[Page 450]

When I was 14 years old, the Germans invaded our town. My family was one of the most affluent families in town. About two months later, the Germans, together with the local Militia, searched our house for so called hidden food. They didn't find food, but they filled two trucks with leather, textile and other valuables.

Everything that my parents worked for all those years was gone in an instant.

During the first year of the occupation, Jews had to pay ransom for each soul (contribution) as well as sweeping the streets, cleaning the offices and plowing the snow. In return we were beaten, as they wished.

When Yom Kippur approached on 1942, rumors spread that the Germans plan an “Aktion”^[1] in town; I did not know the meaning of this word. My parents sent us - three children - to a Christian family, until things will quiet down. My parents hid in the basement.

The vicious rumors were true. The day after Yom Kippur the brutal German soldiers arrived from Brzezany and with the Ukrainians collaboration gathered the Jews who were not able to find a hideout and took them by trucks to Brzezany. From there to the death camp Belzec.

After about a month and a half, the town was declared “Judenfrei”^[2]. We were ordered to leave and move to Brzezany. My mother and I with a few of our belongings left Narajow, leaving Dad and my two brothers at home. The evacuees from Narajow shared a big house in Brzezany, in which a few families shared each apartment. I remember vividly the second day in the new town; we were taken to plant trees. The soil was frozen and I wasn't able to dig. I had warts on my fingers from holding the hoe and I cried out of fear and pain, it was clear to me that if I don't finish my work, I'll have to stay there. Some people felt sorry for me and finished my work for me.

A month later another “Aktion” came upon us; it was on a Friday, the first day of Chanukah, 1942. I was still in bed when the Nazis broke into our apartment and took me and my mom outside. We were standing next to the Judenrat all that day. It was freezing. Towards the evening when hundreds of Jews were gathered, we were ordered to march in rows to the train.

They put us in cattle train cars, unbearably crowded. When the train began to move we all knew it was our last journey.

A few people had small tools hidden in their cloths. With great effort they were able to loosen one wooden plank. Despite the danger they started jumping out. Not everyone was lucky. More than one ended up falling under the train's wheels or getting shot by the Germans that were sitting on the train roof. My mom sat with a few neighbors in the corner of the train car and decided not to jump. She said she was tired of living this way. From where she was sitting she pleaded with me to jump, “Your life is still ahead of you” she said. I jumped and fell without a scratch on a snow pile. My mom was killed in Belzec and she is only 40 years old. I reached my father's house with the help of some adults that were miraculously saved as well.

My dad, my older brother and I left Narajow and made it again to Brzezany. My other brother stayed in Narajow with a few more Jews hoping to find a safer shelter there, despite the fact that Narajow was by that time “Judenfrei”. He really wanted to live and was afraid of the concentration camps, but the cruel fate wanted otherwise. On March of 1943 some Ukranians informed the Gestapo that there were still Jews in Narajow. It didn't take long for the Germans to come.

They were all gathered in the Herz home, killed and their bodies were thrown to the basement. My brother tried to run away but the murderers' bullet reached him when he was in the middle of the street and he is only 18.

Three weeks later there was another “Aktion” in Brzezany. My older brother who was 20 was captured. The next day it seemed like the “Aktion” was over. We went out of the bunkers and my dad went to the Judenrat hoping to save my brother. When he left, I knew I will never see him again. I asked him not to leave but he said ”you can not understand me, in such a short time I lost both my sons” and he left.

A few minutes later my dad was caught and was sent with other men who were able to work to the concentration camp of Kamionka close to Tarnopol. The elderly, the women and the young ones were killed in the Brzezany cemetery.

A few weeks later, my dad met my brother in Kamionka. Every now and then I was able to send them some necessities trough the Judenrat.

Narajow natives in Yaar HaKdoshim

Around the holiday of Shavuoth on 1943, the last “Aktion” in Brzezany was performed and Brzezany was declared “Judenfrei”. They did not discover our bunker.

On Sunday a few people from our bunker went out, some to bake some pita bread because of the hunger and some to fetch some drinking water. One woman, who gave all her belongings to a Christian lady, was waiting outside for that lady to come and take her with her. This Christian woman saw her and informed the Gestapo about it. Immediately the house was surrounded and 13 people including myself were caught. Three Germans put us all in one room and gathered our valuables. While they were busy dividing the plunder, I tried to hide under the bed but they saw me. When we went downstairs, I tested my luck again and slipped through an open door, this time successfully! I went back to the bunker. The rest were murdered in the cemetery.

That night I left the bunker together with my aunt and her three children and we escaped to the forest. I spent 14 months in the forest, life there was very harsh. We ate watery soup once a day from vegetables we gathered at night from the fields. More than once I drank filthy water. In winter, the snow served as drinking water but the frost was difficult to handle. Months passed with out washing my body, the lice were eating me and the sores hurt.

At the end of July 1944 we were rescued by the Russian army. I was the only one left from my family and from the whole town there were around 25 survivors. The rest of my dear ones and my towns people were murdered in the sanctification of God's name (“Kiddush Hashem”), may their memory be blessed.

