion reformed and received an order to cross over to the other side of the Bug. That area was however flooded with Germans who were fleeing in great panic from the Russian front. It was impossible for us to force our way over the river, because the Germans were fleeing back, and filled all the roads and pathways. So we were stuck in the wheat fields and waited for the German counter current, until a farmer came and reported that the Russians were already in the nearby village of Zahajki. A few hours later, we had the honor of shaking hands with the Red Army, embracing and dancing for joy.

Together with the Russian army, we marched into Lubartow, and when Lublin was liberated, we, a group of partisans,

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were the first to arrive in town. The people showered us with flowers, and welcomed us as liberators. As partisans, we received the most important powers and functions of the liberated city. I began to work for the city military commander as a sergeant.

Several days later, I travelled to Markuszow with the hope of finding one of my own, or anyone I knew. Unfortunately, there was no one left of my large family. It became clear to me that I had to make aliyah to Eretz-Israel. After some wandering, I arrived in the land in 1946. But the English intercepted our ship, and all the refugees were interned in the detainee camp, Atlit. We were there for several months before being freed.

In Israel I learned a trade, and settled in with my family.

1. Belzec (June 1942-March 1943) was one of the first extermination camps. It was near the Soviet border in the Lublin district. 500,000 Jews were exterminated there. Return
2. Village elder Return
3. Stork Return
4. Lipowa 7 was a notorious forced labor camp in Lublin from 1939-1944. In November 1943 all the Jewish inmates were executed Return
5. Communist party leader. Later Marshal of Poland Return
6. Mieczyslaw Moczar. Polish Communist resistance leader, Lodz region. Later minister of the interior, Poland Return
7. Gustaw (Bolek) Alef. Communist leader in Warsaw Ghetto. Later colonel in Polish army Return
8. Phonetic transliteration. Possibly Rablow. Return

Panic and trembling overtook everyone at the outbreak of the German-Polish war on September 1, 1939. Everyone felt the darkness descending on Polish Jewry. Markuszow Jews were also seized by the distress. Sorrow and despair were written on their faces. People looked for a word of consolation from each other in these hard times.

On that day, I said to my husband that a hard life was coming, and in order to be able to maintain ourselves, we have to be concerned with practicalities–travel to Lublin and buy merchandise there (we had a haberdashery store). The plan did not please my husband. He argued that, in a time like this, we shouldn't go out on the road for the sake of money. First of all, you had to stay alive. If we survived, then we could get money again. I, however, maintained my position, and went off to the big city.

The panic in Lublin was greater than in Markuszow.

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The newspaper sellers were shouting, “The Nazi army is advancing!” “The German Luftwaffe is bombing cities and shtetls, and above all, the civilian population!” The war atmosphere in Lublin was felt at every step. Nevertheless, I was able to spend all my money on various kinds of merchandise. With the help of a porter, I brought the purchased goods to the bus station, but to my great disappointment, there was not one bus. You can understand how I felt–alone in a strange big city, in wartime yet, separated from my husband and two small children (Moisheleh and Goldeleh–six and three years old). What do you do? How do you get home? All these questions greatly worried my mind. Nevertheless, luck was on my side. After several hours of wandering around the bus station, I hired an auto for a greater sum of money, and it took me to Markuszow.

I arrived home at around three o'clock. It seems that in the early days of the tragedy, a Jewish life was still considered precious and important. Half the town had been looking out for my return. Waiting tensely they constantly asked, “Is she still alive?” My husband really took my delay on the road hard. He ran around the shtetl looking for a carriage driver to take him to Lublin, but without success. When he first saw me alive, he thought–it's tchies ha'maysim^[1]…The children too were beside themselves with joy at their mother's return.

In that first week of the war, we were occupied with hiding the goods from the store and the Lublin purchases. We were very wary of strangers' eyes. Because we were so careful in carrying out the job, the goods lasted for so long.

On Friday September 8 1939 the neighboring shtetl of Korew was heavily bombed. It was feared that Markuszow would also be covered with bombs, because the shtetl was on a main road, and right during the first days of the war, a mighty wave of refugees from western Poland rolled through Markuszow. For that reason, the following day, Saturday, we left the shtetl and went to the village of Gutanow from where we saw the murderous onslaught of German airplanes on our homes. In that village, we spent 4 days living outdoors. On the fifth day,

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my husband's relatives, who lived in the village of Moszenki, came to us, and took us back with them. We stayed there until Yom Kippur.

Afterward, we left Moszenki and moved over to Bogucin where we rented a room from a farmer, and “settled in” for a whole two years. We didn't want to live in the half-destroyed Markuszow, and as long as there was a possibility for us to change our home and settle in a village, we took advantage of it…

Until the deportations of May 1942, along with all the Markuszow Jews, my husband worked for the Germans repairing the roads or building new ones. Since the deportations did not yet apply to the Jews who lived in the territory of the Jastkow gemine, we left for the village of Tomaszowice, and gave the landowner ten thousand zlotys he should take us for slave labor on his properties. Dozens of Jews from near and far were able to delay death for a while–although with hard physical labor and ransom money, and not just for the nobleman, but for all his assistants, the trainee, the steward (zhondtse) and other aid. We worked there from May to October 1942 when an order was issued that the nobleman had to send all his slaves to Belzec.^[2]

On a Saturday evening, the nobleman and his farmhands transported 50 Jews who had worked in the village of Tomaszowice to Belzec. My brother, Yechezkel Nierenberg, lived then in Belzec. In his one room, there were 50 men. They lay on the ground pressed together like herrings. Around 11 at night my husband's brother, Itschak Fishbein, knocked on the door, and related how he was coming from the Judenrat where he secretly learned that at two AM the deportation of the Belzec Jews would take place. He, therefore, advised both my husband and I to flee without fail. My husband argued that I should go, and I argued that he should run away. There was no place to hide, so we thought we would have more luck getting away separately. At the end, I allowed myself to be persuaded and I left Belzec.

I ran where? Only God knows. It was raining, the road was mud-covered, but I ran like a lunatic, until I came to a spot that even in the dark of night looked familiar to me. Yes, I recognized it–it was the train station

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Sadurki. From the Belzec side, the echoes of frightful shooting could be heard. I became terrified: where are my two dear children, my beloved husband? Only I, the unlucky lonesome mother, blunder around in the dark of night, hunted by everyone. Sha, I think someone is walking by. From a hidden spot, I looked at the approaching figure and I recognized Basheh Goldwasser, a granddaughter of the Markuszow rav, who managed to escape Belzec at the last minute. She told me that around midnight, my brother-in-law, Itzchak Fishbein, came to the window and pleaded with my husband to run and find me. My husband went off to Bogucin, thinking I was hiding there. My niece, Esther Fishbein, took my two children and went to the same village of Tomaszowice that we had just come from. A local farmer hid them in a haystack.

I am beside myself. I continue to blunder around the station. I am persecuted by thoughts about the fate of my nearest ones. I run into another Markuszow resident, Aharon Bauman, who escaped from the hell of Belzec. He told me of what had transpired last night in the shtetl. At around 1:30, they drove all the Jews to the market, and shot them all. Germans and Ukrainians went wild, and in the most savage way killed thousands of Jews that had been herded to Belzec. He, Bauman, with another few dozen Jews, were designated to gather the dead bodies, pile them on cars, drive them outside the town, and dig a mass grave there. Many of the bodies were still moving in their death throes while they were being thrown onto the cars, and even while being thrown into the mass grave. He managed to escape by a miracle.

