The End of Days (16 page)

Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #History, #Holocaust, #test

BOOK: The End of Days
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trimmed, and his floors were kept sparkling. Jacob was issued a pass that permitted him to come and go freely, even in areas forbidden to Jews. It was a tremendous advantage, even if it had its hazards. He would still be at the mercy of each individual German. Sometimes an officer would capriciously ignore Jacob's pass and arrest him anyway. It took Blimcia's ingenuity and his employer's intervention to have Jacob released.
His freedom of movement, however, enabled Jacob to establish contact with an old Polish acquaintance named Malik, who lived on the Planty. Malik had done business with our family before the war. He was free to travel to the big cities of Krakow and Katowice, where he purchased sorely needed staple items. He would resell these to us, and Papa, who had given up the store some time ago, was now conducting some business from the house.
Jacob established the contact but could not endanger himself by carrying any of the groceries home. It was Sholek and I who were the runners, as children were at lesser risk. In constant jeopardy, we would remove our armbands and carefully make our way to the Planty and the Malik residence. Once there, we would hand over the money and pick up the bags that were prepared for us. The Maliks, too, wanted the transaction to be as quick and unobtrusive as possible. The bags of different foodstuffs were quite heavy; still, we had to be able to outrun a German if spotted, to jump a fence, to hide under some bushes, to sneak through yards and gates. Sholek's leg hadn't fully recovered, but he was still as quick as a squirrel. I nimbly followed Sholek, able to take his wordless orders. An expression on his face, a blink of his eyes told me exactly what to do. Sholek and I were our family's sole link with the outside world. Papa's face would shine with relief and pleasure when he would finally see us both home. Papa did not go out into the street anymore; it was too dangerous.
Life was harsh, but it went on. Mouths had to be fed, money was needed, and Papa's financial resources were depleted. Papa would unpack the bags for which we had risked our lives, glad to find in them beans, barley, hard cheeses, whole pepper, sugar or flour. We never knew what was in them. Whatever
 
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the Maliks could find they would smuggle in. Anything edible was precious.
As cautious as we were in our work, as swift and as daring, we still needed God to protect and guide us. One Thursday afternoon, we returned home with beating hearts and bursting lungs only to encounter the Germans right in our building. They were searching our house just when we arrived. Sholek, alert as always, noticed the boot of a German soldier in the doorway. He pulled me away from the threshold just in time. We quickly hid the bags in a pile of rubbish in the back yard, put our armbands back on, and waited impatiently. Only after the search was completed did we retrieve the bundles and go upstairs. Papa promptly had us recite the blessing of
birkas hagomel
, and Mama could not stop praising the Almighty for the miracle of our safety.
Receiving our supplies was only half our daily battlenow came the second part, selling the merchandise. Much of it was going to other cities, where food was even more scarce. Jewish women who could pass as non-Jews risked their lives traveling as Gentiles. These women, even young children, would dress as peasant girls and come shopping in Chrzanow to smuggle food back to their families and towns. Only young, slim blondes were good candidates. They wore special corsets with long tubular pockets that could be filled with grains. Tied securely to the waist, the corset would be covered with layers of wide, loose dresses or skirts, with a big shawl covering it all. The girls who came in slim as a beanstalk would walk out as large, fat peasant women. God forbid if someone should but touch them. Every week we would anxiously await them, distressed when some were missing. Too often we'd hear that Frania or Bronia or Cila was picked up and sent to a camp. These common tragedies slowly destroyed our resistance and threatened the frail intercity Jewish network.
Having babies was the ultimate act of resistance. Little Aiziu, as we affectionately called Yitzchak, was growing and developing. On March 17, 1941, his first birthday arrived without celebration. Jacob came home too tired from his day of demeaning hard work, and Blimcia was too absorbed with
 
