The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (11 page)

Sosha's heart skipped several beats. She had no idea what Ivan was going to say to the Germans, but she never dreamed he'd tell a lie like that.

"What are you saying?" the Ukrainian asked.

"A truck came by here yesterday. Several Germans came on my property and just took my animals. I protested. It did no good."

The Ukrainian repeated the story to the German who screamed questions back at him.

"They had a German truck?" the Ukrainian asked.

"Nicer and bigger than that one. They were all in German uniforms. No Ukrainians. All were Germans. An officer and four in uniforms like his."

Again the confused Ukrainian spoke to the German corporal, who also became confused. More questions in German.

"He wants to know why they left some animals."

"I begged. I told him they were my livelihood. The officer finally agreed to leave me my horse and a few ducks. They emptied out my storage cellar."

Again the Ukrainian talked to the German. The German answered, very animated and final.

"I am sorry," the Ukrainian said, "there can be no exceptions. We must take all that you have left. Our list shows you had five pigs, three cows, a horse and several chickens and geese."

"All they left us was the horse and a few chickens. Surely you won't take them. What will we eat? How will I work the fields? If you take everything now there will be no production next year. What will they eat then?"

Sosha was terrified. What if they didn't believe Ivan? Did he have to tell such a preposterous lie? Well, it was too late now.

The Ukrainian spoke in German again. They both looked at Ivan. Sosha looked at Ivan. She couldn't believe the ignorant expression he had placed on his face. Had she not known him, she'd have believed him too. Stupid to have made up such a story. Maybe the German would believe. She had a sudden impulse to laugh. God, no! If I laugh now we're all dead. That thought was sobering enough that the impulse faded.

The German yelled something to the Ukrainians and turned, walking back to the truck with the driver.

"We must take the horse and all but three of your chickens. And you must show me that the cellar is truly emptied."

Satisfied, they drove off to the next farm.

Ivan turned to Sosha as the sound of the truck dwindled into the distance and chuckled.

His church was full on Sunday.

Father Peter didn't know quite how to interpret it. Were they there because they were in sympathy with him? More than likely, they were there out of curiosity. Would he speak out against the Germans again? He wondered who in the gathering had reported to the Germans last week. His eyes picked out a stranger in the crowd. He's too well dressed to be a Ukrainian, Father Peter thought. They're not going to depend on my congregation to tell them. German! Well, if they want fresh material for charges and arrest, they'll all be disappointed today.

The sermon was no more inflammatory than the mass itself. As the worshipers departed the church, the traditional line of parishioners formed to compliment the priest on his service.

The well dressed man was in the line. He spoke Ukrainian, but with a German accent. "A fine service, Father. I especially enjoyed your sermon. I want to continue attending your services while I am stationed here. It will be wonderful to hear such a sermon each week!" He tipped his hat and departed without waiting for an answer.

Father Peter was relieved. He had feared the Germans would demand a public retraction of his stand. He could not have done that. He hoped the German's superiors would be satisfied. But all this was only a stall. Sooner or later, he knew, the matter would arise again. The Germans were not going to change. Every day the wind carried their message. He could not continue to ignore that sound. He'd eventually be forced to restate his feelings. He would have to do that much, regardless of Church policy.

Days passed. No reply came to his letter. The gunfire continued. He could not escape it. From dawn to dusk Father Peter heard each report as a life snuffed out. How many shots could be fired in a single day? "Thank God the days are getting shorter," he mouthed, crossing himself. If each day is even a few minutes shorter, how many lives will that save? How many times can a machine gun fire in twenty to thirty seconds? How many march out in front of those guns each time? Ten-twenty-fifty? Yes, even a few minutes less light each day would be significant. And if a few minutes less daylight can save fifty lives-for another day-then how many are dying each day from dawn to dusk. "Oh dear God, no! This can't be happening! We can't close our eyes!"

But it is happening and I am closing my eyes. He began feeling responsible for the deaths of all the people who died each day of his silence. "Silence condones the crime," he said to himself over and over. But what good will speaking out do? It will only add me to those in the pit.

