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On Sunday September 3 1939, as the first transports of retreating Polish soldiers and fleeing refugees were starting to be seen in Markuszow, the shtetl was bombed. In the span of two hours, incendiary and explosive bombs laid waste to half the houses. At that time, we were operating a bakery in which we continued to bake bread all day and night for the army and the civilian population. Afraid of looting and theft, we did not leave Markuszow during the bombing, although the majority of the residents fled to the neighboring villages. When we finally saw the results of the attack–the dead, and wounded, the burned down houses, all of us who had stayed in the shtetl were seized by panic, and fled in all directions. Sunday evening, we also left Markuszow. Early the next morning, I went back with my younger brother to the shtetl to see what was gong on. It just so happened that another aerial bombardment began. So we both ran to a potato field, and waited for the aerial attack to stop. When the killers of the air had left, we entered the shtetl, and the first shocking picture revealed itself to our eyes: a human body without a head. We quickly went away to the burning houses to see if we could help save someone. A little later my father, mother, younger brother and the rest of the family members arrived in the shtetl. We helped the wounded, and with putting out the fires. As we affirmed, the first Jewish victim was Fradel's four-year-old girl who had run into a field and was chased by an airplane shooting machine guns and shooting innocent people. The child was badly wounded and died later.

Our rescue efforts were too weak in the face of the flames from the incendiary bombs. People fled again from the village. Whoever managed to

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save a few things from a burning house, wrapped it up quickly and ran off to a village. Our family went to the village, Wola-Przybyslawska, and arranged accommodation with a farmer we knew, a blacksmith. We had no financial means to live on. Fortunately, the farmer was a good old friend, and he didn't demand any money for our support. He was a steady customer of ours, who bought bread from us all year, but didn't pay until after the harvest. That was why he was now displaying trust and credit. We understood, however, that this could not go on for long. In the midst of the greatest tragedy, we had remembered to bury a little matzah mill in the ground. We dug up this treasure, and brought it to the village. Thanks to this mill, we were able to bake bread for the farmers from the grain the farmers brought to us. We, the young ones, milled the grain, and my father ran the bakery. In this way, we provided bread for the framers and the evacuated Jews.

When the war operations ended, most of the Jews came back to Markuszow. Everyone began to rebuild according to his means. We fixed up our house. Because the oven had not been burned; we baked bread again.

While still in Wole, groups of young people carried around plans to escape to Russia. Believing that no Jew can be safe around Germans, the youngsters dreamed about smuggling themselves across the border to Romania, and from there, sailing to Eretz-Israel. There were some among them who had already joined up with the second aliyah in Sniatyn, but had had to return to the shtetl when the war broke out. To this group of “Romanians” belonged Shmuel Rubinstein, Dovid'che Ettinger, Chaim Goldschlager, Fishl Schildkreut, and me and my younger brother. Fishl Schildkreut had planned to bribe the border guards, because he had already had success in crossing the border. We wanted to leave home on bicycles without the knowledge of our parents. But not everyone had a bike, and it was necessary to raise money so the whole group would have bicycles. Money was no problem, because there were some wealthier kids in the group. We could not, however, get another two bicycles. Nevertheless, we decided to take them riding double, in order to leave no one behind. Our baggage

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had to be just a change of shirt. The preparations for the voyage were made in top secrecy.

One evening, the guys called me out and told me they had found a rifle. We smeared it with Vaseline, wrapped it in rags, and hid it in a tall tree that was standing near the main road, in the certainty that no one would think to look for weapons at such a spot. In the process, we thought that if our trip to Romania should not succeed, a rifle like this could come in handy…The next day, we learned that some military had stayed in the nearby forest. So we went off there with the hope of finding weapons. We searched all day, but found nothing. It's likely that farmers had been there before us.

On the eve of our departure, our parents found out about their children's plans. The matter became complicated, because in those difficult days we did not want to go against our parents' wishes, and leave them alone. Of our entire group, only Simcha Ettinger, and Aharon Rubinstein succeeded in getting a carriage, and after a while on the road, they returned reporting that it was impossible to get any food along the way, even for money. It was their opinion that we should not undertake such a danger-filled journey. Their information, and the opposition from our parents, resulted in our giving up the entire plan, even though we desperately wanted to travel to Eretz-Israel.

The first entry of the Germans to Markuszow resulted in the death of Chaim Goldschlager, a resident of Staroscin. He had begun to run as soon as he saw German military vehicles. The murderers shot after him, and killed him. If we had not yet had an exact idea of what the Germans were, the murder of Chaim Goldschlager opened the eyes of many of us to see the occupiers in their true light.

Life in the shtetl, in the meantime, went on in “normal” ways. We began to organize our lives again, worrying about employment, money. Germans marching through bought from Jews, and actually paid for everything, and we wanted to believe that we would survive the war-years like this.

The Wehrmacht began to go closer to the Soviet border. Gendarmes began to show up in Markuszow, and there was more supervision of the shtetl that lay on the main route of German military transport.

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The shtetl became less homey, uneasy. People wanted to run, but the optimists dissuaded them, and related, although with true facts, that German soldiers often gave chocolate to the children, and from time to time, cigarettes for the older ones. In the meantime, fleeing became difficult. Jews coming back reported that the way to the Bug was becoming impossible, people were beaten and bayoneted on the road. Crossing the border was hopeless. The returnees themselves tried to establish themselves in the shtetl. Business was actually booming thanks to trade with Warsaw and other places that Markuszow supplied wheat and other agricultural products to. Some Jews did very well. People began to improve their houses and dwelling places. The impression was that the tempest of war had passed through already.

Soon, however, they limited Jewish trade. Markuszow Jews could not budge out of Markuszow more than a radius of 5 kilometers without special permission. So some Jews took Poles as partners, and continued business on a big scale.

German rule in the shtetl began to harden. The Judenrat that had been created, first of all, had a duty to supply a contingent of laborers. Until that point, the Germans would snatch any Jew they encountered on the street for forced labor. We already knew that between 7 and 10 in the morning it was healthiest to hide. In catching Jews for work, carrying out searches, and attacking Jews, the Volksdeutsche distinguished themselves for their evil. Jews were also forbidden to be outside at night, or to walk on the main road, just in the side streets.

My brother and I couldn't tolerate these restrictions, especially to be forced to sit at home in the evenings. So we arranged for work at a German company, Schtrassen and Brikenbau, in Garbow. I was employed in the lock division, my brother, in the carpentry section. Thanks to the workplace, we acquired certificates that protected us from being dragooned for labor, and we had the right to be out at night. The majority of the youth of the shtetl were taken for hard work in Pulawy unloading rocks at the train station, or other work.

At the job, we worked for 8, 10 or sometimes 12 hours a day. The manual laborers were badly treated. They were beaten

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at every opportunity. Only three tradesmen were treated not badly, Finklestein, my brother and I. Our salary was 1 zloty, 20 groshen an hour, like the Poles, with the difference that our earnings went to the master “for a drink.” But for us the important thing was the work paper and not their money. Thanks to the chance to go out at night, we could arrange for flour for the bakery, and my father was free of slave labor thanks to his running the bakery.

Friday night, when we really wanted to go home to our parents who were waiting for us impatiently and nervously, the master always had an urge to get drunk, and with us of all people. So we would sit for hours drinking, and not until late at night did we get to go home on foot. The next day, Saturday, the drunken master would come to the shtetl, and start chasing Jews with his loaded revolver. He also threatened to shoot the chairman of the Judenrat, Shliamke Goldwasser. I calmed the master down, and even took away his revolver.

A while later, the master was transferred to an SS division, and another came in his place. At the same time an order was issued not to employ any Jews for paid work. Nevertheless, my brother and I got paid under the same conditions as before, i.e, that the earnings went into the master's pocket. We had to get drunk with him too. After this particular master was transferred to the “death organization,” where no Jew was allowed to be employed, he was ready to take me along as a Pole. I refused, however, not wanting to be separated from my parents. We remained in the shtetl.

With the outbreak of the Soviet-German war, the situation in the shtetl became significantly worse. Gendarmes began to run riot in Markuszow, and run roughshod over the Jews. One of the gendarmes, a certain Nepert, used to beat and curse every Jew he encountered. He would barge into a Jewish house, take the best of whatever out of there, and command the person to clean the toilet with his hands. More than once, he ordered them to eat the filth.