Dawn is breaking. I am still blundering around the Sadurki train station. Bashe Goldwasser shows up again. Shattered, I fall into her arms with a convulsive cry, “I don't have a husband or children anymore.” Like in a dream her words ring in my ears, “Eidel, we will survive the brutal Nazis, just as I saw your husband in Bogucin alive. He is looking for you.”

With the last of my strength I ran to Bogucin. Exhausted and weakened I came to the farmer with whom we had lived

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for two years. He led me to the loft in the stable. Half-dead I fell on the straw. It turned out that my hearing was well tuned. Although the stable was far enough from the farmer's house, I heard knocking on his window in the middle of the night. I was more than certain that my husband, Israel, was there. Without thinking, I quickly jumped down from the height and out to the yard. Who can describe my joy and luck when I saw my husband alive? My first question was, “Where are our children? Are they alive?” The answer came, “Yes, yes! Our little children are alive.” And right after that my husband asked tremulously, “Have you found a place for us?” I answered yes, although it wasn't true, but I had but one desire: to see my children.

My husband took me to Tomaszowice where several stalks of straw were standing in a field–and in one of them, my two little children were lying stuffed in there. I fell on them, embraced each one individually, kissed and hugged them and tears poured from my eyes. After the first tender moments, and after stilling the yearning for the dear ones, I grabbed them by the hands and ran off. Where to? After all, I had told my husband I had a place, nu, so I ran to Bogucin. There I ordered my husband and the children to go to the same farmer whose stable I was in at night, and alone I went to the poor family, Kozak, begging the farmer's wife to take me in. She agreed on the condition that we dig a well for them. I ask her how much it would cost. She replied–3,500 zlotys. I immediately gave her 2,000 zlotys, and a piece of linen. She took it all, and said it was for two months…

So we moved into another “apartment” in the loft of a stable. Every day the owners demanded the remaining 1,500 zlotys. I assured them that as soon as we began to dig the well, we would pay the money. A few days later, the farmers went to church, and saw for themselves how, in the village of Garbow, not far from the church, Chaim Morel and his youngest son, were shot. Coming back home, the wife described the incident, and begged us to leave the hiding place. But we didn't feel much determination in her request, and it gave us hope that we might be able to stay.

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On the ninth day of our settling in with the Kozaks, the wife came to our hiding place and told us about a new order from the Germans that any Pole hiding a Jew would be shot along with his household, and his goods burned. On the other hand, any Pole who hands over a Jew to the Nazis would be rewarded with one kilo of sugar, and ten zlotys. Frightened by the injunction, she asked us to leave the stable. This time her tone was categorical, an ultimatum–leave immediately. In tears, we begged for a few more days until we could find a new refuge. She allowed us to stay one more day.

That evening, my husband and I left our children, and went to the village of Wysokie, to the poor farmer, Jan Saba. He was an old acquaintance of ours, and over the span of many years, had received many favors from us. I told him that my children and I were hiding in the forest, and that he should have pity on us, and let us stay in his stable. I also promised to pay him for this, because I was owed money by the farmers in the area, and he would be able to receive certain amounts from time to time. After a long deliberation the farmer told us to come the following day.

On October 3 1942 we left the Kozaks, and moved over to the new “residence” in the loft of the farmer, Jan Saba in Wysokie. The new landlord demanded rental money on the very first day. Incidentally, those were his very first words on coming up to our loft. I replied that I would soon bring him the money. The farmer wanted to accompany me, but I gave him to understand that it was not worth his while, he must not risk too much. I went on my way, walked for about one and a half kilometers, got 200 zlotys ready, came back, and gave the farmer his money. He asked me if I had any more money. I denied it, because I didn't want Jan Saba to know we had money on us. For money, the farmer was ready to do the worst things. Every few days the same story was repeated: he came demanding his money, and I ostensibly ran to the farmers to claim my debts. We have to admit that Jan Saba treated us well as far as food was concerned, and in general, behaved honorably. At Christmas, he came up to us with the best meals and a bottle of vodka, ate with us, drank, toasted,

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and spoke from the heart, “I really regret taking you in, but too late”…

New Years eve, 1942. That evening, loud voices from the hut were carried to our ears. We were sure that they were carrying on wildly there. But later, we learned that it was the founding of a gang of bandits. No more and no less. That's all we needed! Every night we heard the shouts of the drunken farmers, their comings and goings.

One night, when we were sunk in a deep sleep, we suddenly heard the door of the stable opening, and several voices were carried to our hiding place. Our eyes opened in fear. We thought, here is our end–but the landlord calmed us down.

The same story was repeated practically every night. In the late hours, various types of merchandise were brought in to be hidden: dry goods, slaughtered pigs, even stolen church donations. We had to sort the money, count it, put it together, and roll the coins up. Once we were brought a new item. I did not believe my own eyes: boxes of rifles and bullets. I said to my husband, “Do you hear, Israel, I think the goy will not die because of us, but the opposite–we will die because of him. This place is becoming dangerous.”

We decided that I should go out to several farmers to “check the pulse.” First I went to the Kozaks, and after talking to the wife, I understood that they needed money badly. The enthusiasm for taking us in was not so great. In the final analysis, it was risky. But the money tempted them, and we left the Kozaks with the conviction that we should wait for an opportunity to leave the Sabas, and move to someone else.

At the end of May 1943, Jan Saba came again demanding to be paid for living there. We no longer had any capital. Our only possessions were several gold rings. So my husband and I went to the farmers to sell the rings and get a little money. Of course, those condemned to death do not travel the straight and narrow, but in constant fear looking for hidden paths in order to reach our goal. Suddenly, we saw ten men approaching, all armed. We stopped dead, wanting to

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go back, but we heard a command, “Stay where you are!” We obeyed, and when the armed group got nearer, another command, “Hands up!” We obeyed this as well. They told us to come closer. Trembling with fear, feeling it was our last moment, we began to go toward the group when my husband cried out, “Isser Rosenberg!” I studied the group, and something surprising–the rifles aimed at us were lifted onto their shoulders and the whole gang shouted with joy, “Israel! Eidl!” We fall into each other's arms, we kiss, the joy is great. It's no small thing! To encounter our dear Markuszow boys, the heroic partisans who knew how to fight the Nazi murderers. They gave us 1,000 zlotys, established a connection. We no longer felt alone and abandoned. We also sold several rings for 2,000 zlotys, and we returned “home” with a fortune of 3,000 zlotys. Of course, Jan Saba got a few hundred zlotys for our rental account, and we could continue to live in the stable.

Now it became clear that our landlord was the leader of the band of robbers. Every night, he and his company would go out on “actions” and come back at dawn with loot and booty.

