The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (15 page)

There was much and continuing discussion. The consensus leaned against contact. Finally, Ivan decided to go on his own. He would make the visit. His concern was not that he'd reveal too much to the priest, but if he were arrested for the meeting, the Germans might extract information from him by torture.

Early on the last Friday in November, Ivan made his way to the church. He left his home before sunrise to get there by eight. He didn't go directly, but walked past it on the road for about half a kilometer. The church was surrounded by fields. The priest's garden was in the rear. To one side was the cemetery; in front, the dirt road.

At a half a kilometer, he turned around and scanned the entire area. There was no sign of surveillance. "It must be safe," he said to himself. They have made a paranoid out of me, too. "It's Boris." He's convinced me that every eye in the Ukraine is looking out for us.

He walked directly back to the church, found the door to the sanctuary open and went in. Ivan sat down on a bench and wondered-what should I do next?

Father Peter had watched Ivan walk past the church. He watched him walk up the road, turn, observe, return. He heard him enter the sanctuary. Now he sat by the window of his quarters, wondering-what should I do?

There was really no alternative. He would have to go see what this stranger wanted. It certainly was not the first time a stranger had entered his church. It isn't so strange for a troubled person to find it difficult to seek help he thought; to walk past while gathering courage-then return... "But this man disturbs me..." I must be cautious.

Getting up, he entered the sanctuary.

"Good morning! You are a stranger here. I do not recall seeing you before-but please feel welcome." He studied Ivan carefully, yet trying not to be obvious. "I am Father Peter Rochovit."

"I know, thank you. I am Ivan Igonovich. It is true, I am a stranger to your parish, but I do not live far from here. I have a farm to the north, about eight kilometers." As he said it, he wondered why he gave away the location of his home. But this priest put him at ease almost immediately. Careful, he reminded himself.

"You must have started out very early. Can I offer you some tea?" Be careful of this Father Peter. Maybe he did start out early, before daylight-on the other hand, maybe the Germans let him off on the road just out of sight.

"Yes, thank you. Tea would be good."

"Let's go to my chamber and you can tell me, Mr. Igonovich, what important matter brings you here so early in the morning." Could he be sent by Gregor? If so, he will tell me.

Ivan was obviously uneasy. But his uneasiness made Father Peter more comfortable. Insecurity did not fit the German personality or that of their collaborators. He was not reassured enough to let down his guard. When Ivan couldn't find words right away, the priest continued, "Are you a Catholic, Mr. Igonovich?"

"Please, call me Ivan. No, Father, I practice no religion. At one time-Well it was long ago-I was raised Russian Orthodox-like most around here."

"Yes, we are a minority religion in Russia and the Ukraine." Strange, Father Peter thought, this puts me more at ease. It's because I think the Germans would try to trap me with someone who, at least, professed to be Catholic. "Well, then, you are not here for confession. Tell me, are you seeking sanctuary?" The question was out before the priest realized it and now he was sorry he'd asked it.

Surprised at the bluntness, but pleased at it, Ivan answered, "I am not seeking sanctuary, but I understand that if I were, I would do well to come here. If I, too, may be frank, Father, I understand your heart is in the right place."

Father Peter suddenly felt very uneasy. He'd placed himself in a vulnerable position. "I refer to sanctuary of the soul," he said. "I-I ..." he tried to find words, "I do not mean to get involved politically."

"Father," Ivan said, "I am going to gamble my life on the hunch that I've heard the truth about you. Then I'm going to leave. You will either turn me in to the Nazis, which I doubt-or you might completely ignore what I tell you-which I also doubt. I think you will find some way to react that will help my friends and me fight this oppression."

Father Peter was aghast at the sudden candor. He tried, but couldn't completely hide his shock.

"Father, I suspect that since your impassioned sermon several weeks ago, certain people have or will in the future, seek you out. There are certain of those people I am interested in.

"I don't understand," the priest said in sincerity. "What certain people?"

"Jews!"