Once, they called my father to the authorities. When he went there, he ran into Nepert. The killer called my father into a separate room, and murderously beat him with a truncheon so badly that my father had to spend six months in bed. The entire burden of running the bakery

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now fell on my mother and the children. Even the youngest child, 7-year-old Noah, felt that he had to help out the family, and he did it well.

That same Nepert took great care that no Jews would attend the Monday market. As soon as a Jewish merchant saw the killer coming from a distance, he quickly grabbed his bit of merchandise and took off, so that a little later, when Nepert had gone, he could return to the market. In a lot of cases, the merchandise was left on its own, because the frightened Jew preferred to save his life.

During Nepert's rule in Markuszow, the most pious Jews had to shave off their beards, and the traditional Jewish hats changed for the farmer's “Macziewuke.” Still today, I can see before my eyes, the completely changed appearance of the very pious Yomele Yosef's without his beard and the cap on his head.

At that time German punitive expeditions appeared in the shtetl whose actual job was to mobilize Polish youth in work battalions (“jonakes”). Nevertheless, they did not let any opportunity go by to harass the Jews, breaking into their homes, and hideouts, and abusing the unlucky. Even a work permit issued by the German authorities did not protect the Jews from the sadists. Even my brother and I, possessors of a card from a German firm, were once caught for labor. We managed to get out of it and hid in an attic from which we could see what they were doing to the captured Jews. They took them to Antek Czepa's orchard where there were telephone poles prepared. The Germans ordered that two Jews should pick up such a long heavy pole, and lift it up and down until they fell from exhaustion. When they finished their sadistic games with this group of Jews, they went off to capture others who were ordered to perform a different kind of “sport:” Every one of them had to jump fully clothed into the fish pond in the orchard, and take the frogs out of there. The Germans claimed that the frogs were disturbing their sleep, so they had to be destroyed.

One day, gendarmes and Jewish police from Lublin arrived in the shtetl, and demanded a contingent of young Jews for labor.

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The Judenrat replied that they could not obey this order, because all the Markuszow Jews, especially the younger ones, had stable jobs. At the same time, our Judenrat managed to inform the Markuszow Jewish policemen that they should warn the shtetl youth about the danger, and to hide themselves, because there would probably be a hunt for them. As in many other cases, the Judenrat wanted to buy off the Germans, but without success.

The hunt actually soon began, but the killers could only catch two Jews. Most of the youth hid in the laches,^[1] near the railroad tracks. One Jewish policeman from Lublin noticed the runaways, and went off after them to detain them. He managed to grab one of our youth by the arm (I don't remember his name now), but this particular servant of the Germans was properly beat up, and left with empty hands, and went back to where he had come from.

The two captured Jews were taken to Majdanek where they stayed for one month. Thanks to a large bribe, the Judenrat managed to bring them back to the shtetl. We saw two living skeletons. Each one had lost about 20 kilos in body weight.

Our Judenrat gave serious thought to establishing a permanent employment place for Markuszow Jews, so they wouldn't be subject to the caprices of the local and foreign killers who got great satisfaction from grabbing Jews for labor.

After major efforts, a work place was established in Kloda, 5 km from Markuszow thanks to the bribing of the German authorities in Pulawy with a large sum of money. The work consisted of digging rocks out of the ground, and in most cases, reburying them again the following day in order to remove them once more. The elder there, a Pole, got his tip, and thanks to that, the conditions were not the worst.

A while later, we were forced to send about 40 men to the Janiszow camp. In order not to create the impression in the shtetl that only kids from poor families were being sent there, the first group sent there came from better-off families. Then they were exchanged for another group.^[2]

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On Pesach 1942, the Judenrat received an order to provide a list of 500 Jews, together with the people. The Judenrat thought that in order to save the youth, the parents should voluntarily report themselves. There was a great commotion, because we felt that we were supplying the angel of death. And we knew one other thing: the 500 would not quench the Germans' thirst for Jewish blood.

A tragic debate began in Jewish homes: to show up on one's own, or wait to be called. The killers only cared about the quantity, the number that had to match. For us Jews, it meant tearing away from the family one of its members, our own flesh and blood, to sacrifice oneself for others.

That evening in our house is well etched in my memory: my whole family–grandmother, parents, three brothers, three uncles, and three aunts discussed the fatal decree affecting such a large number of Jews. The first to speak was my grandmother, Ruchel Laks, who because of her piety and adherence to kosher laws, lived in our house.

“Kinderlach, I have already lived my life. The few years I have left to live, are not worth anything to me, especially in these bitter times. I will be the first to register, and let's hope you will all be saved by this.

None of us wanted to agree to this. The next morning early, grandmother was the first to get up, and she went straight to the gemine place where the Jews were supposed to assemble. The rest of the family members fled out of the shtetl to wait out the storm.

In the evening we returned home. A Pole we knew told us that it was quiet in the shtetl now that the Germans had gone. The next day, the rest of the Jews who had fled returned to Markuszow frightened and ready to leave again should danger approach. The Judenrat asked several young people to go to the road to Naleczow on which our parents and brothers and sisters were driven yesterday, in order to pick up the dead bodies and bury them in a Jewish cemetery. Shmuel Rubunstein, Motl Pelz, Dovid'che Ettinger, me and my brother, provided with a special permission from the gemine authority, set out on the road of death of the Markuszow Jews.

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It was Friday, and it was pouring rain, and the muddy road made walking difficult. We asked about the marching Jews at practically every house. We wanted to have a clearer picture of their last journey. They told us that the Jews were transported to Przybyslawska on wagons that the farmers had to supply. In Przybyslawska, they were ordered to get off the wagons, and they were driven further on foot on the soaked Polish road, but through the mud only, preventing anyone from walking on a dry place.

At Kolonia Gory we noticed a fresh pile of dirt, like a grave. A farmer told us that, on that spot, a Jew who had been shot was buried yesterday. We made a sign, memorized the spot, and continued on, even though our permission was only to Kolonia Gory. A few hundred meters farther on, we saw another grave–and that was an order for us to continue. We believed that one of the Jews had surely left a letter or a sign of some kind. In the village of Olefin we came across various papers, and among them–names from siddurs, chumashes, and other religious books. And another grave. We really wanted to know which of our hometown Jews was covered by this foreign earth for eternity. So we went to the soltis to ask for permission to remove the buried body. He required a written permission from the gemine, and we could only dig up the body and identify it. We had to make do with asking the farmers about the appearance of the person who was buried there yesterday on that spot. According to their description and signs, we understood that this was the fresh grave of the Markuszow cantor, Moishe Beinishe's (Weinribber).

In the meantime, it had become darker, and we had to return home and bring the bodies of the Jews who had been shot. Aside from that, we knew that any delay would cause profound worry back home. We got horse and wagon from the soltis in Gory, took the bodies of Yehoshua Tuvieh's, and Shifra Leibke's from the graves. Before we had set out, the Judenrat told us we were to leave the bodies at Asher Beigleman's house. We did so, and went to the Judenrat with our report.

That Saturday after the deportation was terrible, full of unrest and sorrow. There was someone missing in every Jewish home. There were no illusions that the same fate awaited the Jews still alive.

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Not long after the first deportation, we again got the sinister news about having to assemble at the gemine square. We also heard about the disaster carried out by the Germans in neighboring Korew that became empty of Jews. So we left Markuszow now instead of going to the gemine place. My father and youngest brother hid at a Pole they knew in Markuszow; I, my mother, and other brother went to a cellar in the shtetl itself. We could certainly have left the shtetl, but we were motivated by curiosity to see what was happening, and that's why we stayed in Markuszow. Someone however betrayed us, and several Markuszow firemen, led by my onetime classmate, Soral, took us to the gemine place where there were another 50 Jews who had been captured like us. They took us to the previous ghetto in Konskowola. At that point, Konskowola was completely Judenrein. Right away the next day, we started to think about running away from there. We left on the road to Markuszow, and there we saw a transport of Markuszow Jews. So we decided to return to the shtetl we had just left, because in the passing transport, we noticed our father and brother. We met them in Konskowola and they told us that having learned about our being sent to Konskowola, a group of Markuszow Jews decided to go there in order to meet up with their own people, and be together with them. We were greatly upset by these events, because we weren't supposed to voluntarily hand ourselves over to the German animals.