On a July night in 1943, the gang felt like raiding a farmer from their own village who they knew did not spend the night at home. Wearing no masks, they went to the farmer's wife, tied her up with rope, beat her badly in the process, and stole a slaughtered pig which was worth a fortune in those days. When the farmer who was robbed came back the next day, and learned about the attack, he decided to go to the Germans and give the Sabas over to them. He went to the Jastkow gemine and explained the matter. The news that the farmer, Rodak, had fingered the Sabas spread quickly through the village of Wysokie. The Sabas did not hesitate, and that same night went to the Rodaks, dragged him to a field, and killed him.

The next day, around nine AM, Jan Saba came to us in a fright, explained in panic that the Germans were coming, and begged us to get away from there as quickly as possible. We four, that is my husband, my two

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children and I, quickly got busy, descended from the loft, went outside, and straight away saw the Germans coming. We went to the nearest field where there was some uncut wheat, hid among the stalks, and lay there breathlessly. Suddenly, we heard the sounds of farmers cutting the field where we were hiding. The clang of the scythes and the voices of the cutters were coming closer and closer. Any second they would come to where we were lying. Through the stalks we could clearly see the faces of the farmers cutting around our hiding place that would any minute be uncovered, and four souls would end their lives. We sat clinging to each other in deathly angst; we wanted to disappear into the earth. The reapers were getting closer----

Suddenly, a shot was heard. Then another, and a third. Then a hail of bullets. Through the thin stalks we saw the reapers running away in panic, some falling to the ground. Although we were hidden by the wheat in the field, we lay there entwined without breathing. The German bullets could also reach our hiding place. We were certain that at any moment we would experience the worst… The day dragged on without end. Every hour felt like an eternity. The sun, which was our enemy number one at the time, did not seem to want to set under any circumstances, and warmed us with its rays, and lit the place where we were lying. We did not leave the field, because where would we run to?

The long-awaited night came. The precious night, friend of those condemned to death, settled on the earth. As soon as it became dark, we heard footsteps. Both children were quivering with fear, clinging to me. I pressed them to my heart. But I heard a familiar voice, “Eidla, Eidla!” Yes, the voice of Mrs. Saba bringing us food. She sat down next to us, and in tears told us that the Germans took away her husband and her son. She was certain they would not be returning from there. She was now left with five small children.

On that stressful day, we ate nothing. The food stood untouched. We heard the complaints of the farmer's wife. Her misfortune got mixed in with what we had experienced that day. But sitting like this for long was not possible. We had to look for a new hiding place. Homeless again. Who would now let in a Jewish family?

We thanked her for everything and went away to look for a shelter. Halfway through the night we came to the Lugow colony. I told

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my husband and children to sit behind the stable and I went off to the farmer, Wartacz, and knocked on his window. He didn't open the door, but asked through the window if I was coming to get some merchandise (I had a few things stored with him that I used to pick up at various opportunities). I asked him to let me in; I had something very important to discuss with him. The farmer stubbornly refused to even hear about it. I broke through his stubbornness with tears and pleading, and he let me over the threshold of his house. I told him various lies. Then I gave him 2000 zlotys, two cushions, and a gold ring to let me stay until tomorrow evening. He did not, however, agree to my proposal, and his refusal was sharp and categorical. On leaving, I delivered a few harsh words, reminding him about our partisans, and this had an effect. It seems the farmer was afraid of having his household burned down. So he led me to the stable, but here I revealed the secret that I was not alone, that my husband and children were waiting not far from here. Having no choice, he led us all up to the loft of the stable. We fell asleep on the straw like free people.

The following morning, the farmer's wife brought us food, and a spark of hope stole into our hearts: Maybe they will after all let us stay in the loft? We needed so very little, our desires were so pathetic…Meanwhile, we stayed another two nights. But midway through the night, we heard a fearful howling from the dogs, and according to the angry barking, we understood that strangers had come to the farmer. Later, it quieted down, and we heard the farmer coming into the stable with unknown people. No one came over to us, and we lay the whole night awake knowing that strangers were under the same roof. The others, the night guests, were also still. At dawn, the farmer came up to us and told us that Jewish partisans had spent the night here, and that two of them were armed and standing guard in the yard. We could not get over our joy over the extraordinary news–our guys are together with us. We immediately climbed down from the loft, and heartily kissed the two Jewish heroes, and tears

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of joy ran down everyone's cheeks. The partisans were not only happy to see us, they quickly made sure that a chicken would be cooked for us. They gave us a large, golden signet ring, and several gold coins to find a shelter. From Wartacz, they took back without discussion, the 2,000 zlotys and the ring, and left him with just the two cushions.

At night, the partisans and us left the farmer. They went off in a different direction, and I went to Bogucin, to the farmer, Kozak, in order to beg again for a hiding place. My husband and the children stayed with Wartacz in the meantime. To Mrs. Kozak, I proposed paying 2,000 zlotys a month, took the golden ring off, and put it on her finger, promised various “goodies” if she let us stay. She did not want to answer immediately declaring that her husband was not at home, and she must consult with him. In the meantime, she led me into the stable to spend the night. When her husband returned home the next day, he agreed to take us in. I gave him 2,000 zlotys, spent the day there, and at night went to the Wartaczs for my husband and children. I came to a field about one and a half kilometers from the Wartaczs. Suddenly I heard someone calling my name, and I recognized my husband's voice right away.

“What happened, Israel?”

“When Wartacz saw you were not returning right away, he threw me and the children out”–and despondently added, “Do we have anywhere to go?”

“Yes, my dears, we're going to Bogucin, to the Kozaks.”

I went to the Wartaczs to say goodbye, and on the way picked up my husband and children. In the month of August 1943, the Kozaks took us up to the stable and immediately informed us that they would not be providing any food. Hearing such a verdict hit us hard. What does it mean not providing food in the conditions under which we find ourselves? All our pleading and crying was of no avail. The Kozaks would not be moved.

“It's enough we took you in!”

There was no choice but to make peace with our bitter fate. In the dark nights, my husband and I, like birds of prey, went into the fields. With our hands

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we dug out potatoes, beets, carrots, and anything that presented itself. This fieldwork we engaged in until winter. After, the ground was frozen and empty of any produce. Incidentally, feeding ourselves with vegetables was not news, because we had lived without bread for the last two years.

At the beginning of November 1943, we received some dear guests: our partisans came to visit and brought several loaves of bread. The joy of our children was indescribable (as was also ours) when they saw the loaves of bread. I took advantage of the opportunity of the partisans' presence to go with them to the village of Wysokie, to the farmer Wladislaw Banaszek where a part of my merchandise was hidden. This particular farmer wanted to inherit my things while I was still alive, threatening to kill me if I came one more time to claim my merchandise or money. Nevertheless, I now went to demand what was mine–now not alone, but in the company of ten armed partisans. My husband also came along. Coming to the farmer's property, the partisans divided into patrols of two men, and by the farmer's door four partisans. They opened the door for me. When the farmer saw me, his first question was, “You're still alive? I wouldn't have believed it…”

Yes, he was full of anger when he saw I was still among the living, and I had the feeling that any minute he would attack me. I was really scared and I cried out, “Come in!”

The door opened and four armed partisans, weapons pointed, came into the room. The farmer shouted, “Ola Boga! What have you done to me, Eidla? What have I done to you?”

“I just want my merchandise back.”