Still there was no reply. How much longer could he continue waiting? If he didn't get answeres soon, the pressures of his conscience would force him to act. If the Church did not show him the way, perhaps God would.

Three days later, God replied.

A man appeared at Father Peter's door. It was Gregor Kirtzof, a congregant for as long as Father Peter could remember.

"Good morning, Gregor. How pleasant to see you."

"Father," Gregor interrupted, "I must come directly to the point. I heard your sermon two Sundays ago."

"It seems the whole world did!"

"We all know your sentiments. I want to tell you there are a number of us who feel as you do. We realize you are in danger from the Nazis if you speak out again. You must say no more than you have. We implore you not to speak out again. There is a small but growing group of us who intend to act against the Germans. If there is any way we can serve your cause-I will be happy to be your contact-so you are not endangered further."

Father Peter was so eager for a sign-some approval to act-something that could free him of his guilt. He was sure this was divine guidance, but, he had to be careful. It could be a test-a trap! How could he be sure the Germans weren't setting him up? He knew the consequences of trusting the wrong man. Arrest would be immediate. This could be one way the Germans could find out his true intentions...

But Father Peter was at the limit of his endurance. Here was a chance to act. If it was a trap, then let it spring.

Father invited Gregor into his personal chamber.

Gregor lived at the edge of Kiev proper. He was the eldest son of a blacksmith and had apprenticed to his father. He was about four years older than Father Peter. The family business had made a meager living, but by Soviet standards they lived well. The family was large. Gregor had four brothers and two sisters, so the forge had nine to feed. The Kirtzof's were a religious family. The few Sundays they didn't show up, the church seemed more than a little emptier, especially when hymns were sung. Father Peter had known the family since he was a child.

He closed the door to his humble apartment, two rooms attached to the rear of the church. He poured two glasses of tea and they sat down at a small table.

"Tell me, Gregor, what is it like in the city?"

"Terrible! Much worse than under the Bolsheviks. The Germans are not what we believed them to be. How can cultured people be so uncivilized? They have no regard for human life."

"I hear shooting every day. Are they really killing so many?"

"Yes, in the first two days they killed over thirty thousand Jews and since then, all the rest. They've killed ten percent of all Kiev, Father Peter, over a hundred thousand Jews-all dead."

"But surely some escaped."

A few may be hidden, but they would be very few. Any Kievites discovered hiding Jews are also killed. Their bodies are also stuffed into Babi Yar, but they are publicly shot first-in town where everyone can see. It sets an example. And always after a public execution, a number of Jews turn up, deserted by their benefactors." Gregor paused. "Who can blame them? Who would risk their entire family being executed to save-to save anyone else?"

"So it is true. I can't believe it," Father Peter said.

"It's not only Jews they kill. They take prisoners of war to the ravine, partisans, communists they discover, ex officials of the previous government who did not escape the city. And worst of all, the insane, lame people, severely ill-and people they round up at random."

"You mean to tell me they just pick up people?"

"Reprisals for breaking the rules!"

"No questions? No trials?"

Gregor laughed. "Trials? The nearest thing they have to a trial is interrogation and torture. That is reserved for partisans who might have information the Nazis could use."

Father Peter sat stunned. He had heard it was terrible, but, like many, he had hoped that much of what he heard was rumor.

"Once they swooped down on the Kreshchetik," Gregor continued, "and arrested the first hundred men they found on the street. They took them off to Babi Yar and shot them to pay us back for a German soldier who was found dead one morning. They might drive to an area at night; arrest all the people in an apartment building or in several houses. The sound of motor trucks and brakes terrifies people."

"Terrible," Father Peter murmured.

"It's not just the fear," Gregor continued. "What little food there is, is rationed. For a few ounces of flour or stale bread, we stand in line most of a day. All food stores and livestock, if we had any, were confiscated during the first days of occupation.

Father Peter frowned as he wondered if his few chickens and food stores had not been claimed because of that same agreement between the Vatican and the Reich.