In the meantime, an order was issued that all the Jews found in Konskowola had to, within the space of one hour, assemble at the synagogue. It was not hard to figure out what that signified. And although there was no point in hiding, because the noose was being tightened around our necks more and more, we also didn't want to hand ourselves over to the murderers. The designated hour meanwhile was coming to an end, and we did not know what to do. So my brother and I climbed up to an attic to have a look at the neighborhood. Perhaps we could find a way to flee. It turned out, however, that the entire shtetl was surrounded by Ukrainians, and there was no chance of leaving the shtetl. So we went to the synagogue. There were about 1000 Jews gathered there, driven here from the surrounding shtetls.

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Suddenly the sound of Yiddish singing came to our ears. We distinctly heard Chasidic melodies. Some of us ran to the windows, and saw hundreds of Jews from Miechow on the synagogue street, with sefer-Torahs in their arms, dancing and singing. Of course, they were doing this on the orders of the killers.

As soon as the Miechow Jews had gone, armed Germans and Ukrainians broke into the shul courtyard, and ordered the Jews to get out. Two SS were stationed at the door inside, and another two outside. One of the Germans outside hit every exiting Jew on the back and shouted, “To the right!” We rarely heard the word, “left.”

After this selection it turned out that of the 1000, only 17 were told to go left. Among the 17 were several Markuszowers: two sons of Yehoshua Greier, Avrum Zukerman, and my brother and me. The rest of the Jews, those on the right, were taken to the Pulawy train station. We, the 17, remained in the shul building. Suddenly we heard a shot, and the scream of a child. It seems that a young Jewish child had been left in the shul, and as soon as one of the killers saw this, he quickly took the young life. We were ordered to collect the body and hand it over to the Jewish police in Konskowola. This we did.

The 17 were not prevented from moving around freely, and I wanted to take advantage of this to take my condemned parents and younger brother out of their group. Getting our parents out was out of the question, but we could have easily got our brother out. Our parents convinced him to run away with us, but the young man stubbornly refused arguing that he didn't want to leave the parents alone, and wherever they went, he would go too. I went back to Konskowola, looked up a Pole I knew, and asked him to follow (for money, of course) the transport of deported Jews, and see what happens to them. Three days later he returned, and reported that, from the Pulawy station, the Jews were taken away in sealed freight cars. He followed them until Lublin, but further, he could not go. It was forbidden to approach the freight cars, and the presence of a stranger in a small train station, even a Pole, would have aroused suspicion.

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We remained in Konskowola, and were employed building an airfield outside Pulawy. We had to remove the topsoil, and flatten out the whole site. This kind of work required both knowledge and physical endurance. My brother and I quickly caught on to the gist of, for us, the new profession, and the overseers had reason to be happy. For that reason, we didn't lack food, and their behavior towards us was good. The few Markuszowers now kept close together.

One time at work, I noticed my cousin, Shmuel Rosenberg, walking between two Polish policemen. I knew he had been hiding in the village of Wole, and his appearance here accompanied by police did not signify anything good. I gave him signs that he should escape and mix in with our group of workers. He was unable to do it. Later, I found out that he was discovered in his hiding place, and shot in Pulawy.

I got a new job in the camp. I drove the small locomotive that pulled carts. My job was to bring the empty carts in time to the excavator machine that quickly filled them with earth, and bring them to another place where young girls were waiting who then overturned them and emptied them out. Once, while discharging the soil, one of the carts got stuck. The two girls who were supposed to tilt the cart made superhuman efforts, but the mass of iron would not yield. The rest of the girls ran over to help, but their combined efforts were not successful due to their poor diet and the harsh conditions. I saw the crowd at the cart from my little locomotive, and felt that danger threatened because we were staying too long on one spot, and the excavator had already prepared another load. I jumped off the locomotive and quickly ran over to the immobile cart, and gave it a push so that it turned over, and the earth spilled out. The German overseer, who did not spare whacking people across their backs with his thin rod, hit me with all his strength across my back so I immediately felt blood from top to bottom. I went back on the locomotive in pain and anger, and set off with such force that the carts jumped off the rails. The hard work of putting them back on the rails was done accompanied by blows and curses.

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I later told the head master about the incident, and he actually consoled me and promised to make efforts on my behalf to make it easier for me in the camp. He was even prepared to take me back and forth to work in his car, because we walked the road to the airfield, one hour each way.

The physical pain of the blows, and the moral suffering caused by the gross behavior of the new overseer, made me think that I couldn't go on very long, and I would probably have to find a way to escape. Coincidentally, at that time, a large transport of Czechoslovakian Jews arrived. Since they arrived on a Friday, and with a lot of baggage, we sat down to table and celebrated a Friday evening with candle blessing, challah, wine and other good food. The Slovakian Jews were strongly convinced that their home was only temporarily changed, and they would quickly be freed to return to their old homes. We, the local Jews, saw things completely differently. The fact that they brought Jews here from so far away demonstrated to us that Hitler's paws reached everywhere, and that the death sentence on Jews did not mean only Polish Jewry. It was possible that the murderers had already finished with the Jews of Poland, and now they could be employed with the annihilation of Jews from other European countries.

I determined to escape, and told my brother and Avrum Zukerman about it. Both agreed with the plan, and it was decided that I would be the first to go. If they hadn't received any news from me in eight days, they were to come after me to Belzec.

I hit the road at dawn. The hardest was to get out of Konskowola. I barely made it to the valley near the shtetl; lay down there for a little in the grass still wet from dew. After a brief rest, I combed my hair like a shaygetz, and cautiously continued my march. I was supposed to get to Wawolnica, and from there to Loki, from where it was easier to get to Belzec. Along the way, I avoided several older farmers, and asked some young shepherds in which direction to go. I had a list of villages that lay along my route. Around noon, I approached Wawolnica, and began to think that it was very dangerous now, in the middle of the day, to be going through the shtetl. Waiting until night meant sleeping outside, not eating, and most importantly, adding another day or two to the journey.

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Without realizing it, I had come to Wawolnica, gone through the back streets and out the other side of the shtetl. I kept going and came to a crossroads. One sign read: Lubki–11 kilometers. I went in that direction through a quiet country road, and arrived there in the evening. One mustn't stop though, danger lurks from every corner. I kept going, and late that night I found myself in the village of Wojciechow. I suddenly felt a gnawing hunger, but knocking on a door now would be dangerous. There were still 6 km to the Kolonia. Although it was late, I decided to continue on my way. I took the switchblade out of my pack, opened it up, and felt somewhat safer. I came to a cottage, knocked on the door, and to the question from the farmer of where I was coming from, I told him I was a Pole from outside Lublin who had run away from the “Junaken,” (Polish youth organization working for the Germans). The farmer believed me, gave me a good meal, and even proposed I spend the night. I thanked him, and explained that I wanted to reach Milocin tonight to deliver greetings from a Junak who had been alongside me at work. The farmer gave me a loaf of bread with lard and wished me good luck. I thanked him with a real Christian “Niech bedzie Pochwalony Jezus Chrystus” (Praise be Jesus Christ), and happy and full, I quickly headed off to Belzec. I knew the city, and went in via back roads, and got to grandmother's house where everyone embraced me, and asked about the family. I did not want to hide the fact of my parents' death from them. I could not sleep a wink that night. The knowledge tortured me: maybe I was responsible for my parents' death? 

I got up in the morning, and went about the shtetl to find out what was going on. It became clear to me that Belzec was awaiting the same fate as all the shtetls with a Jewish population, although the local residents (and others too) wanted to convince themselves that they were different. I decided to go to a farmer I knew in the village, and take care of my brother, who was supposed to be coming in a few days, there. The farmer received me in quite a friendly manner, and proposed I stay and work. That appealed to me very much. The farmer even entrusted me with the keys, but after a few days I concluded his wife was stealing from him, and that could get me in trouble. So Sunday I asked

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them to take me to her father, because I wanted to settle my brother there. She asked me to harness the horses and she came along. The old man lived in Plouszowice. He welcomed me warmly, and asked about the family. I told him about everything, and he straight away showed his readiness to receive my brother. He would treat him like his own child, he said.

The next Sunday, my brother did arrive from Konskowola, taking almost the same route I had. I soon took him to the old farmer and asked him to find me another place, close to my brother. Since the old man was greatly respected by his children, he immediately ordered the oldest (and richest) daughter to take me in. So I went over to the new place in Tomaszowice, 4 km in all from my brother. It didn't take long before we acquired papers to be allowed to be employed as field workers. The bosses were exceptionally happy with our work, and the farmers strongly praised the work we carried out, emphasizing often that we were certainly not Jews.