The partisans asked him, “Do you have her things?”

“No!” Banaszek replied. Three times the question was repeated with the same answer. Only when a partisan brandished his weapon at the farmer did he admit that maybe there was something, but it was hard to get to, because it was buried. So the partisans grabbed the farmer by the arms and he showed us all the places where my things were.

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I filled two sacs with various things, and returned to our “inn” at the Kozaks and asked her to sell everything because we had no more money. Later she brought us a larger sum of money, and we could pay her for keeping us.

This living in hiding continued until February 20 1944. Then something happened which disturbed the whole region. In the village of Krasienin, 22 Jews, among them two Markuszow families, were staying with a widowed farmer. Mordechai Bleiweiss and his wife and children, and David Iberkleid (Dzedzits) and his family. On that day, the widow went to the Garbow gemine and told them that there were 22 armed Jews hiding at her place. The bunker was immediately surrounded by Germans who opened intense fire on them. Three of them were, by exceptional means, able to break out and run away. The remaining 19 Jews were buried in the bunker. All this was told to us by our landlady. Right after ending the story, she firmly stated that we had to leave the loft, she didn't want to keep us any more at any price. She also added, “If you don't leave, I will.”

We knew only too well what these words meant. We quickly gathered our things and went to Wysokie, to the old place at Saba's, and without asking the owners, went up to the stable loft. In the morning, when the wife entered the stall, I came down and immediately handed her a sum of money. In truth, she was overjoyed, even burst into tears, that they were poor and had nothing to eat. I promised her all good things…The next day, she left with the money and bought all sorts of good things. To us, however, she gave very poor food, and furthermore, less and less. Every week, like leeches, they sucked money, but fed us very poorly until we figured out that a farmer with the name of Zeznik was a big advisor of hers, and that this “buddy” was urging her to keep us on a hunger diet so we should slowly perish. Stopping the food completely they could not and didn't want to, because I was ostensibly going out and getting them money every week. It was a shame to lose a steady source of remuneration. For us there was no solution, only sitting in

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hiding and hungering. We had one consolation–the favorable news from the front. We got it in this way:

Once a week, my husband would go to the farmer in Bogucin where we had first stayed, and from him, he got reports about the situation in Poland, especially about the conditions at the front. In this way, my husband learned that the Red Army was on Polish soil already, and that the Germans were getting hammered. At that time we were physically and psychologically exhausted. But this news gave us a breath of life. Our hearts filled with hope and consolation: Maybe we will survive after all?

The joy did not last long. Our eight-year-old, Moisheleh, suddenly fell sick. He acquired a blood-dysentery^[3], began to vomit, and was burning with fever. For a long six weeks, without medication, or a doctor, in the worst conditions, we had to look on as our son became skin and bone, all color drained from his face, and see our own child expiring from sickness and sorrow. That was the most painful time of the hellish existence we went through. Unfortunately, in the last months, we had absolutely no news from our partisans. We knew only that they had gone to the Parczew forests. Thus, there was no one to expect any help from…

I remember well the day in May 1944 when we saw through a crack in our loft how the fields were covered by a green carpet, how the birds were beginning their spring song, and all nature was awaking to a new life. But only we, the unfortunate and rejected, lie on rotten straw, emaciated from hunger, and broken by our child's long illness. Yes, I mourned my unlucky Moisheleh, who was rotting alive like the straw. My only plea was that I could bury my boy in a Jewish cemetery…And in the middle of this prayer, my Moisheleh opened his eyes and with a weak voice said, “I will live! I will get better!”

Tears came to my eyes from my son's determination to struggle for life. It turns out that a sick person's plea is no small thing…My son sat up and asked to be given a drink. More than a little water to give him, we did not have. He drank it up quickly–and from

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day to day, you could see an improvement. Our Moisheleh got well! And a bit of health came to us parents as well…Hope was renewed!

One day we heard the terrible echo of an explosion. We ran to the crack in the stable and saw a bizarre thing: On the Lublin-Warsaw train line which was abut three km from our hiding place there were overturned train cars, and a cloud of flames and smoke could be seen on the horizon. We knew it was our partisans who had done this. Several days later, we clearly heard artillery fire. I asked the farmer's wife if the front was really that close. From her angry response, I got a weird suspicion. A little while later, an open tank passed by not far from us, and the soldiers in it were talking amongst themselves. My husband said he heard them speaking Russian. I laughed at him. So he defended himself saying he must have been mistaken.

In the middle of our discussion, we saw the Saba woman and the farmer Zeznik come into the stable. In both their hands–shovels. They began to dig in the ground. Although it seemed suspicious to us, we said nothing. The next day, she came back alone and continued to dig. I asked her, “Is the hole for us?”

The answer came instantly, “Since when are you such a devilish guesser?”

The discussion was interrupted. We awaited further developments with unease.

The wife began to give us very good food. Once, seven in the morning, we were even given potatoes with sour cream–a meal we hadn't seen before our eyes for several years. We decided, however, not to go near the good food being full of suspicions, doubts and worries. Every few minutes she came over to us, and pressed us to eat, but expecting something bad, we didn't

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go near the potatoes. This occurred on July 28 1944. At nine AM, we heard unfamiliar voices in the yard, and the reply from our landlady, “Nie Wiem!” (I don't know!). Suddenly a resounding slap rang out. The wife opened the stable with heart-rending cries. I hear clearly in Polish, “Eidla, Eida!”

We clung together certain that our end was coming. Suddenly we heard again, but this time in Yiddish, “Eidl! Israel! Your cousin, Abraham Fishbein has come to free you! The Red Army has been in charge of this area for six days!”

These words rang out like a voice from heaven for us unfortunates. Is it maybe a dream? Is freedom really here? We sat frozen between dream and reality. But our cousin did not delay. He climbed up high and getting closer to us, he shouted, “Partisans have come to free you! On Saturday, July 22, the Red Army liberated Lublin, and you still lie buried here? Are you alive? Say something!”

We crawled out from our rot and dirt, threw away our death-fear, and fell into the arms of our liberator.

Our partisans, with Avramtche Fishbein, helped us crawl down from our living grave, and led us by the arms to the main Lublin-Warsaw road, stopped the first peasant wagon they met going to Lublin, and ordered him to take us to the city. They bade us farewell and we went off to the city.

Six days since Lublin was liberated, and it was impossible to walk through the streets. Masses of people flooded the city. On the sidewalks, a pressing mass, but the signs of war were very evident. Chunks of glass littered the streets. We saw ruined houses, and gaping window frames. Half naked and barefoot we got to Lubartowska Street, and our joy was boundless when we saw the first Jew. He let us know that several Jews were living in the house on 8 Lubartowska. We left to go there, found a room, hammered together a bed of planks, and all four of us lay down. Actually in freedom!…We found out that the Red Cross was distributing food. My husband went there and brought back a container of barley soup, something we hadn't tasted for a whole two years. We fell on the tasty meal, but it seems our emaciated guts could not digest the food. We lay sick for three days after.

A Christian teacher from Bogucin village found out that we were alive, and she brought me a pair of slippers as a present. The farmer, Stachura, from the same village brought us a large loaf of bread and we started to get used to eating. After a week in Lublin, we began to slowly put our lives together.