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the daily struggle for survival. Papa was depressed, with no chance to get a job.
New work opportunities arose in the summer of 1941. The Germans sponsored two plants, a rubber factory and a tailor shop, where Jews would have the opportunity to workaiding the Axis war effort, unfortunately. In the rubber factory, boots, tire tubes, and other rubber products were made; in the tailor shop German army uniforms were sewn. The shop was to be organized, run, and maintained by Jews. Chrzanow had always had a large clothing industry and boasted well-qualified tradespeople. The Germans allowed tailors to bring their own sewing machines into the shop. There was a need for other than machine tailoring, but only skilled people had a chance for such positions. My millinery course turned out to be a valuable investment. My teacher attested to my ability with needle and thread, making me eligible for a job in Rosner's shop. My certificate of graduation from the millinery course was presented as proof of my skill with a needle. I was placed on the floor to sew buttons on military jackets, working the night shift.
The shop was located in a former old-age home, and the rooms were small, crowded, sweaty, and stuffy. In a dingy corner I would sit through the night energetically pushing a needle through hard buttons and into heavy jacket material.
Every night my eyes grew red with sleeplessness, my fingers were pricked by the needle, and my hands and muscles ached from handling so many heavy garments. In the pale morning, I'd return home exhausted and downcast, but I would perk up upon seeing Mama's glowing face. Mama was so happy to know that her youngest, her thirteen-year-old daughter, was working at such an important job. Mama's happiness would recharge me for the next night. At least in the shop I felt secure among Jews, away from German clubs. In the constant clatter of the sewing machines and the suffocating heat from the steam pressers, among the close company of the other button sewers and buttonhole makers, I could block out the ravages of the outside world. During supper break we would talk to each other and share the burdens of our anxieties.
 
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Even though Sholek was dismissed from the equestrian labor detail because he became disabled, his unemployment was a dangerous provocation to the authorities. Papa's influence with his old acquaintances landed Sholek a job in Rosner's tailor shop as well. I was ecstatic to be working together with Sholek on the same shift. We would come and go together and share supper breaks. I felt safe being close to my brother, who had always protected and guided me. Sholek was placed as a floor boy, so he was all over. Sholek had Papa's gift for telling jokes, along with a pleasant singing voice. He was able to compose songs and poems and to perform them to everyone's pleasure. Never timid and always smiling, he would climb on one of the tables at suppertime and a crowd would soon assemble around him. Everyone would applaud enthusiastically and beg for more. Sholek would run through the shop, alert and lively, quickly producing his own quota of work and always making time to help others. He was always the one picked when a scout was needed to go outside and check on the Germans. Even now with his ailing leg, he could still outrun a German pursuer. Sleep was at a premium, since our nights were spent in the dingy shop and our days in constant pursuit of adequate food to sustain the family.
As troubled as our lives were, we missed Heshek and Vrumek and wished they were back with us. We knew that they were in the town of Lvov in the Russian compound zone. We knew little about their lives there but prayed and hoped for the best. We only found out what happened to them later on and so were unable to be of any help to them.
Vrumek's and Heshek's lives in Lvov were hard and perilous too. They had difficulty sustaining themselves and were persecuted as foreigners and illegal refugees. In one of the actions aimed at illegal refugees, Heshek and Vrumek were arrested and loaded into trains with hundreds of other refugees for deportation. Heshek accepted his fate, too tired to fight it. He sat calmly among the closely nestled crowds waiting for the train to move. Not so Vrumek. Of a more fiery character, he was unable to submit to being trapped. Energetic and ready to
 