The priest had expected almost anything but that reply. Why does this man want Jews? Is he indeed a collaborator? Is he asking me to turn Jews in to the Nazis? "Jews? Why do you want just Jews? How do you expect me to get you Jews?"

"Because the Jews have a very special problem; they cannot trust non-Jewish partisans." Ivan related the story of Moshe and the Ukrainians. "They feel-and they are correct, I'm afraid-that everyone is their enemy; but I think Jews might try to contact you. They have nowhere else to turn. And if they do, you cannot direct them to non-Jewish partisans. It would be too risky. They might end up dead after being stripped of all they own. With us they will at least have a chance."

Father Peter did not commit himself.

Ivan did not ask for commitment. He suddenly rose and started for the door. Turning back to the priest he added, "Father, I have placed my life in your hands. Please consider carefully what I have said." He told the priest how to find him at his farm. "I hope you will contact me and not the Germans. Thank you for your time."

It took several days for Father Peter to absorb all that Ivan had said. He went over and over the events of the morning, trying to find flaw, some clue that would tell him whether Ivan's message was truth or treachery. He weighed all the possibilities. "If Ivan is a collaborator..." even inactivity could be interpreted as treason by the Germans. They would expect me to report such a meeting as we had. To ignore it would be shirking my duty to the occupation. "Well, if that's their game, then be done with it!" There's no way I'll turn Ivan or anyone else over to the Nazis. "My decision's made for me!" On the other hand, maybe they are really trying to use him to capture Jews... "How can I be sure?" I know, I can talk to Gregor Kirtzof about it. But what if his partisans would also kill the Jews for their possessions? I don't think that possible! But listen to the gunfire from Babi Yar-that, too, I didn't think possible.

During the second week in November, about an hour before sunrise, a knock on the door woke Ivan and Sosha. They both sat up quickly. Sosha immediately thought something was wrong at the encampment, that the knock was a partisan. Ivan thought first of Father Peter-could he have sent the Germans?

There was no chance for escape. Ivan got up, went to the door and opened it. A tall, thin man in clothes too light for the cold fall night, stood framed in the doorway.

"You are Mr. Igonovich? Mr. Ivan Igonovich?"

"Yes. And who are you? What do you want?" Ivan looked him over for any visible weapon and then looked into the darkness behind him, for accomplices. Would this turn into a robbery?

"The priest Peter Rachovit sent me; I am a Jew!"

Ivan stepped part way out the doorway, looking about more thoroughly. There was no one else. "Quick, step in!" He closed the door behind the stranger.

"You say Father Peter sent you? How did he happen to send you to me?" He was flustered, unprepared. He doubted it to be a trap, but now it was not just his life, but the lives of all the others-and Sosha's, too.

"He said you would know about it. He told me you would know what to do."

"You say you are a Jew. How can I know you are a Jew? What is your name?"

"To the Germans I can't prove I'm not a Jew and to you I have to prove I am a Jew. How do I prove either? My name is Hillel. I'm named after a famous rabbi from the past."

"I don't know-say something Jewish." Ivan felt like a fool.

The stranger looked at Ivan as if he were mad, but went ahead and said a few words in Hebrew and a few more in Yiddish. "There, does that mean anything to you?"

"No. It sounds Jewish, but I can't know for sure. I must know for sure."

Sosha watched from the darkness of the other room.

"Wait here while I get dressed."

Ivan went into the darkened room and returned moments later. "Follow me!" Ivan wanted to get the man out of the house. He would think about his next steps as they walked. He felt better when they got away from the farm. If this were a trap, getting away from the house would not alter anything; nonetheless, he felt better about it. False security is better than no security, he thought.

"Is anyone else with you?"

"No. I'm alone."

They walked toward the road and along it for about a kilometer. Ivan kept looking about to see whether they were being followed, but it was still too dark to see very far. This darkness is making me all the more paranoid, he thought. What the hell am I so afraid of? I asked the priest to send me Jews, so what did I expect? This is all making me crazy. He must think I'm crazy. I think I'm maybe crazy. So I'm crazy. Too much caution can't hurt me-us.

"I'm sure you understand my caution. If you are who you say you are, it's best for both of us."