I would like to tell a story, in a few words, to try and contribute something to the commemoration of this figure, one of the Holocaust heroes. Yankel Fenger, who was known to all as Yanka'le was a Narajower, the son of Henya and Pinchas Fenger, from a village called Bile in the Peremyshlyany region,

18 year old Yankel turned during the world war into a hero surrounded with a radiating halo. The mention of his name alone would make the Jewish hating Ukrainians' hearts shiver with fear. Yankel Fenger didn't belong to any Partisan or military organization but he belonged to everyone.

Operating as a “lonely wolf”, Yankel was supplying food to children, but his main attention was given to avenge the actions of those Ukrainians who collaborated with the Germans and murdered Jews.

With time, Yankel became the symbol for the “Avenging Jew” in the area. He was a mysterious figure who took revenge of the Goyim^[1] for every act of hurting Jews. He had a pattern for his actions, every night he would get out to look for food (which in the partisan's language was called “skokim”) in daring ways. He would bring back his “catch” in a sack on his back, or using a farmer's wagon.

Yankel Fenger, who had the complexion of a Ukrainian, would leave to his nightly operations wearing Ukrainian Police uniform and carrying a bag full of hand grenades. He acted mostly in the village of Narajow where the Ukrainians handed over to the Gestapo the Jews they helped hide in their homes, in return for money.

With these Ukrainians, Yankel was going to settle the blood account. In the middle of the night he would knock on the door of a collaborator. He would present himself as a Ukrainian underground member and say that he heard Jews were hiding in this house. He explained that the Jews hated the Ukrainian people and that if it's true, the owners will be punished.

If the farmer started justifying himself saying that he already handed over the Jews that he hid to the Gestapo – Yankel would reveal his real identity and kill him on the spot, him and his wife. He didn't harm the kids.

After he was done he would leave a note saying: “Here was Yankel Fenger, who killed the house owner and his wife in revenge for handing over Jews to the Nazis”

The stories about the avenging Jew passed from ear to mouth and the Ukrainian farmers dreaded him.

When Narajow was taken over by the Red Army, Yaakov Fenger volunteered to the Soviet militia, whose job was to destroy the Ukrainian underground. Yankel Fenger excelled in this mission and revealed many of the hiding places of the “Bendrovtzim”. In one of those actions, he was killed.

Young Yankel Fenger became a legend while he was still alive. Even the Soviets considered him a hero and built a monument to commemorate him in Narajow.

I would like to note that I got the information about Yankel Fenger from Mr. Yunes who heads the Yiddish programming department in “Israel broadcasting Authority” during a meeting in Holy Land Hotel in Jerusalem with Yankel's step father who was visiting Israel from Montreal Canada.

[Page 454]

In June 1942, when the Germans began to make “order” in Narayiv, their first mission was to harm the Jewish population, to break them morally, and force them into performing dirty and difficult labor, such as breaking stones on the roads, serving the S.S. men and various slavish work.

In order to make the [Germans'] work easier, the Germans organized people from the city who worked with lower elements and promised them that with this behavior they would save their lives. They created an antinomium [a place that rejects laws and moral, religious, and social norms], where one would lead another to his death. And finally, they also fell as victims. Thus, they created a Judenrat [Jewish council] and Jewish policemen who worked with the Germans.

I want to relate several fragments about what I lived through during that time. Walking early in the morning (this was Shabbos [Sabbath]) to my heavy labor in the area of the police house, I saw one of the Jewish policemen (he was named Dovid) beating my father with his whip. I immediately ran to him and threw off the policeman with my entire strength and asked what had happened. I was told that the Judenrat had given the order to take away the little bit of food from the people who had not gone to work on Shabbos. The food was about one baked good made of sugar beets that one could barely eat. As there was great hunger, these were also delicacies. My father had not permitted the food to be taken away from three girls and, therefore, he had been beaten.

I was assigned to work with the police, carrying out difficult tasks. At the time, German squads would come and surround the shtetl [town] and take Jews to be murdered. In such situations, I developed an instinct not to run in the streets, but to hide wherever possible close to where I was.

During one such aktsia [action, usually a deportation], I went up to the attic of the police station. A Ukrainian policeman (by chance, my neighbor) saw me there and wanted to remove me. A servant girl with the police (not a Jew) began to cry and did not let him take me out. Sitting in the attic, I heard the shouting and crying of the Jews who had been caught and led to their death. Thus

[Page 455]

a few days later, standing near the city council house, a Ukrainian acquaintance passed by. He warned me that I should escape. I immediately heard shooting and I ran into the forest. I found many of those from the city who worked there near the house of the forest watchman. I warned that there was a shooting and we began to escape, but the Ukrainian police surrounded us. There was an old Jew named Wajdman among us. He tried to escape, but the Ukrainians immediately pulled him back forcefully into the ranks. We were led under guard. I walked near a young man, Dovid Halpern. Not thinking a great deal, I grabbed him by the hand and dragged him from the ranks and we escaped together. We hid in straw, in a stall. The Ukrainians searched for us but to our good fortune, they did not find us. The Ukrainians told me that all of the people were taken to the camps and none of them returned.