There was not, however, a day that we did not receive news about individual Jews whom the AK (Armia Krajowa–armed organization of the Polish expatriate government in London that did not accept the new Polish regime) cold-bloodedly murdered. They wanted to continue the bloody work of the Nazi murderers. We began to give serious thought to aliyah to Israel. But it doesn't happen so quickly, because my husband was meanwhile doing business, and wanted us to get on our feet a little. He used to travel to liberated Warsaw and Lodz. On November 5 1945 my husband travelled to Warsaw, and two days later–the 7th of November, some Jews came to my house with the terrible news that my husband had been murdered on the Lublin train station by the AK. Everything in me gave way. After such horrible six years, we had tasted a little freedom–and now such a fatal blow. Now I was left with my two children, alone, unlucky, forlorn…

In the new Lublin cemetery, another tombstone was placed.

My husband was 36 years old when he was killed by the hands of savages. Honor to his bright memory!

After sitting shiva for my husband and our father, my husband's brother, Yosef, came from Germany. After long preparations, we came to the camp, Lampertheim,^[4] in Germany via Szczecin and Berlin. After many difficult experiences, and illnesses, we left the cursed earth of Germany on December 20 1948, and traveled to the French port

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of Marseilles. There we boarded a ship which took us to the long dreamed-for, and yearned-for land–Eretz Israel. We arrived in the Jewish state at the beginning of 1949.

1. The rising of the dead at the coming of the Messiah Return
2. Extermination camp near border of Ukraine Return
3. Bloody flux. Hemorrhagic diarrhea Return
4. Displaced Person's camp situated between Mannheim and Darmstadt. It held up to 1,200 people, and was closed in 1949. Return

The second Friday of the Second World War. Markuszow is overcome with panic. People are beginning to pack their meager possessions. They run away to the villages. Everyone feels that the firestorm of war is coming nearer to our small, quiet, shtetl. The main road that divided Markuszow is full of retreating Polish soldiers, and thousands of refugees marching to the east. On Saturday, the first bombs fall near the Jewish cemetery. On Sunday and Monday, the German bomber airplanes do not let the city rest. Constant flights–and incendiary bombs set fire to Markuszow, and transform this community into a heap of smoking cinders. The flight to the villages increases. I too am caught up in the fleeing current to Staroscin in order to wait out the bombs and fires.

After two days, Devorah Pelz and I returned to Markuszow in order to find out what was happening in the shtetl. A frightful picture of destruction and desolation greeted our eyes. Aside from the row of houses by the Polish school, all the other buildings were turned to ashes. The telephone poles lay on the road like ineptly felled trees. There were many bodies of soldiers and refugees lying around on the shul square. In one place, I encountered Freideleh, the unlucky mother mourning her dead son, Dovid-Leib. He was killed by a German bomb not far from the cemetery while they were fleeing to Zablecz. Markuszow suffered its first victims.

Later, the Germans came to Markuszow. Since the antisemitic soldiers of the retreating Polish army had spread rumors in the villages that any farmer caught hiding a Jew

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would be killed along with his household, most of the farmers began to kick out the Jews who came to them for protection. As a result, a large number of them went back to Markuszow. Our family too went back to the ruined shtetl. Not far from Garbow, we encountered a group of German soldiers on a truck. Their first words were, “Verfluchte Juden.”^[1] The whole family, most of whom had no place to live because of their burned-down houses, moved into our house which had survived. Jews began to put up huts and barracks on the site of the ruined homes, just to have something over their heads. Some began to immediately rebuild houses–a sign they wanted to reestablish themselves in the shtetl. The Germans did not let the exhausted Jews rest. They cut off their beards, insulted, cursed and beat them. Persecutions were a daily occurrence.

A while later, the Germans set up a committee over the Jewish community in Markuszow they called the Judenrat They appointed Shloime Goldwasser as president, as director members–Mechl Weiner, Yerachmiel Rubinstein, Itzchak Fishbein (secretary) Chai-Yosef the shoichet, and Sender Vevi's (Fishbein). The first German order to the Judenrat was to provide a contingent of 100 Jews for various kinds of work. In the winter months, we had to clean the section of road from Markuszow to Garbow where the Germans were. In the summer months, they used to take us to work in Kloda where we broke up rocks for road building. Every day they forced us to work, and treated us like slaves. Our humiliation was so great that we were afraid to raise our heads in front of gentiles we knew. Nevertheless, the thought that the war would end with Hitler's defeat, and that the sun would shine again on the Jewish people, never left our minds. This Jewish faith strengthened us and gave us courage in the hardest times.

One evening is etched in my memory. It took place in the house of my grandfather, Shloime-Gershon, in honor of completing the end of the Talmud. This was in October 1940. My whole family, the members of the Judenrat, and some other Jews from the shtetl–altogether about 30 residents of Markuszow–came together in the greatest of secrecy at my grandfather's. Doors and windows were

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covered so no light would shine through. Disregarding the fact that bringing together such a large crowd in those times was life-threatening, there was no fear, because who among the participants would tell the Germans about the Talmud celebration. (To the credit of the Markuszow Judenrat, it must be said that there were no betrayers or sycophants among them who would create problems for their brothers). In a very solemn and quiet mood, my grandfather lifted up a glass of wine, blessed everyone, and wept. The entire houseful of people wept along with the old one, wishing him that next year he would survive to finish it in Jerusalem. At that, my grandfather wept even more strongly, and expressed his doubts with respect to being saved from the murderers' hands. His wish was that his children and grandchildren should avenge themselves on the hated enemy…

One day, two Gestapo people from Pulawy brought an order to the Judenrat that every Markuszow Jew had to wear a white armband with a blue Star of David–a sign of their belonging to the Jewish people. Even the members of the Judenrat would have to wear the armbands, with an additional sign that they belonged to the Judenrat. At the same time, a new decree was issued: Every Jew had to relinquish all furs, even fur collars. As an example, the head of the Judenrat was the first to hand over his furs, but not all Markuszow Jews wanted to give up their warm clothing for German soldiers who were freezing on the Russian front. Those who had the slightest opportunity gave their furs to Polish neighbors for safekeeping. But our troubles didn't end there. That was only the beginning of the end–unfortunately, a rather tragic end.

Chol Hamo'ed, Pesach, 1941^[2], news came that the Jews of neighboring Korew were being expelled. We waited with the greatest suspense and unease to see what would happen to us. We learned from trusted sources that the same was going to happen to us in two days time. And that actually happened: Several Gestapo arrived at city hall in an auto, called out the Judenrat, and demanded the immediate provision of 500 men.

With the help of the Polish police, the Jews were driven to the square in front of city hall, and formed into columns–

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separating the old, the young, and the children. They picked out a few hundred older Jews from the three columns, and sent them to the Polish schoolhouse.