One Friday evening, our boss came back from the city, and told us about the German decree that all Jews found in the Lublin area must report to Belzec. As in every such decree, it ended with the threat of death for anyone not obeying the occupier. At this, the farmer informed me that I could no longer stay with him. I told him that I first had to consult with my brother and the rest of the Jews, among them many Markuszowers working in the area. I actually did go off to the nearest village, came into a house where some Markuszowers were living, and I saw Jewish men, women and children sitting at the Shabbes table, with the candlesticks, and candles, and weeping. The bitter news had reached them too. They well knew what reporting to Belzec meant. That was why everyone resolved not to go to Belzec, but to save themselves however they could.

Later I met my brother, and we both decided not to accede to the demands of the Germans. We had a talk with our boss, and asked him to get us weapons. He refused. We then asked him if he would allow us to stay for three days, until things quieted down. To our surprise, he agreed, but he just wanted that his family knew nothing about it. We crawled up to the loft full of straw, and settled in there. Through the cracks, we saw

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a group of Jews being led to the city either because they had no place to hide, or they got tired of wandering homeless. Voluntarily or driven by armed farmers our brothers went to their death.

After three days in the loft of the hospitable farmer, we decided to leave. But where to? We set out late at night. Coming to Wole, we went to a farmer we knew, and asked him to let us stay the night. He agreed on the condition that the door of the barn stay open, so that in case something happens, he can say he knew of nothing. But only for the night. Tomorrow we had to leave. He can't risk his life, or the lives of his family, and his whole farm. Having no choice, we accepted his condition, and from then on, for weeks after, our wandering life continued. We did not spend our nights in the same places as our days. By day we lay hidden on the peat fields, at night, in a barn in a field, or close to a farm. In our wandering, we often came across other unfortunates like us, but in larger groups with more family members. From them we learned how one night young armed Poles from Przybyslawica came and looked for hidden Jews, took their money, raped the girls and women, and promised more such visits.

We understood that this sort of wandering served no purpose for us. We thought constantly about weapons. We even wanted to buy them from various farmers, but with no success. In the meantime, the wandering continued. You were lucky if you found some hay or straw in a field, because the farmers had caught on to the uninvited night guests, and they all locked the stables. And he who found a safe place to sleep, did not want to tell anyone, because too many people skulking around would only arouse suspicion and bring disaster. So we sat around idly all day in the forest, although our thoughts were always about the partisans, without even knowing exactly what that meant.

Once as we sat in the forest roasting potatoes, someone we knew from the city showed up, and invited us to a farmer's cottage. There we saw three people sleeping, and next to them–rifles. Our eyes shone with joy, our hearts beat faster. Are they perhaps the partisans we were looking to join? Will this be the end of our wandering over fields and forests? But our landsman quickly corrects us. They were just homeless Poles

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who were taking advantage of wartime for robbery purposes, and inasmuch as their area of activity was the region where Jews were hiding, they had not yet bothered us, and were in friendly relations with the partisans. There were, however, among them two Russians, escaped prisoners of war who had weapons and belonged to a partisan band. We were very envious of them, and dreamed of acquiring a rifle or a Nagan.^[3] Nevertheless, we asked them to take us with, without a weapon, in the hope that being with the fighters we would somehow get our own rifle. The partisans would, however, not hear of it. Without weapons, nothing happens.

Mechl Laterstein said that while he and other friends were hiding in a loft, armed farmers approached, took their rings and other things. He knows the farmers, knows where they live, and it would be worthwhile to pay them a visit, and take their weapons. Said and done. At night, several guys went to the farmers'. They took my brother along too. I waited for them all night in fear and anxiety, and finally saw them return–healthy, cheerful, and the most important–with three rifles. After they acquired real rifles, they gave their old used gear to those who wanted to join the partisans. It was decided that Shmuel, Mechl, and my brother would go with the partisans. I stayed to continue my homeless wandering, but always with the hope that I would one day be worthy to get my own rifle.

Several weeks went by without any news from the partisans. I began to inquire about them from farmers, and used the opportunity to ask them if they could buy or find a revolver or a rifle for me. Unfortunately, I was refused everywhere. I went to the forest where many Jewish families from Markuszow and elsewhere were hiding. The poorest of the Jews, with no financial means, were hiding out here. They subsisted on only potatoes that they dug out from the fields during the night, and then roasted over a fire. In most cases the families were broken, storm of war separating them so no one knew where they were, even though they could have been hiding quite near. I remember that I met in the forest at that time Simcha and Yosef Kopitke and their families, Yidl Shwartz and his family, both Markuszow shoichet's and their families, and others.

Leaving the forest at Meszno, I met Aharon Shmuel Zalman's and

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we discussed weapons. He was ready to sell me a rusty rifle, with missing wooden stock. For 400 zlotys, I took the bargain off his hands without the slightest conviction it would lead to anything. I went back “home,” put the rusty piece of iron in a can of naphtha, and then began to tinker with a knife to carve out the stock. I fell asleep in the middle of the work. I dreamed that I owned my own rifle, a new one, a real automatic, and all the partisans envied me. When I woke up, the dreaming was over, it was back to harsh reality. After 24 hours in the naphtha, I took the metal out, tried to take it apart, but the rust had so eaten into the metal that I had to return it to the naphtha. After another 24 hours I tried it again, this time with more success. I was finally able to move the bolt. After much effort, I took the rifle apart in pieces, wiped everything dry, smeared each piece with Vaseline, and began to put the weapon back together–a job I had never in my life done before. I don't know how long it took but I was suddenly the owner of a rifle…I stroked the wood, the cold metal, and my heart was full of joy and hope. I waited for news of the partisans so I could join them. And suddenly there was an opportunity: a Russian came for Manye Laterstein who was hiding with us, and I used the moment to go with them. This time no one refused me out of respect for the rifle.

It didn't take long to learn the most important tenets of the partisan Torah. The first–how to “occupy a position.” You look for a farmer cottage that is separated from the other village houses, and is close to a forest. Going in there as well as out only happens at night. If there were one or more partisans, the farmer and his household would be put under house arrest, unless they had urgent work to do in the field or in the garden, but close to the house so the partisans could see them. In the case where the farmer had neighbors or relatives visit, the guest must also be placed under house arrest. The partisans and the farmer's families must eat together, and behave well, not offend them in anyway, except when they openly display unfriendliness. Second–a partisan had to know how to orient himself by the stars at night, know every tree in the forest and use them in their wandering, not to use main roads, but paths in the fields,

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or forest trails. Eyes and ears must always be alert. Don't be in a hurry to use your weapon, avoid shooting too often, and while walking in the woods, to be very careful stepping on the dry twigs that crack under your feet and make noise. Don't leave a sign of your presence walking through the forest, know the bird calls, don't get lost in a dark night, and in the case of someone getting separated from the group, know where the closest meeting point is.

We learned about all the partisan ways from our commandant, Tolek, a Soviet officer who had escaped from German imprisonment. He transformed our otriad, composed of people who had never held a rifle in their hands, into professional, trained fighters. We were located in the Kozlowka forests, and led our partisan life.

Once, the news came to us that in the Wole forests big raids were carried out which resulted in the deaths of the hidden Jews there. So we went off there to find out how much truth there was in the rumors, and maybe we could help our unfortunate brothers. We found out that the forest overseer, (lesniczy) and some local farmers carried out an action with their own hands, and captured several Jews, before the rest fled to other places. Someone raised the idea that we should rescue the captured Jews, but the majority, and commandant Tolek, spoke out against such an action. We were not yet battle capable, and it would be a huge risk with such small numbers, and poorly armed people. Aside from that, we didn't know exactly where the captured Jews were.

We returned to the Kozlowka forest. A while later, we learned about the great destruction the Germans had perpetrated in the Wole forest. They killed almost all the Jews who had been hiding in the bunkers. We left for the place where our nearest ones had been killed in the most horrible manner. We walked over what were now the graves of the Markuszow Jews. Pictures, documents, clothing of the dead were strewn about the forest. While leaving the forest, we saw along its edge, the naked little bodies of two children of around two and three years of age. The younger child was lying on the body of the older one. We went to a farmer nearby and asked him to bury the children, which he did.

It became clear that only by increasing our strength, and improving our weapons could we effectively lead the partisan war.

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We got news that there was an armed Jewish partisan band in the Kozlowka forests. There were other partisans quartered with a farmer, Kozak, who were called “Kozaks” after their landlord. We sent a messenger to the Kozlowka fighters to propose uniting–it was, however, rejected. The situation worsened. The farmers began to show displeasure with the fact of armed Jewish partisans in their environment. That was why we were inclined to unite with the underground communist party, because that meant political, and moral help and also a supply of weapons, and a changed relationship with the farmers who were close to the communist movement.

