The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (21 page)

"Solomon, please don't be nervous. You're so tense! Have I offended you? Don't you want me?"

"Oh God, Rachel-yes, I want you. And I love you. I just don't want to do the wrong thing. I'll be clumsy. I'll disappoint you."

"I assure you, Solomon, I'm no expert. I have no sordid past to judge you by. We'll learn together. Solomon, I love you. Please be at ease with me."

For the first time, he relaxed enough to feel the warmth and smoothness, the firm softness of her breast. He could feel the erection of her nipple. He moved his fingers slowly, lightly, over the breast, exploring all its contour. "You'll tell me if I hurt you. I've heard it can be very sensitive."

"It, I have two of them, Solomon." She giggled at him.

He slid his hand to the other, his own embarrassed chuckle smothered by a warm, tender kiss.

"Oh, Solomon, I do love you. More than I've ever loved anyone." She felt suddenly very sexual. Having found and explored her own sensitive parts at an early age, Rachel knew her needs well. But never had those needs been stronger than right now, here, with Sol. "Have you ever had a woman, Solomon?"

"No. I've never even kissed anyone outside my own family before. I'm afraid I'll be a disappointment to you."

"Don't you think I have fears? After all, I'm a rabbi's daughter. My courtship was very proper."

His excitement rose. Bravely he started to move his hand downward. He reached her smooth, slim stomach. There he froze. His courage failed him. When it didn't return, he started slowly to move his hand back.

"No," Rachel whispered. "Please go on. I want you to. Please."

Sol was hesitant.

"Please, please, Solomon." She took his hand and moved it slowly and gently down. She felt she had waited this moment all her life.

"Please make love to me. Make love to me now!"

Father Peter and most of the equipment were brought into the family camp the next day. Two radios were brought up, the third left in camp two. Gregor's tools were brought up. If only the blacksmiths themselves would check out as safe, they would be invaluable to the guerrillas.

"Kiev is an unbelievable place to live," Father Peter told the news starved Jews that first evening after dinner. "Starvation, looting, disease, reprisal roundups, shortages of everything-people are living in constant fear.

The Jews were unimpressed.

True, they ate well, but they knew cold and the threat of discovery and death. And they knew that much of what was being sold and traded in the marketplace had been stolen from the hundred thousand Jews who had lived in Kiev. Still, no one interrupted the priest.

"People had to destroy all of their books under threat of death. Most used them for fuel to heat their houses. All the books from the public library were thrown out of the windows to be burned. Schools are closed."

Finally someone asked about the ravine-Babi Yar.

"Babi Yar..." He hung his head. "Babi Yar is the shame of the world." It obviously pained him to talk of the ravine. He spoke, eyes to the floor. "It is inconceivable what the Germans do at Babi Yar, but everyone knows they do it. It's inconceivable that no one speaks out against them, but I know the world is silent. Babi Yar is everyone's sin. In just two days at Babi Yar, over thirty thousand people were murdered-all Jews. Perhaps a few escaped. But they had no chance! Those who tried were shot on the spot. Many invited death by running just to end the torture of waiting."

The room remained hushed as the priest paused. Even Sol, who had lived through it all at Babi Yar, found the tale crushing when told by someone else.

"By the end of the week, no Jews could be found in Kiev. There had been over a hundred thousand! No one raised a protest. It is a sin shared by all the world."

The priest was still for a few moments, still gazing at the floor. Then he continued. "But the ravine is not full yet. The gunfire continues. From dawn to dusk, I hear the deadly report of the guns. Trains come with thousands of new victims. I cannot recall a day when I've not heard the terrible staccato from Babi Yar. I've prayed for the wind to change directions-blow toward the ravine-and a few times my prayer has been answered. But too briefly and I would hear it again!

"And several times each day, I've heard enormous explosions. What they mean, I don't know. I fear to think what new device of death the Germans have come up with."