The Jew said nothing, just followed.

Finally they came to a sharp turn in the road. As they rounded the corner Ivan led his companion abruptly into the woods. Five meters into the trees Ivan stopped. "Now we will wait quietly. Not a sound from you. If anyone is following us we will see them when they round that curve."

When no one came, Ivan began walking again. The sun started its rise, lighting their way dimly through the woods. They turned and doubled back and made circles, retraced tracks. Ivan thoroughly confused his companion. The whole time he looked and listened for followers. None appeared.

After almost an hour in the woods he started toward the new encampment. It took almost another hour to get there. When they finally arrived, Moshe and the others took a few minutes to satisfy themselves that the newcomer was indeed Jewish, a landsman.

"Did Father Peter warn you that you might be walking into a trap?" Ivan asked the man.

"Yes. He told me you contacted him, but that he couldn't be sure it was not a trap to uncover his activities or capture Jews in hiding-or both. I knew the chance I was taking."

"Ivan," Moshe said, in the presence of all the others, "you had no right to go to the priest on your own. We all decided that it would be too risky. You had no right. You can gamble your own life, but not ours. This time it appears to have worked out well, but it could have led to a catastrophe."

"I took every precaution..."

"You could have made a mistake," Boris interrupted. "You know our whereabouts. If they tortured you and they would have, you'd have told all."

"That's not to say you're weak," Moshe added. "Anyone can break under torture. If everyone here would go off on their own and do what they thought was right, it wouldn't be long before the Germans would have us."

Ivan realized they were right. "I'm sorry. I see what... It won't happen again. It won't."

"I for one thank God you did it," the stranger said, "and the others will agree with me."

"What others?" Moshe demanded.

All eyes were on the Jew. Ivan's eyes were wide with surprise.

"We agreed, the priest and I, that if I found Jews, I was to return and inform him that Ivan was what he claimed. If I do not return, they will assume that I met with Nazis."

"They? Why do you say 'they?'?" Ivan insisted.

"The priest and the other Jews."

"There are more Jews?" Moshe asked.

Seventeen of us. We have gathered over the weeks, in the forests. Survivors from villages and cities all over the Ukraine-some from Poland." He paused, looked at Ivan and continued, "We didn't know where to turn for help. One of our group had heard about the priest's sentiments. We thought perhaps he could help us. Thanks to you, Ivan, he could." He looked at Moshe, "If you will have us, I will report back to the priest and get the rest of my group."

They worked out a safe way. Ivan and Sol accompanied the stranger back to bring the others. This, too, could still be a trap. If it were, Ivan, Sosha and Sol would be sacrificed. If they didn't return with the Jews by day's end the new encampment would have to be moved.

The Jewish band now numbered forty-nine. They would have to build some more huts and it was time for another supply mission.

Ilya Chuikov was a small man in his early thirties. He wore thick glasses. One lens was cracked and the metal frame held it precariously. The crack caused him to squint-and to remember. The lens had been cracked by the Nazis when they broke into his home months earlier. They'd arrested him, his wife and two children-a boy three and a girl two months old. They were immediately separated and he never saw his family again. He cherished no illusions about their survival.

The Nazis took him to the school building where he had been a mathematics teacher and threw him into the basement lunchroom where he was detained with about a hundred others-all men, all Jews. He never found out why he had been spared his family's fate. No one in the room knew why they were there.

They'd remained in the room for about an hour. There were no windows, only a ventilator shaft on one wall, about three meters up from the floor. There was only the one door he and the others were pushed through. Rather than risk being rushed by the prisoners, the Germans guarded from the outside. After a while, a few of the men started talking about the possibilities of escape. It seemed hopeless until someone suggested the vent.

"It's too small," one noted.

"Perhaps some of us could get out," countered another, not wanting to give up all hope.

"The only one who could get through there is that little man," said a third, pointing at Ilya, who was totally preoccupied with worry about his family.

"Hey! You, you, with the broken glasses!" the same man tried to get Ilya's attention. "You there, come here!"