We therefore gladly received the invitation from a certain farmer, Smolak, from the village of Wole, who promised to connect us with the partisans, and simply legalize us. We would submit to a unified behavior and discipline, and carry out missions, and not be exposed to all the dangers of a smaller, unorganized group. We accepted the invitation, and every Thursday, we took part in meetings. Above all they taught us to carry out education of the farmers we came in contact with, to organize them to fight against the Nazis.

At that time, there was a debate in the Polish underground movement about the forms of struggle against the occupier. While the P.P.R.^[4] was for immediate actions against the Germans, the B.Ch. (Batalion Chlopski–farmers' battalion) maintained it was too early, and the nationalist organizations like the N.S.Z.^[5] and the A.K.^[6] urged waiting “with rifles at their feet.” Our appearance in the villages agitating for immediate defense actions created a reaction in these organizations who wanted to delay the response, and they threatened us Jewish partisans with the worst if we did not stop our education activities. We therefore had to move to a different area where we were not known as Jews. Our territory increased somewhat, and we received weapons as well. At one meeting with young farmers, the idea was broached of each partisan with weapons being allowed to bring along one more unarmed.

One day we were lying hidden at a farmer's in Syry. Our dream then was to occupy our own comfortable hideout (“skritke”) in the forest and not

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have to always be looking for quarters with different farmers. Sitting around the table, we began to talk about how to build such a bunker, secure it well, store food, and take in our own people even those with no weapons. Suddenly we heard a noise through the window, and we saw a huge column of Germans with machine guns, mortars, and even small artillery pieces, marching close by us in the cottage toward the forest. Tolek ordered us to hide in the house, and in case of danger everyone was to defend himself individually. One of us remained at the window to watch the marching enemy. After they had left, we got an order to march following their footsteps. The distance between us and the marching Germans was a few hundred meters. We heard a lot of shooting and reckoned that it was the Germans combing through the forest. We waited for night impatiently, certain that the uninvited guests would retreat. That was what did happen. Thanks to our proximity to the Germans, we knew about their movements and were witness to their leaving the area. But here we made a small mistake. The next day they returned, but in a neighboring forest. But most of the Jews there had already left for another place, and the raid did not harm them much.

Once it had calmed down in the area, we began to build the bunker. It consisted of two large holes, four by 10 meters each, separated from each other at a distance of 10 meters, and connected by a zigzag tunnel. The holes were covered with several layers of big trees, a lot of earth was piled on top, and planted with young pine trees. From the top it was completely impossible to know that there were two bunkers there. The entrance was designed so that a sapling could be removed along with a section of soil.

We moved into the hideout in autumn 1942. We brought in a lot of food, clothing and two jugs of alcohol. Isser Rosenberg and his wife, Chana Gothelf, were also in our hiding place. They had been in a bunker along with their sister, Dina Gothelf until now. As much as I can recall, occupying the bunker were the following people. Tolek, Aliosha, Wladek (my brother), me, Shmuel Rubinstein, Isser, Michal Yakov Gothelf, Yehoshua Teitlboim, Yerachmiel Rubinstein, Moishe-Velvl Kestelman, Itzchak Fishbein,

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the two escaped prisoners-of-war, Gatz, and Yeger, Manye Shwartz, Manye Laterman, Simeh Breinski, Zlateh Kestleman, Sureh-Beileh Kestelman, Bunieh and Tovieh Teitlboim.

A strict regime was carried on. We could only leave the bunker at night with the permission of the commandant. Our precautions went so far that when a farmer's carriage brought us products, it was not allowed to stop near the bunker, but had to throw the things out while continuing on its way so that no traces of the horse's hooves remained. And in winter, when we went out to collect provisions, we returned only during blizzards so that the snow would obliterate our footprints.

This hideout was like the Garden of Eden for us where we could relax our strained nerves. We were not, however, allowed to rest for long. The party sent a messenger of its own and we were unhappy with that, not wanting anyone to know about our skritke. Another time, Mordecahi Kershenblat and Yuzek Reich showed up at our hideout, and they told us that the partisans hiding at the Kozaks were killed during a German raid, and they were the only ones who managed to escape. Tuvieh Kandel was also among the arrivals. The three survivors stayed with us, but they were impatient. Something was driving them from the place, and they asked the commandant for three more people, because there was a possibility somewhere to buy some weapons. We accommodated them, and my brother, Martchinek and I went along. It was a nice night even though it was snowing which covered us in white completely. In Wole, we got a sled from a farmer, and went off in the Tomaszowice neighborhood. We stopped and stayed in Bogucin, and then continued on to the Tomaszowice Kolonia to farmers we knew, rested, and then went to see the place where so many of our nearest ones had been killed. We examined each place wanting to learn from their failures the reasons for the tragedy so that we could avoid them in case of emergency.

As regards buying weapons meanwhile, nothing was happening. The farmer dragged it out from one day to the next, even though we had money to pay him. Resigned, we decided to return to the forest bunker. It was a starry night, and a snowy whiteness was spread over everything. Suddenly we saw a sleigh coming toward us. We quickly lay down on the ground.

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The people approaching did the same. Both groups prepared to fire. We heard a cry, “Stoi, haslo!” When the others also cried, “haslo,” we recognized the voice as one of ours. By a hundredth of a second we had missed creating victims on both sides. It turned out that my rifle had been aiming at my cousin, who was with Yeger, Isser Rosenberg, Michal Gatz, and the farmer, Kopica. The commandant had sent them out to look for us, because they were worried about us in the bunker. We decided to go back with them right away. We were only going to stop in the village for a while for supper, and to change horses.

After changing the horses, we continued on our way hoping to get to the bunker, and rejoice with our own people. But the deeper we got into the forest the more worried the farmer, who was driving us with his horse and wagon, became. We promised to let him go soon, but he asked to be let go right away. We found his behavior suspicious and when we subjected him to questioning as to why he was in such a hurry, he stammered that two days ago a big raid had been carried out in the forest, and according to what he heard, all the people hiding in a bunker had been killed. We did not want to believe this bad news. We let the farmer go, and went straight to the house of the forest overseer. (Gajowa).^[7] He confirmed the horrible news and added more details:

A strong punitive expedition had been combing through the entire forest for two weeks, until they found the well-masked bunker. They hit it with mortars, shot in with heavy weaponry, but without result. So they hit on the idea of digging an entryway into the bunker. As soon as a German appeared near the hideout, he was immediately eradicated. So the murderers enlisted dozens of farmers from the villages to dig a tunnel. It did not last long, however, because they had to stop working at night. When it became dark, the Germans retreated and returned in the morning. On the third day of digging, after the murderers realized the senselessness of the plan, they dug small holes near the bunker, placed straw within them, and set fire to it. The smoke suffocated most of the bunker inhabitants. Those who were still gasping in their death throes, the Germans shot.

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From the forest ranger to the bunker was only two kilometers. But our feet would not carry us after hearing the horrible news. After two hours of walking, we got to the spot that had seemed such a secure home just a few days ago. The earth around looked like it had been ploughed up by bullets, digging, and human feet. Our heads were lowered in sorrow, and grief enveloped us. We understood: the enemy is a merciless one. He has pronounced a death sentence on us that brooks no appeal. We now also have to be without compromises and sentimental feelings. The forces are really unequal, but we cannot lay down our arms. On the contrary, we needed to acquire more weapons, make more frequent attacks on the Germans, harass them more, and the most important–take revenge for the blood spilled.

Now a mass grave of dear, kind comrades and brothers-in-arms, townspeople, and acquaintances stretched before our eyes. Our hearts beat faster, anxiously, fists were clenched, but also despair stole into our consciousness. It seems our commandant, Yeger, felt the change in the handful of fighters left. He asked for silence, even though no one had even breathed yet. His order was a brief one: to honor the memory of the fallen with a rifle salute. Everyone lined up, and at the same time opened the bolts, inserted a bullet, and a powerful boom was heard in the forest.

That was our partisan Kaddish on the fresh graves of Markuszow Jews. Yes, according to ancient Jewish custom, we did not forget a tombstone. We inscribed the date and the tragic event on a fallen tree, and enveloped in a bitter silence, we left that place and went to the village of Syry.