And sometime later, going to work, we approached the school director, Calniuk, and he told me that I should quickly escape because the police commander wanted to give me to the Germans. Running, I saw they were taking out the woman, Ribtsia Glanc, and her daughter, Lurtsia. They were crying and screaming and begged the Germans to let them go. However, he [who?] only shouted that they should take off their clothes. When I was further away, I heard shooting and then a silence…

At that moment I decided I could no longer remain in the shtetl. I escaped to the forest at night and began wandering from one place to another. Once I encountered Sura Hochberg and her children and her brother, Hersh Luszak, and his son. We stayed in a bunker together. In difficult and almost inhuman conditions; we tried to live through the hard times.

The rifle butts were used to hit the heads of the victims in order to save bullets. People went out at night to look for something to eat. There were a few bunkers in the forest and approximately 70 Jews from Narayiv were hidden there. One beautiful day, the Ukrainians ended the bunkers. They attacked and murdered everyone except the 14 people in our bunker. This happened approximately three months before the liberation.

[Page 456]

Suddenly, we heard a shooting. First, we thought that this was from a distance. However, as soon as it grew quiet, I went out of my bunker to see what had happened. Entering the forest, I met a small boy, Moshe Kihn (he was then 7-8 years old). Today, he is at the kibbutz Messilot [communal settlement] in Beit She'an. He was then walking around in the forest crying and led me to see what had happened. A terrible scene was revealed to me. Still today I cannot free myself from the horrible murder and what my eyes saw. Shattered heads of adults and children whose brains came out. The murderers probably used the rifle butts to hit the heads of the victims in order to save bullets. It was shown that the murderous bandits were Banderowces [members of the Bandera faction of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army], our school friends – Ukrainians.

My cousins, still children, were in one of the bunkers. One of them was Dovid Arya. On the same day, half an hour earlier, he had been with me in the bunker and I had sent him to watch over the children and here I saw him dead with his sister, Bela. The smallest of them, Shimkha, who was eight years old, was missing. I immediately ran to look for him. While searching, a Pole neared me, the son of Heinish, who along with his entire family had greatly helped the Jews in the forest all that time. He [the Pole] called me to him to the place where there was snow (this was in the month of March). My smallest cousin, Shimkhale, shot through his face as well as his stomach and lay wrapped in a sheet. Covered in blood, he moaned like a kitten, not with a human voice. The Pole told me that he had brought him here because they were afraid to have him in their house. As he knew that there were other Jews in the forest and that I was his cousin, he went in search of me so I could take the child to the bunker.

Obviously, I immediately lifted him and took him into our bunker. Those living with me noticed me and said: “Why did you bring a dead child?” But I wanted to hope that God would help in showing miracles as I believe until today. I washed the child and covered the wounds, which began to show healing, with green leaves. I also found a few bandages in the abandoned bunkers and wrapped the wounded child in them. Slowly, the wounds began to heal. Every day was better and thus he survived. Today, he lives in Israel.

We had one interesting experience with a young man, Chaim Szuerer, from Narayiv, who was with us in the forest and today lives at Kibbutz Gazit in Israel.

This young man probably received a shock when he saw that his sister was dead and therefore became blind in both

[Page 457]

eyes. I helped him as much as I could. When we would go out to look for food, he would take a stick and hold on to me and go with me. Once walking with me, he said that he had dreamed of the Belzer Rebbe and he [the rebbe] had told him that he would be able to see in the morning. Chaim was very religious because during the Soviet times, he had studied with the Hasidim of the Belzer Rebbe who had settled in Narayiv at that time. Hearing his dream, I looked at him with pity and did not believe such a thing could happen. Two days later, in the middle of the night, he came running with joy and he said he could see again. To tell the truth, I accepted this as a great miracle; during the most difficult situations, a person wants to believe in miracles and interpret dreams.

Thus, we sat in the bunker and hoped. A short time after the great murder, we heard heavy fire in the area. We learned, more or less, from the Polish man that the front was approaching. At that time, we did not even leave the bunker to search for food. Suddenly, it became quiet. We did not know how to interpret the quiet. We were afraid to leave the bunker. We sat like this for a few days not knowing that the Germans were already far from us.

Yet, one day we decided to go outside and then learned that we were already free people. Now a new problem began: where to go?

We went to our shtetl, Narayiv. There, a fear of seeing what remained fell on us. We did not see a living soul, except the Russian soldiers. We went with them to Brzeżany. There we met a few Jews who had survived. We remained in Brzeżany for a short time and again wandered.

Of the 70 people from Narayiv who were hidden in the forest, alas, 14 remained and I was among them. Today, I live in America. Here, there are two sisters from Narayiv, Neshia, and Yehudus Lev, and our hope is to eventually settle in Israel.

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