During the deportation, my family and I were hiding in the Gutanow forest. We sent a Polish acquaintance to find out what was going on. After returning, he reported that the Jews who were taken to the shul were later taken to the train station from whence they were taken to an unknown destination. The remaining Jews were again ordered to work for the Germans. After this ostensible calm in Markuszow, we decided to go back home. On the way from the Gutanow forest, we met some farmers we knew who told us that the Germans had terribly beaten and even shot the Jews gathered at the train station, and had driven them into the prepared freight cars. Some of the Jews, particularly the older ones, mounted a resistance. Moishe Beinishe's (Weinriber), and Mendl Moishe's (Kandel) did not want to go on the march and begged to be shot then and there. The German beasts did the martyrs the favor–and killed them. Other Jews, as well, preferred death rather than making the tortuous journey in the whitewashed cars.

Coming to the shtetl, we encountered orphaned families. Children had lost their parents, and parents–their children. That was not enough for the Germans. Now the Jews were concentrated in one place, the entire left side of Lubliner Street.

A ghetto for us.

Two months later–Shavuot 1941–the Judenrat was again required to assemble all the Jews in the gemine square. We understood that the Germans intended to make Markuszow Judenrein.^[3] Many immediately took off to the neighboring villages and forests. Our family decided to go to Belzec that very evening. According to various reports, it was still possible to get by in that shtetl. As soon as we got out of Markuszow, we heard the rasping voice of 70-year old Velvl Rotstein, “Yidn! Save me or shoot me!”

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We approached the spot where the voice was coming from, and saw the old man lying on the ground, shot by a bunch of Poles. We applied first aid to the old man, and returned to Markuszow afraid to set off on a distant, unfamiliar road where armed Poles were lurking and completing the Germans' work for them.

Late at night, our cousin, Chaim-Leib Fishbein came and told us that it made no sense to sit in the house. We had to get out of the shtetl as soon as possible, as long as the slightest opportunity existed. About 30 Markuszow Jews left for Belzec that night. At dawn, we arrived in the shtetl of Moszenki, and found many Markuszowers there. The village of Moszenki belonged to the Jastkow gemine, and ten local Jewish families lived there. There in the village we rested from our travels. All the anti-Jewish decrees had not yet reached the local Jewish residents. Just their land was taken from them and given to the farmers. The Moszenki Jews themselves were harnessed to slave labor. The Polish police found out about the “invasion” of Markuszow Jews in the small village, and ordered all the refugees to present themselves to the city hall in Jastkow. The Moszenki Jews hid a great many of us in attics, stables, and cellars, and thanks to this, many succeeded in rescuing themselves.

I, dressed as a village girl, left at 12 noon for Belzec on foot in order to find out what was going on.

Thousands of Jews driven from Germany itself were driven to Belzec, and here, in the worst sanitary conditions, found a temporary home. As identification, the Germans ordered the German Jews to wear yellow arm patches, whereas the Belzec Jews wore armbands like we did in Markuszow. If not for the arrivals and those driven there, Belzec would not have been aware that there was a war going on between nations, and that one of the biggest wars was against the Jews. The houses here were whole, unaffected, and the Belzec Jews lived in their own dwellings. They carried on business, worked, traded and believed that the current war did not concern them. Not until we, the remnants from Markuszow arrived in Belzec, and brought our misery there, did the shtetl become more upset, tenser, and waiting for further problems.

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Two days after our arrival in Belzec, a small number of armed Germans, and many Ukrainians, surrounded the shtetl and ordered all men from 16 to 40 to assemble at the marketplace. In that action, about 50 Markuszow Jews were taken from Belzec to Lublin to the Majdanek death camp. Among the first Jewish Markuszow victims to be killed in Belzec was my fourteen-year old brother, David, who died in the following circumstances:

When the shtetl was surrounded, my father and his brother were lying hidden in a cellar. My brother and I were standing outside. Members of the Belzec Judenrat were going around and shouting, “From 16 to 40, must assemble! Whoever doesn't show up will be shot!”

I asked the passing Judenratnik with despair, if my brother, who was not yet 16 years old, had to go. To this came the answer, “Yes, certainly, he must show up, if not, they will shoot him.” Here we were just talking to my brother, and in a few minutes, he was already standing in the row of those being taken to Majdanek…

“David, we will never forget you! You left an open wound in our hearts…”

Even in Markuszow, during the first deportation, Polish acquaintances offered to hide him, but his answer was always, “Wherever my parents go, I will go.”

Later, the Belzec Judenrat member who accompanied the transport to Majdanek, told me that my brother stayed the whole time with my grandfather. When he was asked how he ended up in this transport when he was not even 16 years old, he answered, “Better me than, God forbid, my father!”

After this aktion, life in the shtetl became “normal” again. Every Tuesday, the weekly market took place. Belzec Jews did business, sold, bought like in the good old days. It was only bad for

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the German Jews whose only occupation now was selling everything they owned in order to stay alive. In their naiveté, they waited for the baggage that the Germans had promised they would send after them. The situation of our Markuszow Jews, and those arriving from other cities and shtetls of Poland, was similar. We all had to survive with what we had, or by selling our last shirt. There was nowhere to go. We remained in Belzec.

In late autumn, 1941, an order was issued that all the Jews from the shtetl itself, and from the surrounding area must assemble at the shul. Since most of the Jews already knew what that signified–they weren't so quick to obey. Ukrainian and Polish police surrounded Belzec and began to search through the houses, cellars and attics. Most of the Jews found hiding were shot on the spot. Those who did show up at the assembly point, were led on foot to the Mendrewic train station 11 km from Belzec. Since we were hidden in a cellar whose windows looked out on the shul yard, we saw with our own eyes the hell endured by our unlucky brothers and sisters whose last voyage was accompanied with blows, insults, curses, and shootings on the spot.

That day, only the Belzec Judenrat was not a partner in the great tragedy. They were locked in a separate residence under a strong guard from where they were freed after the bloodbath ended. Only a few isolated shots now echoed. This was the Ukrainians killing Jews they found, among them women too, who, even with a cross on their necks, were not saved from death.

Late at night, we left the hiding place, and returned home. My father's two brothers, Itzchak and Israel Fishbein, went to a village where Israel's wife was hiding. We stayed with the two children: the 11 year old Moisheleh, and six-year-old, Goldeleh.

The next day, loudspeakers announced that those Jews, who for various reasons had failed to show up at the shul square, could do it now. The new assembly point, however, was now Piusk,

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and that is where the remaining Jews had to go. Of course, the new decree ended with the warning that failure to do so would be punishable by death. My parents, two brothers and sister with the two children, and I decided to obey this time. Along with 300 other Jews, we were driven by the Germans to Piusk. On the way, little Goldeleh, who I was carrying in my arms, broke into loud tears.

“I want to go to mommy, the Germans are going to kill us!”

We calmed the child down. My mother said, “Goldeleh is right. This march means death. We have to run away from here.”

So we took advantage of the moment when the Germans accompanying us were far from us, to move off to the side, and run across the field. We went to the village, Tomaszowice, because our uncle, Israel, was supposed to be there, and hand over his two children. But on the way, we met farmers who threatened to take us to Majdanek. We knew this was not an idle threat, but a real danger, because the Germans paid for every Jew brought to them. We begged the farmers to let us go. Crying the hardest was little Goldeleh who could speak Polish and pleaded, “Let me go to my mother…”

For the price of 500 zlotys and the ring off my finger, we ransomed ourselves from the murderers' hands, and continued on our way.