Again he fell silent. Rachel handed him a cup of tea. He thanked her and continued his morbid account. "Only the efficient Germans could invent the gas wagon. I first heard of it when one of my parishioners came to me distraught over the death of his mother. The mother had been a patient at the Pavlov Psychiatric Hospital. In mid October of 1941, a German doctor came there and announced that the patients were to be sent to another facility to free up the Pavlov Hospital for 'more important needs.'

"The patients were put into the back of a truck; the doors were closed and the truck driven off. Only the Germans knew that the trucks exhaust was piped into the sealed compartment-that their destination was a pit at Babi Yar.

"Now one can see gas wagons daily, driving their dying load toward Babi Yar. They save time and bullets for the Germans." He paused to wipe tears from his eyes.

"And even with the gas wagons, the sound of machine guns continues from dawn to dusk!"

Father Peter took a long drink from his glass. His throat and mouth were dry. No one of his audience spoke. Dovka refilled his glass, which he acknowledged with a nod.

"Sadly, the German character rubs off. The people of Kiev-too many of them-have learned hate from the Germans..."

"Or perhaps they have learned nothing from the Germans," Sol interrupted. "Perhaps they were what they are. Perhaps they just needed the German occupation to show their true character. Perhaps the Germans will show us the true character of the whole world."

Father Peter looked at Sol thoughtfully. "Perhaps, perhaps you are right."

"Father Peter, I am from Kiev. Believe me when I tell you Christians, there had no love for us before the Germans came. I've been spat upon for all of my life. I think you'll hear the same from every Jew here. Regardless of where he came from," Sol added, bitterly. "I'm afraid the righteous Ukrainians are the exceptions. Ivan, Sosha, Gregor and his family and you, you are, I'm afraid, among the exceptions."

"Yes," the priest said sadly, "perhaps the Germans will show us what we really are. Our own people turn in their neighbors to the Gestapo for an extra ration of food or worse, for money. In the black market, our own people prey and profit on the need of their neighbors. And no one protests, no one. No one!" His thoughts turned to his disappointment in the Vatican.

The Jews in the room didn't think about the Vatican or the rest of the world. They had long since learned to expect inhumanity from the non-Jewish world. The only difference now was that they were fighting back. "Is our effort being felt?" Dovka asked, breaking Father Peter's introspection. "Do our activities hurt the Germans?"

"I'm sure you hurt the Germans. There's no way to know how much. We get no news of the actual acts, but only of the Nazi reprisals carried out because of them. There are several partisan groups around Kiev, I think and no way for us to know which is doing what. One thing is certain; however-no one knows there are Jewish guerrillas at work in the area! The Germans might know it, but if they do they haven't made it known publicly. I'm sure their propaganda wouldn't allow it. They would never let it be known that the Jews would do anything but go to their deaths like sheep. What would people think if they knew Jews could hurt the Germans?"

"Do they really take reprisals for every act against them?" Sol asked. "We've heard they do."

"They have reprisal roundups almost daily. People are picked up at random, usually - hundreds every day. They just pick up the first one, two or three hundred people they find on the street. Men, women, children-it doesn't matter. They are executed either in the street or at Babi Yar."

"Then our acts cause the deaths of innocent people," Sol said almost inaudibly.

Rachel retaliated with fury in her voice. "Solomon, you are not going to carry the burden of the Nazi's guilt! If the Germans were to take reprisals, which they may well do, when the Russians stage a counter offensive, do you think they would or should call off their war so the Germans would not execute civilians? We are fighting a war, too. A war for our very survival! Maybe if the Germans take enough reprisals, maybe the citizens of Kiev will also rise up against the Nazis! If we curtail our activities because of their inhumanity, then we justify it!

"And at least this time, it is not our brethren being slaughtered in reprisal. They are already dead! Now they slaughter those who cheered openly and in their hearts when the Jews were rounded up. Those who were glad when the Jews went to their deaths 'like sheep' can now go to their deaths because we resist!