After the death of the inhabitants of the bunker, most of whom were partisans, the behavior of the farmers changed radically. They knew that our camp was now a small one, shrunken, beaten up. They decided not to let us into the villages anymore, much less show up on the threshold of their cottages. To that end, they hung bells in every village which were rung in alarm at the sight of any partisans. We had not expected such a blockade and excommunication. Considering there was nothing to lose, we decided to teach a lesson to a village of farmers–maybe they would stop their battle against us. We knew that the most aggressive

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and antisemitic village was Gory, because most of the local young men had served in the Polish army, and after the defeat in 1939, they came home with weapons. We decided, therefore, to march through the village in the daytime, and respond with fire if any if the farmers tried to mess with us, or ring the bell. We also knew that they would not use their weapons in the middle of the day for fear for their women and children. The success of such a march through would mean that we had demonstrated our strength and courage not submitting to fear and terror of the farmers.

And that indeed came to pass. The residents of Gory looked on amazed and surprised as a Jewish partisan band marched through their village, and not one of them dared to open his mouth. It seems they understood our determination–and it was a clear one: their village would be burned down if they attacked us.

Not far from Gory is the village of Gutanow. We went in that direction, and as soon as we reached the first houses, we heard the bells ringing. There was no choice but to still forever the zealous farmer pulling the string of the alarm bell and tear down the bell. Approaching the Gutanow woods, we came upon a strong division of German and Polish (Granatens) police. We opened fire trying to penetrate deeper into the woods in order to later cut through the Lublin-Warsaw main road, and look for shelter in the village of Leszic. Here too the bells rang, but not as a reception for partisans, but as an alarm and warning that banished and hunted people have shown up in the village. In a quick march, we reached the woods, because we only felt secure there, even though hunger and fatigue had robbed us of the slight feeling of safety. After resting, we went off to the nearest cottage to find something to eat. There we were attacked with concentrated fire. So we had to run away again from this terrible place.

Our battle with the surrounding villages for recognition went on for months, until we decided to invite a few smaller partisan groups to march with us through several larger places and show our strength. We also let the soltises^[8] know that if the villagers attacked us, they would die together with the partisans. This helped. Fantastical news began to spread about our strength. One farmer even claimed that he alone had seen over 1000 Jewish partisans…

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Finally a break came in the behavior of the surrounding village populations to the partisans. Now every farmer knew that if he had to prepare a consignment for the Germans–whether a pig, dairy products, or wheat, he first had to inform the soltis, who then informed the partisans. So we would go to the farmer's home, and leave a note that the partisans had confiscated the pig that the farmer had actually in the meantime buried in a secure place. Then a commission came and confirmed the partisans' raid and theft of the articles destined for the consignment. The result was, the Germans got nothing, the products remained with the farmer, and our image and authority grew immensely. The peasants come to us now for various issues. It was impossible to keep up with so many requests. So we had a talk with the soltises, and told them that the partisan bands will hand out a certain number of blank certificates confirming our confiscation of consignment articles. For this we claimed the right to take whatever food we needed for ourselves.

Now we even dared to levy contributions on some landowners and wealthier farmers, and to help the impoverished farmers with this money. Here the A.K. mixed in, and made known their opposition to the contributions, and that they, the underground fighters for Polish nationalism were ready to guard the gentry's estates, and their possessions. To that we replied that it's a waste of time for them to post guards on the estates, because on the fields of the gentry there are plenty of stacks of wheat or hay, and we will make them go up in smoke if they mount a resistance to the partisans' demands.

It appears that the A.K. group in the area had determined to liquidate us. Once there were thirty of us quartered in the Bogucin Kolonia. Among them were many Markuszow people: Chaim Gothelf, David Ettinger, Moishe Pelz, Hershl Fishbein, the writer of these lines, and others. Suddenly a strong fire was directed at us. We succeeded in getting outside with no losses, and getting into the woods nearby. When night fell we decided to find out who attacked us. It turned out that it was no other than local Poles of the A.K. who took upon themselves the German business of annihilating Jewish partisans. A while later, we got the trustworthy news that the headquarters of the A.K. were in the court of the nobleman himself. So we began negotiations with the magnate with no result. Finally we gave him an ultimatum

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demanding a meeting on Saturday with all the gentry in the neighborhood to put an end to the shooting at each other, and the murder of hidden Jews by A.K. members. If not–we would declare war on the estates of the gentry–and let the chips fall where they may. It was clear that a lot depended on the success of the negotiations.

Negotiators elected on the partisan side were: Yeger, Gatz, Shmuel Rubinstein, Isser Rosenberg, Hershl Fishbein, and myself. We were supposed to have sat at one table with the gentry, and reach an agreement about a ceasefire. We were accompanied by two more groups, separated from each other by a distance of half a kilometer, ready at any moment for any eventuality or surprise.

At the designated time, we went to the courtyard where the negotiations were to take place. The other two groups came behind us. Arriving at the “spoldzielnie,”^[9] (consumer cooperative), we noticed a large number of farmers at the place. It was still light out, and we shouted loudly, “Hands in the air!” The crowd fled, looking to take up positions. We warned them against it, and threatened to open fire. They stopped still in the middle of running. Their commandant took a few steps forward, and declared his willingness to negotiate. From our side, Yeger stepped out. Both approached each other, shook hands, and agreed to invite one more from each side to the talks, in order to consult with them. Our first demand was: Only the four people leading the negotiations should remain at the spot. The rest must leave. Now the farmers were embarrassed when they saw only four men from our side leaving.

Both sides discussed how the official meeting was taking place in the tavern, and not in the courtyard as previously decided. One of us and one of them went to see the magnates to invite them to the consultation. A half hour later, in a separate room in the tavern were assembled: the count of Milocin, the noblemen from Bogucin, Tomaszowice, Palikije, and two paratroopers from England, and several prominent farmers, officers of the previous Polish army. Our side was represented by the partisans named above. The negotiations were stormy, and we sat the whole time with our hands in our bags where we had loaded pistols, our fingers on the trigger…Our partisans were waiting outside with grenades ready.

At around two am, we reached an agreement whereby the Palikije magnate had to pay the partisans 50,000 zlotys.

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Weapons they didn't want to contribute with the excuse that they themselves were an underground group in need of weapons. The magnates had to pay us a sum of money every month for our needs. We committed ourselves to take nothing from the farmers other than food for our use, and only with the permission of the farmer himself.

In this way we assured for ourselves freedom of movement and recognition from the A.K., implacable antisemites and opponents of armed struggle against the Germans if not conducted through them exclusively.

Now we could think about engaging the number one enemy in battle–the Hitlerist occupiers.

And we let the Germans know about the existence of the partisans. Every night we would shoot up some part of the Warsaw-Lublin road. We aimed only at the cars, not the Germans, because their warning, and unfortunately, the reality, was that for every German killed all the villages in a radius of 8 kilometers would be burned, and the farmers shot. In the meantime, complaints were coming from many farmers about the actions of a small German garrison in Leszic that was stealing produce from the farmers, demanding huge consignments, and harassing the farmers no end. We decided to liquidate this bunch. With the help from the farmers we knew every detail about the Germans–where they slept, where they kept their weapons, and when the most suitable time to attack them was. After we got the necessary information, we left at dawn for Leszic with the intention of taking the Germans alive. We just had to neutralize the one guard walking outside. Every partisan was given a role in the action.

In the meantime everything is going well. The guard is already dead. We send a farmer to the sleeping Germans to suggest to them that they should surrender without a shot, because they are surrounded by partisans. The farmer returned with a positive answer. We approached the spot where the Germans were found in order to disarm them and take them prisoner. It seems that the Germans regretted their capitulation, and as soon as three partisans got near the window, they opened fire on them. Hershl Fishbein was immediately wounded, and the trophy rifle he had just taken from the guard fell to the ground. One of the partisans carried him to a tree, laid him down there, and then started firing at the Germans. Hershl Fishbein was suffering terribly from his wounds. He thought his intestines were spilling out.

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He takes his pistol and puts it to his head. I see him about to press the trigger. In really the last second I managed to run over to him, and wrenched the revolver from his hands. I undid his clothing and showed him he did not have a big wound. I ordered my uncle, Shmuel Zilberman, from Belzec, to take Hershl to the woods nearby. He does so, and I continue the firefight against the Germans. True, we could set fire to the barrack they're in, but we have to reckon with the farmers against whom the Germans would direct their reprisals of revenge for burning their soldiers alive. Continuing the shooting for a long time we also couldn't, because German help might come, and we would be lost. The order therefore came to retreat, and to continue the battle with the enemy under better circumstances.