It was decided to stay sitting in the field, because it was too dangerous to go about by day. I, on the other hand, would try to get to Tomaszowice to look for my uncle. We decided that this same evening we would meet at the stable of a Tomaszowice farmer we knew. I went on my way. Coming near to Bogucin, I met a farmer I knew who warned me not to go into the village now, because there were a lot of gendarmes there looking for Jews. So I stayed lying in the field, and although night had already fallen, I still didn't dare to go to the village. It began to rain. I continued to lie in the field with my dark thoughts. Suddenly, I see two figures approaching and Yiddish being spoken. I recognized the two uncles I was going to see, by their voices. We were very happy at the unexpected meeting. The joy was spoiled, however, when my uncle reported

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that not one farmer was willing now to hide a Jew. He added in a resigned way, “There is no other option, but to report to Piusk.”

I did not agree, and the decision about this horrible question we left for later. For now, it was important that everybody should meet up at the agreed-upon spot. When we showed up at the stable, the farmer did not even want to hear about letting us in. There was no choice but to return to the field and hide in a haystack that had been set up by 30 Markuszow Jews when they had been working for the Tomaszowice nobleman. We all crawled into the straw and settled in. The next day, my uncle, Israel, with his wife and two children went to a farmer they knew with the hope of finding a shelter.

Another family came to the Markuszow colony in the hay stack: Esther-Breindl Huberman and her family. We spent two months like this in the haystack. At night, I would go to farmers I knew, and buy food. I told them we were hiding not far from Belzec. The snow was awful, because footprints would persist in the snow and could have betrayed our hiding place.

And that's what actually happened. Once a farmer told me that they already knew in the village that there were Jews hiding in the stack, and they would have to kill them. So we quickly had to come up with another hiding place, because our lives were in danger. So I went to Belzec to get some news, and look for a bunker.

In Belzec, I found a new ghetto of 600 Jews who were locked up in the synagogue and in some nearby houses. The previous Judenrat and the Jewish police were the only rulers. There was no way to get into the ghetto, because it seemed to the locked-up Jews there that every newcomer was liable to present a danger for them. But with a lot of connections and still more, money–from 10 to 15 thousand zlotys–the Belzec ghetto doors would open. My mother and sister were there, and I went to them for advice and help. My mother sighed–and could only

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do one thing: take my eight-year-old sister. So I brought the child there during the day. So now almost every day, I made the 16 km trip there on foot from the haystack to Belzec and at night, the same distance back. My job was to provide food for those in the ghetto and in the haystack. Dressed like a farmer, and with their expressions and appearance, it was easier for me to travel in the hate-filled environment where death for Jews lurked around every corner.

The haystack was close to the road. One Sunday, some village boys approached, and one of them opened the entrance and shouted, “Oy, look everyone, Jews! We have to tell the Germans who are here on the road.”

In truth, we had seen Germans on the road. We began to negotiate with the boys. We managed to buy them off for several hundred zlotys they should keep mum. It now became clear that we had to get away from there.

At night, we went to the village of Tomaszowice. A fellow resident of the haystack (who stayed there, by the way) told us that there was an abandoned, lonesome little house in Tomaszowice where his family had hidden, and it could now serve us as a hiding place. So we settled in there, and at night I went to some farmers I knew. They told me that Germans and Ukrainians were looking for hidden Jews in all the villages. We were surprised by other news, however: that in the nearby Wole forests there was a Jewish partisan group, and among them--many youngsters from Markuszow.

So we went to the Wole forest, and a new world was revealed to us: Our hometown youth, armed and full of the courage to live. They led a free life in the forest, and when the Germans attacked, they fought back with weapons in their hands.

On Chanukah 1943, the Germans carried out a big raid. The Wole forest was surrounded. The murderers opened with heavy fire, and then succeeded in getting to the bunkers where many

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Markuszow families were hiding. They came to our bunker as well, and threw in grenades. Since they fell on sandy soil, they did not explode. A polish policeman from Markuszow opened the bunker, and we heard him say, “Stifling air, but no people” and he shot several rounds into it. Since my mother, Rivkeh, was standing near the ladder that served as an entrance to the bunker, several bullets went through her legs. She died in terrible agony, in the evening. I will never forget my blessed mother who was so savagely murdered by the Germans and their Polish accomplices!

Curse the murderers! Eternal remembrance of my mother, a”h!

When the shooting ended, the Germans called to the Jews to get out of the bunkers, that nothing would happen to them, they would only be taken to work in Konskowola. Some allowed themselves to be persuaded, and left the bunkers. Then the unfortunates were lined up in a row and shot in the forest. At night, we, the survivors, got out of our hiding place, and buried the bodies in a mass grave.

That night, we paid the last respects to the sixty victims of Nazi murder in the Wole forest.

After this tragedy, we stayed in the forest for another three days. Later we went to Belzec and stopped in Markuszow along the way. When we got to the haystack, we found the dead body of Israel who had not wanted to leave the place. He had been stabbed in several places. We decided to bury him. Lying on the haystack, we saw several farmers approaching with shovels in their hands. We heard one of them say, “ We didn't mean him, Israel. We were supposed to kill those who were hiding here, especially the black girl (meaning me). Now, we have to keep together. Wherever we see a Jew, we will immediately take him to the police station.”

The farmers dug a grave in the field and put Israel in.

We decided to go to Belzec once more.

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There were several hundred Jews in Belzec ghetto. We managed to get in there, and along with everyone else, we cleaned the snow off the streets, and did other kinds of physical labor. For this, all we got was soup. We bought our own bread.

On May 8th 1943 the ghetto was surrounded, and they forced out two hundred men and one hundred women, and took them to the camp at Budzyn. The rest were shot in the ghetto, among them–my youngest brother, Nechemia, z”l.

As soon as we arrived in Budzyn, they immediately ordered us to line up for roll call, and pulled out the elderly and the children in order to kill them. When they took the woman, Baltche Hopfeld's, two little girls away, the hysterical mother resisted, and at the end begged them to take her with the children. The murderers obliged her…

The camp was not far from Krasnik (near Lublin). There were airplane factories there in which Jews worked. Other than that, there were also rest houses for soldiers and officers of the Wehrmacht, and some camp people had to serve them. There were also German families evacuated from the bombarded areas of Germany. Jewish women filled the job of house servants in their homes.

The camp itself was surrounded by barbed wire, but not electrified. The guard was composed of Ukrainians. The commandant was Oberscharfuhrer Feix^[4], a German or a Pole from Silesia whose sadism threw fear into everyone. At the time of my arrival in Budzyn, there were about 2,000 men and women, mostly from Warsaw and other areas of Poland. There were also two Jewish commandants: over the men–a certain Stockmann, a prisoner-of-war, from the ghetto of Konskowola, but he was originally from Grodno or from those areas. For the women–Regina Zemel from Zakrzowek.

Both behaved not badly to the internees. That helped somewhat lessen the hard regime of the camp we had to strictly observe.