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fight for his life and freedom, he could not sit idly by. He paced the train cars and alertly watched what was going on. He was able to find out that they were being shipped deep into Russia. He whispered into Heshek's ear, ''We have to get out of here! We must escape."
Heshek, being the older, more serene one, tried calmly to persuade his younger brother that it was too dangerous to attempt escape. They had made it so far. They would continue to survive only if they stayed calm and stuck together. "The guards outside are armed," he reminded Vrumek, "and will not hesitate to shoot." He reprimanded Vrumek for being reckless and asked him to sit tight.
Vrumek, convinced that his brother was not going to listen, was becoming nervous. He absolutely could not just let himself be carried away deep into frozen Siberia. He and his brother were young; he saw the possibility of living free only in escape.
The train was moving now, and Heshek was still unconvinced. Vrumek was wrestling with himself. He did not want to leave his brother and fought fiercely to make Heshek see his point. But Heshek looked around at all the other people huddled there in the train. He had faith in God; he had no desire to go against the tide.
Vrumek restlessly looked out the window and saw the fast-disappearing city. In one moment he made his decision. He looked about, then jumped, rolling down into an adjacent field, where he lay for a while, catching his breath. Eventually he got up and ran back to Lvov, where the people were calmly going about their business. Only now he felt like a branded animal, as if everybody could see a sign on him labeling him as a refugee and escapee. He went back to the apartment where he had lived, finding it empty, abandoned. He felt forlorn, lonely, unsafe. How could he stay there? Frantically Vrumek began searching for a new place to stay. He tried a small village but soon found out that he was even more exposed to danger there, for there was no way to get lost in the crowd. It was imperative for him to return to the apartment in Lvov so that Heshek could stay in touch.
 
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Eventually a letter came saying Heshek was in Siberia, not far from the town of Omsk. Between the lines Vrumek understood that the situation wasn't good at all. Although a poor and a wanted man, Vrumek felt that he must help his brother. He went back to the marketplace and traded with all his energy and resourcefulness to send Heshek a package of necessities. With doubled determination he worked diligently, all the time avoiding capture.
 
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Chapter 9
Before Heshek knew it, Vrumek was out the window of the moving train. A cry of "
Shema Yisrael!
" escaped Heshek's throat. It was already too late to see what had happened to his beloved brother. The train was rapidly picking up speed, wheels clacking, shrill whistle shrieking, and the scenery was quickly being sucked into the irrevocable past.
Vrumek's jump tore at Heshek's raw nerves. He sat back in the crowded slave train bound for Siberia, his thoughts going back to those last days in Lvov with Vrumek. It was a dog's life, with a city full of refugees seeking food and a roof over their heads. The kindness of the Stern family provided them with beds, while the brothers spent their days in the dangerous business of buying and selling on the black market. Together
 
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they struggled, longing for the day when the war would be over and they could return home.
Then came the announcement that all refugees were to report to the police. They were to be issued legal documents and resettled where they would be allowed to work and earn a normal living. Heshek, like most of the refugees, chose to present himself to the authorities rather than attempting to stay illegally. With food in one's stomach it would be much easier to wait out the war. But Vrumek did not trust the Russian promises. He was too hot-blooded to sit it out, to wait and see where fate and the Russian railway would take them. Heshek now contemplated his brother's chances. He worried about where Vrumek would be able to hide.
It was dawn when Heshek woke. The train was standing still and people began to stir. The air was cold. Mothers cuddled their youngsters closer and fathers covered their sons with an extra coat. Heshek wished Vrumek were there to talk to him, to calm him or even to scold him.
It was dusk before the train started moving. The whole day they had watched soldiers marching back and forth. The refugees looked at each other anxiously, listening to every murmur. Rumors were spreading from car to car.
"We are being sent to Kiev," someone proclaimed. "I heard them talking with my own ears."
"Kiev, shmiev!" another voice grunted. "You must be crazy. The Russians would never send foreigners to a big city. They are going to settle us in a remote village where we can be watched carefully."
"They will send us to Siberia," a woman cried, "where we will freeze to death. Who knows if we'll ever see our parents again?"
"They are bringing food!" someone shouted. Hot coffee and bread were distributed, and as people ate, their mood improved. Now they were speculating about the kind of lodging they would get. Would they be in large barracks or small cottages? Families were planning out their lives, assigning chores and roles, considering the various eventualities. But Heshek could envision no possibility, no future.

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