"And food is not all they have taken. Radios, weapons, tools, good clothing and blankets-all have been confiscated." There was a short silence. "And there is the curfew. We must be indoors between six p.m. and five in the morning. If you're caught out on the street, bang! You're shot! I think the Germans consider it sport, like hunting squirrel or rabbit."

"It is truly a wonder that I wasn't arrested for my sermon. Why did they have such patience with me?"

"That is why you must not say more. You cannot know whom to trust. A great many people would sell information to the Germans for an extra ration of bread. Besides, there are far more important things for you to do."

Hearing those words, Father Peter couldn't contain himself. "What? What can I do?"

"In time, Father, when we can be sure it is safe, when they don't watch you so closely."

"Gregor, do you have any idea who spoke to the Germans about me?"

"I don't know. But you were the talk of Kiev that day. The Germans may have heard it from a second or third party."

"I see."

"The Germans will watch you closely, but I don't think they will move against you if you keep your course! It is said they do not try to interfere with the Catholic Church. Hitler is a Roman Catholic, you know. Apparently he made a pact with the Pope."

The priest was shocked to find the Nazi Vatican pact was such common knowledge. If it were so well known, why had his superiors not yet replied?

Before we get too far afield telling the stories of others as I learned them, let me get back to my own experiences in Poland. By the time the Germans came into Kiev on 19 September, 1941 and began murdering the Jews in Babi Yar on 29th September, 1941, we in Poland had already been living and dying under their persecution, oppression and murder for over two years.

As I mentioned before, on my twenty-first birthday, 30th September, 1939 the invasion of Poland began. To everyone's surprise Russia, whom we thought would be our allies, invaded Poland's eastern borders on 17 September. By the 28th of September, 1939 the Polish government capitulated and the German occupation began.

I had finished my studies in Warsaw just three months earlier and had been conferred my medical degree. At the time the bombings of Warsaw began, I was in the village of my birth where I intended to practice my profession among people I knew and loved. But on 6 September, an announcement was heard on our radio by a Colonel Umiastowski, asking all men capable of bearing arms to report and help defend the city. Most of the men of my village and I complied.

Our village became a community of women, children and a few old men.

At first, we were ordered to leave the city, but then we were ordered back to defend Warsaw. The bombings were relentless and again we were ordered to the outskirts to await invasion. After the Russians invaded eastern Poland, there was total confusion. Most of us thought they crossed our borders to help us fight the Germans. We didn't know much about the Nazi-Soviet Non-aggression Pact of August 1939, signed by Ribbentrop and Molotov. When we were ordered to that front, it caused real chaos. By that time, the futility of our defenses became clear to many and they laid down their arms without ever seeing action against either Russians or Germans.

During the long days of waiting, I volunteered to work at various dressing stations about the city, treating wounded civilians injured in the bombings and rubble. After the government capitulation, a number of us decided to cross the borders out of Poland to reorganize and continue the fight against the Germans. There were rumors that life behind the Russian lines was quite normal and we could regroup there. We just could not comprehend that the Soviets and the Germans had really made a serious pact. We'd heard that the borders were open and that we could cross them in either direction.

On the 7th of October, several friends and I did indeed cross the lines and found ourselves in Bialystok. In the next weeks, thousands of Poles came to this city, many from Warsaw and eastern Poland. At the end of the second week, the Russians passed out questionnaires to most of the Poles asking them if they intended going back to Poland. Of course, virtually all of us stated we intended to eventually return to our homeland. Little did we realize that this obvious answer would lead to disaster. Within weeks the Russians began arresting Poles who answered positively to returning home and sent them to the Gulag where they vanished. By sheer luck, I was gone when the roundup took place in the rooming house I shared with several others. It became so dangerous in the Soviet territories for Poles that many of us decided to return to the German-occupied sector where we at least knew the territory. After all, we knew the Russians were never kind to Jews and that they invented the pogrom and would have no aversion to deporting us to Siberia or perhaps just killing us. And we still thought of the Germans as a civilized people with their poets, scientists, musicians, writers, professionals. We still thought of them as perhaps the most civilized people on earth. We began to wonder why we had left Poland in the first place. It had been a nationalistic thing, thinking perhaps we could continue our fight to make our Poland free.