The “Gwardia Ludowa” which changed its name now to “Armia Ludowa”^[10] carried out wide-ranging actions against the Germans who were getting beaten at the Soviet front. Partisan activities of different groups increased. We too were not idle. Once we were given help from the Przybyslawska group to blow up the train line outside Lublin. Another time, we carried out a similar action by ourselves.

The winter of 1943 approached. Two partisans from our group–Moishe Pelz (Martchin) and Yosef Plashewitzer (Yuzhek) came down with typhus. That was dangerous, because if it spread, it would be as dangerous as the Germans for us. The first thing we had to do was to isolate the sick. We took them to two farmers, and made them responsible for the lives of the sick. To care for the sick, we left my brother, because he had already had typhus, and he was immune to the infectious disease. We had to think about a more secure hideout for them. Once the sick had improved, having gone through the crisis, we asked a group of Markuszow Jews, who had a well organized skritke, to take in the two partisans. They agreed and we went back to bring them to the new place. As soon as night fell, we laid our two comrades on a well-cushioned bed of hay in a sleigh and covered them with blankets. After travelling for a few kilometers snow began to fall so heavily that we lost our way. The snow

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got deeper, the horses sinking in up to their bellies, and it was really hard for them to move. Our sick companions began to moan. In spite of the warm coverings they were shivering from the cold. We removed our coats and put them on the sick. By the duration of the trip, we figured it was about to become day. And in reality, we heard the roosters crowing. With our last bit of strength we turned the horses toward the village, helped push the sleigh, and knocked on the first cottage. We explained to the farmer who we were, arrested the entire family, because we intended to spend the whole day here, and not leave until evening. Having no choice, the farmer agreed. We relaxed in a warm house, ate well, helped the sick to clean themselves up and rest up. At night we went on further, and arrived in peace at the Markuszow Jews at whose bunker we left the two sick comrades.

Once, several partisans went to a village to secure provisions. When my brother heard about this, he immediately said he had a bad feeling about the outcome. The next day we actually got the news that Shmuel Trapper, and Itzchak Morel had been shot by farmers. We quickly discovered the reason for their death, and decided to teach the murderers a lesson. So we went to the village, and set fire to the stable and cottage from which they had been shooting at our friends. But the murderers had in the meantime run away, and our revenge didn't reach them.

In the meantime we received an order to report to the Parczew forests. We had, however, to postpone carrying out the order until our two friends were completely healthy again. When they had recovered, we set off to the designated location. On the way, we stopped at a village whose name I can't remember now. There a lady farmer from the partisan movement told us that there was another Jewish partisan group active in the neighborhood, and that they would be in the same village as us tomorrow. The next day we actually did meet several Jewish partisans, who did not receive us very friendly, and we couldn't even figure out who they were and where they came from.

In the forest, we were ordered to join up with Captain Yechiel's group. We tried to explain our opposition to the agreement, but without success. We preferred to operate in a neighborhood where we knew every road and path, including the population. Here we found ourselves in a foreign, to us, environment.

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My brother and other partisans had to bring some Jewish survivors here. I and several other fighters had to go on a sabotage mission: to blow up a glassworks, and a bridge near Wlodawa. A hundred of us set out, and several days later we returned to the base with our tasks completed, and three German prisoners. My brother and his group of fifty had still not returned. Ten days had passed since their departure–and no news of any kind. I ran to headquarters every day to ask for news, but they didn't know what to say. Suddenly, by chance, I overheard some Polish partisans saying that there had been a big battle, and that it was likely that fifteen of our fighters had died. I returned to headquarters and asked them for a horse and an escort up to the river Wieprz. I would go on further by myself, because I was anxious about the fate of my brother. They calmed me down with the promise that if there were no news in 3 or 4 days, headquarters would send me on an official mission to find out about the fifteen partisans. Waiting the few days stretched on like an eternity.

On the fourth day, quite early, while I was still sleeping, Michal and Yuzhek came to see me. Both sat down on my bed not wanting to wake me. As soon as I opened my eyes and saw the two partisans, it immediately became clear to me that they had bad news. I shouted wildly, “What happened?!” They calmed me down, told me that several fighters had returned, and that my brother was only wounded. I tore out of bed, and raced to the headquarters to demand a clear answer. They knew my brother well there, and knew that I was ready to go through fire for him. They could no longer withhold the truth, bitter though it was. They calmed me down and I heard the story:

The fifteen men went to get several hidden Jews that the farmers no longer wanted to keep, and at the same time, to get food for the girls in the bunker. This all went smoothly. On the way back, they stopped in the village of Grabina. Around 12 noon, their watchman saw a white figure sneaking out of the forest. Suddenly, more such white figures got closer to the village, and began to surround the cottage where the partisans were staying. Our watchman didn't panic, and immediately began to fire on the Germans, at the same time waking up the sleeping partisans. A heavy firefight developed. The Germans, however, had a mortar, and one round got through the window into the house where our fighters were. They got out of the house, and when the surrounding buildings began to burn,

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they escaped to the field, and everyone had to look after himself. Suddenly, a shot went through my brother's arm. He joked, saying to Michal, “Look, the Germans made a hole in my new coat.”

A few minutes later, the clatter of heavy machine guns was heard. A series of bullets put him on the ground, several bullets entering his abdomen. He felt his last moments were coming. He begged Martchin from Konskowola to take his new rifle that he had a while back received from Tolek for excellence. He just wanted them to leave him a pistol and a grenade. Every German trying to approach was met with an accurate bullet from his pistol. When several Germans at once attacked him, he flung the grenade at them. When he was out of ammunition, and down to one bullet, he put the pistol in his mouth and put an end to his life. David Ettinger (Dudek) died in a similar way.

My despair and sorrow at the death of my brother was great. I wanted to convince myself that if we had been together maybe this tragedy would not have happened. This idea tormented me, and in order to quell it, I volunteered for all the missions that headquarters decided to carry out, and to ask them to put me in the active groups. Revenge–was the only answer to the murderers of my brother.

Now we were a combat group of fifteen, almost all Jews. Our task was: to periodically blow up the train line leading to Minsk. At every kilometer along the line, the Germans had placed observation posts and fortified points. It did them little good, however. Every night we blew up the rails at a different point. Once we succeeded in capturing a post with eleven Germans, and brought them back alive to headquarters.

At that time, we were supplied with weapons from Russia. Airplanes with ammunition would appear at predetermined locations, and drop their valuable burden. Automatic weapons and bullets were now no longer scarce. Our group was mainly entrusted with meeting

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the weapons drops, and we would get the transport to headquarters in the best of shape. Once we entered an area where the A.K. had a large unit stationed. We did not know their password (haslo) and the first guard post threatened to shoot us if we continued. We did not show any fear, and demanded that two of ours be taken to their headquarters. After long negotiations with the commandant, we achieved our goal: the password, and permission to carry out our mission, and to return safely to our base. Here they received us with great ceremony, because they thought we had been killed.

We received an order to unite with the big partisan army of the legendary hero, Kalfak, whose base was in the Carpathian mountains. We set out on our way, met partisan divisions named Wanda Wasilewska, and a group of Czapijewces (called Czapijew), crossed the river Wieprz, and reached our sector. We decided to quarter in the village of Syry. It seems the Germans had information about our march and attacked us in Syry. After the bitter struggle, during which a German general, a specialist in war against partisans, was wounded, we withdrew under the cover of darkness, because the order was to get to the Carpathians as quickly as possible. Out of caution, we divided ourselves into two groups: the otriad, W. Wasilewski, went off on its own. We, the Markuszow partisans, along with the Czapijewces (1,000 men) went in the direction of Konskowola through Markuszow where we stayed a whole day. The following night, we went further on foot while the ammunition was loaded onto wagons. We arranged our baggage train in the village, Vromblov.^[11]

Friday, when the camp was still sunk in sleep, an explosion was heard. Then a second, and a third. Airplanes dropped several bombs on the camp, and then an artillery barrage began. Staying in the camp was terrible. We felt that the Germans had discovered us, and there would be a bitter battle. Headquarters issued an order to evacuate to the woods nearby where there were valleys. The woods, however, were not dense; there were no more trees than there were fighters and horses. It had, however, one important quality:

