The End of Days (2 page)

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Authors: Helen Sendyk

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BOOK: The End of Days
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Page xiii
Acknowledgments
I wish to express my gratitude to:
The Jewish Heritage Project:
Alan Adelson, director, for his constant encouragement.
Elaine Cohen for her cognizance and foresight.
Isaac Mozeson for his sensitivity and understanding.
Center for Holocaust Studies:
Dr. Yaffa Eliach, and Bonnie Gurewitsch, librarian, for their optimism and belief in me.
 
Page xiv
Florida Atlantic University:
Dr. Alan L. Berger, Raddock Eminent Scholar; Dr. Ellen Heckler, Director Holocaust Outreach Center; Jean Weisser, Judaica Librarian, for their recognition and friendship.
Silas and Antoinette Seandel for their prudent assistance.
My husband Abraham Sendyk for his love and devotion.
My niece Tova Farago and my nephew David Stapler for their enthusiasm.
St. Martin's Press:
Sandra McCormack, senior editor;
Cal Morgan, associate editor; and
Jordan Pavlin for their professional guidance and diligence.
 
Page 1
Chapter 1
If I did not write this book I could never forgive myself. I cannot let my family fade away and be forgotten as if they had never existed.
The leaves in my album still turn: there is my father, Reb Symche Stapler, serene, earnest, surrounded by his large family, famous for his good humor and storytelling. Beside him is my mother, born Sara Miriam Laufer, fondly called Surcia; a devoted wife and a tender, loving mother, she always looked worried and sad. The oldest of the children is Blimcia, classically elegant and bright. Shlamek, my oldest brother, is determination personified, and a heartbreaker with his athletic good looks. My second brother, Heshek, is the scholar; quiet, studious, meticulous. There is my sister, Nachcia, who is
 
Page 2
bashful and subdued but who shines with goodness; my third sister, Goldzia, with hair of gold and an angelic face and personality; my brother Vrumek, who never backed down from a challenge. Curious and talented Sholek is my fourth brother. That leaves me, the baby, Helcia. And now I must evoke the past and bring them all back to life.
The place of my earliest memories is Mickiewicza Street, where we lived on the ground floor of the Municipal Building. The offices of the town hall were upstairs. In back, at the far end of a large yard, was a detention cell used mostly for sobering up drunks overnight. Right in front, by the gate, was the police station. I was too young at the time to realize what an unusual living situation we had for a Jewish family in Chrzanow, Poland, in the 1930s.
Facing the street were several stores attached to the government complex; two of those stores were ours. Right behind the stores was our apartment, two bedrooms and a large kitchen, where we ate our meals. Adjacent to our yard was the public school and its yard. If I overslept, I would jump out of bed at the first bell and make it to school by the second bell. The bells we heard on Sundays were from the nearby church.
Afternoons I attended the Beis Yakov school on the Planty, the wide tree-lined avenue in the nicer, modern part of town. One of the most prominent Jews in our neighborhood was Zisme Kinreich, who lived in a big house at the beginning of our street. Most of the Jewish population lived south of the marketplace, near the synagogue, the
mikvah
(ritual baths), and other institutions.
Chrzanow's Jewish population was diversified, but the majority was Chasidic. There were many kinds of Chasidim, and
shtiblach
(houses of prayer and learning) for all of them. There were lots of Belzer, Bobover, and Sandzer Chasidim in our town; Papa was a Belzer Chasid. There was a picture of the Belzer Rabbi in our house. His face shone with grace and strength of character. He had a majestic white beard, and a tall fur Kolpak hat perched imperially on his head.
Jewish families knew each other in Chrzanow for generations. Traditions and family status,
yichus
, were very impor-
 
Page 3
tant, and children generally followed in their parents' footsteps. An official, respectful distance was kept between Jews and Gentiles, but the Staplers had an unusually close relationship with our non-Jewish patrons. Policemen, clerks, and various officials would come to our store for their soft drinks, sweets, and fruits. They would chat with Shlamek, Blimcia, or Papa and have Sholek and me run their errands.
Besides grocery items, the store carried mainly delicatessen. We were known to have the sweetest bananas in town, the juiciest apples, the freshest cherries and the fanciest chocolates. Papa would travel to Katowice every day, where he would import the best and rarest fruits available in Poland. Our other store carried toys, also stocked by Papa with finds from the big cities of Katowice and Krakow. Shlamek sometimes traveled with Papa and also expertly arranged the showcase, having learned decorating and window display.
Come December, Shlamek would work all night on the showcase. Sholek and I loved to watch Shlamek work on an artistic winter scene of falling snow and gift-wrapped chocolate toys. The excitement peaked when Shlamek would pull up the gate of the display window in the middle of the night to check his work with a critical eye. Bathed in flashing lights, the scene would come alive in the stillness of the night. The next day passersby were drawn to the window, attracted by the imaginative display that had no equal in town. Children would dreamily flatten their noses against the glass, fascinated by the colorfully wrapped candies. Even adults would become enchanted by the electric train running through tunnels and over bridges, carrying carloads of mouth-watering candy.
It was a quiet Sunday morning, when the Gentiles were attending church. In the Stapler household on Mickiewicza Street my big sister Nachcia was getting me ready for a birthday party. She put a fine, freshly starched and pressed cotton dress on me, tied ribbons in my neatly combed braids, and got ready to walk me to my cousin Gucia's party. Having reached the age of seven, however, I considered myself old enough to walk there all by myself. I did not let Nachcia go with me.
Happily skipping along, my white dress shining in the sun,
 