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We had to get up at 4:30 am. At around 5:00 am, we got black coffee in the kitchen, At 6:00, roll call. We all had to stand at attention, and Feix himself counted the imprisoned. He beat people at every roll call, and if any of the camp Jews did not appeal to him, he shot them on the spot. After roll call we were marched under strong Ukrainian guard to work. The men–to the factories. The women–to housework. In general, we women benefited from greater movement, and didn't suffer from hunger. At around 5:00, we returned to the camp, and received a liter of soup, and 200 grams of bread. But before this, there was another roll call to make sure nobody had disappeared during work.

We could not bring any outside food into the camp. Once during an inspection, they found a piece of butter on a young boy. The boy–Hershman from Belzec–was immediately shot. Another time, they found a piece of bread on a Warsaw Jew. Feix ordered him to strip naked (this was on a freezing December day), and go around the camp carrying a heavy girder. Feix would also punish Jews for their ostensible unsanitariness. On the coldest days in winter, he would lead people to the water pump near the kitchen, and pour cold water on their naked bodies. At 9:00 pm, the signal for sleep was given. We stretched out on planks, three rows high in the barracks.

Once a Belzec Jew, Abraham Zang, escaped from the camp. A roll call was immediately ordered. Feix pulled ten young kids from the ranks and shot them. A few weeks later, my uncle, Abraham Leichter, and his son, Nechemia, ran away. At the evening roll call, Feix again chose 8 men and 2 women, locked them in a cellar, beat and tortured them, starved them, and on the third day was planning to shoot them. In the meantime, an order had come that Feix was to leave Budzyn. In the middle of the night, he ordered a roll call, hung a huge banner “To each his own,” and good-naturedly declared that in honor of his leaving, he was granting the life of the ten Jews.

Feix's replacement was Oberscharfuhrer Axmann. There were cases of escape under him too. This time, a Belzec Jew, Kershenboim. Axman had a different punishment than his predecessor. He ordered the shooting of all the family members of the escapee.

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The Ukrainians took Kershenboim's two brothers out of the line and shot them in front of everyone's eyes.

In spring 1944, a large shipment of plank beds from the liquidated camps in Poniatowa, Trawniki, as well as clothing from Majdanek, arrived in Budzyn camp. The boards, which had come from the liquidated camps, were covered with hundreds of inscriptions in Yiddish, Polish, and Hebrew. “Take revenge on the Germans!” “Do not allow yourselves to be slaughtered!” “Rise up and defend yourselves!” Don't let yourself be fooled into the barracks like we were. Now they are shooting us!”–and other inscriptions with names, dates, words of farewell from men to women, women to men, from parents to children, and from children to their mothers and fathers. We were shattered by the shipment of wood that day which unequivocally gave us to understand that the same end awaited us too.

The next day, fully loaded cars with camp clothing arrived in Budzyn. Since they did not take us to work that day, and we had been left in the camp, everyone understood that the end was coming closer. They would certainly do the same here as in Poniatowa and Trawniki. Everyone was uneasy. At night, 30 men cut the wires and escaped. The Ukrainian guards saw the escapees, and alerted the German command, which ordered them to immediately open fire on everyone–on those who ran away as well as those of us who were inside.

The next day we saw a wagon fully loaded with dead bodies being led out of camp–victims of the night's shootings. Then they ordered us to put on the striped clothing and transferred us to another camp three km away from the current one. We did the same work, but under a stricter guard. The wire fence was now electrified.

In summer 1944, when the Red Army was already on Polish territory, a large transport of men, women, and children was transferred to Majdanek. The rest–about 1500 people–were transported in freight cars to Wieliczka, to the salt mines, close to the infamous death camp, Plaszow. I worked there until liberation.

1. Cursed Jews Return
2. Period between Passover and Sukkot Return
3. German term for ‘cleansed of Jews’ Return
4. SS Oberscharfuhrer Reinhold Feix. Commandant at Budzyn, December 1942 to August 1943 Return

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As someone born and raised in Markuszow, I feel it is my holy duty to record in our yizkor book the truthful events in the Lublin death camp, Majdanek, where just before liberation, a young Jewish man, my

Tzadok Garfinkle

As a boot maker, it was hard for me to find stable work in our shtetl, so I settled in Lublin and stayed there until the outbreak of World War Two. When the Nazis occupied Lublin

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in the latter half of September 1939, I escaped to Russia. It would take days, and it would still not be enough, for me to relate all the experiences I endured during the war years. As soon as the Russo-German war started^[1], I volunteered to join the Red Army, and in various fronts, participated in relentless battles. I was badly wounded in the arm at Smolensk, and stayed in hospital for many long months. When I regained my strength, and recovered from the difficult experience, I read in the press that the Red Army was already hitting the Nazis on Polish territory. I reenlisted in the army, and I managed to get into a tank division. Through battles, clashes, scouting, and often unhindered, my tank regiment took Chelm, and prepared for a quick attack on Lublin.

Our tanks advanced forward, and I recognized the entrance to Lublin via Lubartowska Street. My heart beat faster wanting to advance ever more quickly over the streets where we had spent so many years. And maybe someone I knew had survived, although I already knew about the Nazi murders. Suddenly my tank stopped. About fifteen men appeared on the road, emaciated, pale, in rags. We jumped out of our tank. I saw that the men were Jews, and astonished, I asked them what they were doing there. One of them hastily explained that they had been hiding in the bushes for three days waiting for the Red Army. They had escaped from Majdanek, and this, thanks to the heroism of a young Lubliner man.

“Who?” I asked with curiosity.

“Tzadok Garfinkle,” was the answer.

This name brought to mind a tremendous amount of memories of Jewish Lublin where, together with Tzadok, I had lived through days of joy and pain in the workshop, in the street, and in society. I asked the men to describe the incident to me in detail. One of the survivors related:

“Tzadok Garfinkle,” as an experienced tradesman, was the head-master in the leather workshop at Lipowa 7 where Jewish prisoners-of-war worked for the Germans. Every morning, two SS people led him from Majdanek where he was living with his wife and child, to the work site. In the evening, he was led “home” by the same guards. Three days ago, armed SS men came to our barracks, and took away about 30 Jews, among whom was Tzadok Garfinkle. We well knew that this meant we were being taken to the ovens, because according to the Germans' behavior,

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it was clear that the Russians were near. Sensing their end, the murderers wanted to also end the lives of the remaining Jews. Now we were sure we were at the end of the road. We were getting closer to the gate. Suddenly something surprising happened. Tzadok Garfinkle, with his strong arms, lifted up one of the SS accompanying us, and threw him to the ground with tremendous force. Tzadok tried to avoid getting bayoneted and threw himself on the Nazi with the same speed with which he had lifted up, and slammed the Nazi down, and literally tore him to pieces. The rest of the Nazis finally realized what was happening and started to shoot. Riddled with bullets and covered in blood, Tzadok fell on the Nazi and breathed his last.

Those of us who found ourselves in the transport to the crematorium took advantage of the commotion and began to run. The murderers shot after us, killed several Jews, but those of us, who you see now, managed to get here, and we hid under the bushes for three days, outdoors, without food or water, until the noise of your tanks announced the liberation, and we ran to meet you. This was possible thanks to the bravery of Tzadok Garfinkle, a rare example of resistance under the conditions of Majdanek.”

1. The Germans invaded the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941 in Operation Barbarossa Return

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