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tanks could not get in there because it was full of gorges. We lay there helplessly and watched as six more German airplanes approached, dropped their bombs, and before they finished their job, other planes came right after. The artillery too boomed continuously, a sign that the Germans had decided to give us the ultimate blow. After noon, our scouts informed us that big reinforcements of German infantry were approaching the woods, probably to surround and annihilate us. As a result, we got an order to divide our force into four, and each group would defend one side of the woods. We constructed a defensive quadrant with a reserve of automatics that was to be ready to help out any group finding itself in trouble. Around four in the afternoon the cannonade suddenly stopped. The Germans were preparing to attack. With bated breath we heard their orders, and saw from our observation posts, a dense mass of well-trained soldiers, officers at the head, were closing quickly on the woods. Their steady gait, the rifles aiming, and the loud orders bore witness that the Germans were sure that very few partisans were left alive after the heavy bombardment and artillery cannonade. We let them believe that, not moving around, and not betraying our presence. When the beasts were at a distance of 10 meters from us, we opened a concentrated fire on them, and dead German bodies lay stretched out on the ground. Their advance was interrupted. They began to retreat in panic, but the officers' orders forced the soldiers to renew their attacks. It was repeated several times with the same result. Night was approaching and the Germans were not big heroes, especially in a forest. They did, however, have us well encircled, held in a vise, and we could be sure that early tomorrow morning they would renew their attempts to destroy us. Our leaders ordered us that we should try to break through the blockade at night, and at any cost. A vanguard group was chosen which would battle through the German ring, and allow the rest to get away. But before this, we gathered together the 27 wounded, and we gave them help, and made arrangements for continuing on further. We quickly buried three fallen partisans, in the knowledge that the German victims in the Vromblev battle attained hundreds.

The dark and quiet of the night was interrupted by our gunfire–a desperate but determined attempt to break out at any cost. In the darkness, the besiegers did not display much

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efficiency. Most of us got out of the woods, but in split-up groups, with no connections, everyone on his own.

At dawn, we encountered several survivors near the village of Tomaszowice. We decided to go to the village of Wole, where we would certainly find a connection to headquarters. Unfortunately, we weren't able to find out anything in the village. We had to travel to the Parczew forests. We delegated three partisans to get the details and then inform us. The three went off to the Parczew neighborhood, and met the only headquarters member, Kolka, a known antisemite. He did not permit the three to return, but told them to stay there. When they refused, he wanted to disarm them, but our emissaries resisted. Later they discovered that not far from that spot, there were higher ranked Soviet officers responsible for the partisan movement. So they reported to the higher authorities, and told them about the antisemite. The officers took the three partisans under their protection, and permitted them to return to us. If truth be told, we had little enthusiasm for going to the Parczew forests; we knew the antisemite, Kolka, very well. Therefore, we stipulated that we would not be subordinated by this Jew-hater. A number of farmers from Przybyslawica, who also belonged to the general staff, promised us protection. Thanks to their promise, some individual Jews who had survived the Vromblov battle were added to our group, and we left to continue our partisan life as a larger unit. We reformed our units anew, and on May 3rd it was decided to carry out a partisan army parade in the village of Debi in the Parczew neighborhood. After the parade, which had demonstrated our reawakened power, they organized a dance party in the village. Along with Russian partisans, we danced and partied all night.

The next morning, our group received an order to escort General Rola-Zymierski to the partisan otriad called Wanda Wasilewska, from whence he flew back to Russia in a special airplane.

While accompanying general Zymierski, we liberated the shtetl, Ostrow-Lubelski, which remained under our rule until the German retreat. At that time,

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German deserters began to appear, because they felt the catastrophe at the front, and looked for safety, ironically, with the partisans. There were also spies among them sent by the Wehrmacht in order to find out about our forces, and then finally annihilating us to make the road clear for their retreat. Once, a German approached us and reported that one of their generals wanted to see us. At the appointed time and place, the general actually showed up. We handed him over to the Baranowski otriad, which delivered him to Russia. But at the same time, we felt that the Germans were preparing to hit us. We often captured German spies. At that time, about 80 paratroopers arrived with the most needed weaponry, medicine, food and ammunition. We knew that about 90% of them were Jewish, but they didn't especially acknowledge it. The shtetl, Ostrow, and the surrounding neighborhood was now full of partisans whose numbers certainly reached around six thousand. We believed that such a force was capable of going into battle with the Germans, and fight as well as a regular army. We received trustworthy information, however, that the Germans were encircling the whole area, and that the circle was getting smaller by the day. We had to prepare for a defensive battle. Various smaller and larger groups were appearing in the forest, a sign that the German encirclement was getting closer. Our group, mostly Jewish and from Markuszow, received an order to protect the shtetl. Ostrow, and we set up our firing station in a windmill. From there, we were to shoot at the enemy as it was nearing the shtetl. The order specified that after fulfilling our task, we were to return to the forest where everyone had a designated position. The Germans actually did begin to attack Ostrow during the day, but they had to withdraw with big losses. A soon as night fell we went to the forest, because we were low on ammunition. The position designated for us was among the most exposed, and accessible to tanks. We waited for the enemy all day. But he didn't show up. In the evening we saw general Baranowski and colonel Czarny come by. We asked them what explained the quiet, and their appearance here. The answer was a surprise: We had to retreat, because some of the Poles had betrayed us, and deserted their posts. We could not believe such bad news. So we went to headquarters but there was no one there. Even the Russian groups had disappeared.

Were we, the 100 partisans, left to fend for ourselves? All signs pointed to yes. We decided to break out of the encirclement at night,

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and move to another place. Remaining in the forest, or even mounting a defense against thousands of Germans meant certain destruction. The darkness allowed us to move forward, although we didn't know the way then. So we went on without direction, and that led to my finding myself alone. I wandered around all night, and at dawn I ran into one of our partisans, Franek. Two together was comforting, especially since Franek knew the location of the meeting place. So we set off there, but got lost along the way. Luckily, we met a farmer in the forest who was very afraid of us. He wept and begged us to let him go, he was a father of five children. We forced him to go forward. He took us to two lakes and said that there was a way through that was not marked on any military map, and so there are no Germans there. We let the farmer go, and went to the rendezvous point where we encountered the large partisan group we had lost at night. We all agreed to get out of the forest by the way of the two lakes. But before anything else, we drank a lot of water because we had not eaten or drunk for 24 hours. We began marching forward with the greatest caution, and came to a village where we went to the first farmer, and he gave us food. In the middle of stilling our hunger, news came that there were tanks in a neighboring village. No one had any enthusiasm for leaving the delicious meal after such a long fast. We ate up quickly–and out to the field so we wouldn't be discovered in a village that had received us so hospitably. Had the Germans caught us in the farmer's house, the entire village would have had to pay a harsh price: farmers shot, and houses and fields burned. We lay in a field of clover waiting for night. But the day dragged on long. Suddenly we heard the noise of tanks getting closer. There was no doubt they had discovered us, and the heavy German machines wanted to crush us. We lay there with grenades to receive the enemy. Alongside the tanks, soldiers were coming, their rifle barrels really close to us. Suddenly, however, airplanes appeared and the tanks quickly drove away. Clearly–we were at the very front, between two armies. That was the worst place of all.

Night finally fell, and we had one goal: to notify the headquarters of the Soviet army of our existence–and then we would be saved. A farmer told us that the Soviets were already here in the nearest

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village. In that village, we also found our general staff who told us we were to occupy Ostrow-Lubelski. We became again the rulers of the shtetl, and when the Soviet army arrived, we marched into Lubartow, and temporarily took power. With the liberation of Lublin, we were the first Jewish partisans who had the honor of marching into the liberated city. The most responsible positions in the security service, and government were entrusted to us. I worked in the voivod^[12] police command.

Like most of the Jews in Poland then, I was determined to leave this land, and go to Eretz-Israel. After a series of wanderings over Polish cities, Germany, and Austria, I came on the famous ship, Altalena,^[13] to the just recently reestablished state of Israel.

1. According to a description on p. 15, the laches was a grass covered lawn area with low trees and shrubs where young people would congregate, and sheep and goats were grazed. Return
2. For more details about the Janiszow camp, see the memoirs of M. Pelz (ed.) Return
3. Automatic pistol originally Nagant M1895 Return
4. Polska Partia Robotnicza Return
5. Narodowe Sily Zbrojne. Fascist antisemitic organization Return
6. Armia Krajowa. Fascist antisemitic organization Return
7. Polish. Gamekeeper. Return
8. Village magistrates Return
9. Cooperative Return
10. People's or Folk Army Return
11. Phonetic transliteration. Unable to identify modern location. Return
12. A voivod is similar to a province Return
13. The Altalena Affair was a violent confrontation between the IDF and the Irgun in June 1948. Return