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I was stopped by a dark-haired woman in colorful skirts, who asked for directions to Yagelonska Street. Anxious to get to Aunt Esther's on time, I politely pointed out the direction and told the woman to make a right turn at the corner. The woman pleasantly insisted that I take her at least to the corner. She was a stranger in town, she said, and didn't know the neighborhood at all. I obediently walked beside her, annoyed at her numerous questions and her fondling of my pretty dress. She then remarked that my earring was open and that she would close it for me before I lost it. I wanted to get away from that dirty, smelly woman, but it was impolite to not help an old and poor person.
I then became very frightened when I noticed that the woman, instead of simply closing my earring, was removing it from my ear and quickly going for the other ear. Shocked, I realized that the woman was actually stealing my earrings, having led me to a deserted street. Frightened but determined not to be robbed, I grabbed my earring back from the woman's hand and fled home as fast as I could. Badly shaken, I wept in Mama's lap, telling her what happened, between heavy sobs. Nachcia could not forgive herself for exposing her baby sister to such an incident by letting her go out alone.
I remember Mama with an apron around her waist, kneading dough in the kitchen, hands all white with flour, pounding, squeezing, exerting all her energy and strength. Delicious long logs of cocoa cakes would be produced on that magic board, along with her expertly twisted challas. The logs grew longer and the challas multiplied, but we ate them faster than she could make them.
''A household of growing kids," she would sigh, "they need to eat. How lucky I am," Mama wound say, "that all my children are grown up. Even my youngest, my Helcia, is off to school already, and Blimcia, my oldest, why she is ready for the marriage canopy." Blimcia was the prettiest of us all, very talented and respected by the rest of the family. Since Papa used to travel every day to Katowice to shop for the store, it was Blimcia who practically ran the store herself. Sometimes, when from the kitchen Mama would hear the clank of the bell
 
Page 5
announcing a customer, she would go in to help Blimcia. There were many fine customers that would frequent our store for the delicious imported fruits and luscious chocolates.
"Good morning, Chrabina Kalinska," Blimcia would greet her customer in a sweet, pleasant voice. "Will it be the regular order? May I suggest some of these mandarins just arrived from Italy?"
"Oh, if you think they are good, you may add some," said the customer with a nod.
"I assure you, my lady, they are absolutely delicious; I tasted them myself or I would not recommend them. What a pretty dress my lady is wearing," added Blimcia.
"I had it brought from Paris," the Chrabina answered proudly. "As a matter of fact, I am on my way to Krakow for a fitting, and when I return this evening I will pick up the order on the way back to the estate. And Blimcia, darling, will you go to the stationery store and get me some ink and paper for letter writing, for I have no time to waste."
"Of course, my lady, do not worry about a thing, and have a pleasant trip to Krakow."
Blimcia would collect the order carefully and have it all ready for the Chrabina. She knew exactly what her customers wanted, and how best to handle them. She mostly attended to the Gentiles, for her Polish was perfect and her accent clear.
The dark chocolates that the Chrabina favored were filled with cream, the same ones I used to snatch every time I came into the store. I knew perfectly well that I was not allowed to take candy without permission, but being the youngest of eight children, I got away with every trick.
"May I have a
chulenko
?" I would ask Blimciawhile popping the chocolate into my mouth before Blimcia could refuse.
"This child is impossible," Blimcia would complain to Mama, but I knew that deep in her heart she loved me and did not mind my occasional liberties. When Sholek came home from school, Blimcia sent him to Langer's stationery store to fetch the ink and paper she needed for her customer. The only time a problem presented itself was when a customer wanted Blimcia to prepare meats. These had to be obtained from a
 
Page 6
Polish butcher. The problem was that Papa would never allow any member of his family to set foot in a nonkosher butcher store.
"Everybody knows that we buy meat for our Polish customers," Blimcia would timidly try to argue, eager to please her clientele. Papa, however, would not heed. He would bring up the law of
maras ayin
, meaning that a Jew should not do anything that might be misinterpreted as wrong. If someone saw Sholek go into Siersza's butcher shop, the argument went, it might get around that Sholek Stapler eats
treyf
(nonkosher) meat. There was no arguing with Papa, especially on a point of religious observance. Blimcia would have to find a non-Jewish child to run that errand for her. Mama would wait on the Jewish customers, with whom she would comfortably strike up a conversation in Yiddish. She'd known these people for many years and was sensitive to any change in their shopping patterns. When young Gitele came to the store, Mama immediately knew something was wrong.
"How is your mother?" she asked anxiously. "How come she sent you today for her order? Isn't she feeling well?"
"No, my mother isn't feeling well. She has been having bad stomachaches."
Mama would promptly pick up a jar from the shelf, dash some herbal tea into a paper, and hand it to Gitele. "When you get home, boil some water, put in a heaping teaspoon of the tea, and let your mother drink it. You will see, she will get well in no time."
Gitele collected her purchases in her basket. "How much will the tea be?" she asked.
"Oh, no," Mama responded, "there is no charge for the tea; it is for a
refuah sheleima
[total recovery] for your mother. Go,
gesunter heit
[go in good health], and please follow my instructions so your mother will get well soon."
When Sholek came home for lunch, he would gulp down his food and shoot himself out of the kitchen to run errands for Blimciabut not before Nachcia, who was in charge of the kitchen, made him say grace after meals. "The Rebbitsin," the rabbi's wife, was Nachcia's nickname because she enforced

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