"Father Peter, you are right when you say the German atrocities are the sin of the world. Anyone who does not resist in some way must share the guilt. That is a course we must refuse!"

There was a long silence until Moshe said, "She sounds more like a rabbi than a rabbi's daughter."

Laughter purged the somber mood of the room.

Sosha walked at the rear of their property near the woods when she heard a rustling in the underbrush. At first, she thought it a rabbit or squirrel but when she heard it again it seemed too heavy a tread to be a small animal. It frightened her and she cautiously went closer to the edge of the forest. "Who is there?" No answer. Another few footsteps rustled through the underbrush and then a small boy stepped from behind a bush. He was in tattered clothing and was filthy with dirt from head to foot. He looked fearful and prepared to run.

"Don't be afraid; I won't harm you. Please, let me help you. Who are you?"

The boy remained silent. Tense.

"Are you hungry? I'll fix you some food, something to drink. Please, tell me who you are-where do you come from?"

He said nothing, but seemed to relax a little.

"Please, what is your name?" Sosha coaxed. When he didn't answer she had a hunch about his concern. "Are you Jewish? I will still help you. Please, you must trust me. You can't hope to survive alone. Trust me, please. Start with telling me your name, please." She smiled sympathetically.

"I-I'm Yosef-Yosef Dukowski. Please-help me-I'm very hungry-very tired-please..."

Tears flowed from Sosha's eyes. She felt his fear and pain. His plea was so forlorn. She got him to follow her to the house. She heated water for him to clean himself, gave him soap. Gave him some clothing, from when her son was small, which was far too large for him, but at least clean. She had to cut off the leg and sleeve lengths and tied the waist with a rope. He looked ridiculous but less afraid as he ate cheese, bread, cabbage and tea. She didn't think him trusting enough to question him. She would have Ivan take him to the Jews in the forest.

Ivan took Yosef directly to the main camp via camp two, not fearing him a security risk. Rachel took him over, getting him some clothing that fit him better and feeding him. He could hardly believe that he found himself among his own people. After a few questions by Rachel his story poured fourth.

When the Germans announced that all Jews were to leave their homes for deportation his parents decided to escape before the roundup. He was an only child, fourteen years old. They were fairly well off and his father took all the money and jewels they had. They left the city during the night, almost getting caught twice by patrolling Germans and Ukrainian guards. Finally, they escaped into the country to a farm that sold produce to his father's vegetable store. They hid the family in a small pit they dug under the floor of their barn.

The hole was dug out two meters by two meters by a meter deep. Boards were placed across the top and hay was stored on that. His father paid the farmer for the protection and what food they would need. For the first few weeks it wasn't too bad because the Germans didn't go too far out of the city. They could get out as long as they stayed close to the barn.

The Germans became more numerous in the area and they had to stay in the pit all during the day. The farmer fed them twice daily. If they had to relieve themselves of bladder or bowel during the day it had to be in the little pit. They could only come out during a few hours after dark. It was difficult and barely tolerable but necessary.

The winter was miserably cold. They had only their clothes, hay and huddling together to keep them warm. Occasionally, the farmer would let them come into the house for a few hours to warm up, but only on the coldest nights for it was a risk that could have cost them all their lives. Spring finally came and they thought it would get better, but his mother got sick, her chest, pneumonia his father thought. They could not risk a doctor. After three days she died in the pit with them.

All day they stayed in the pit with her body until they could bury her under cover of darkness. Yosef and his father could no longer tolerate sitting in the pit that took their wife and mother's life. They decided to take to the woods.

His father became deeply depressed and could hardly function. His health deteriorated and one morning Yosef awoke but his father didn't. He found a board and dug a shallow grave with it. It took him all of a day to bury his father. Three days later, weak, hungry and terrified, he found Sosha.

Days passed. Father Peter operated the radio, having been taught by one of the newcomers still out but now in the second camp. No messages were sent. They had no one to send to; and, heeding Gregor's warning, they didn't send between the camps. All day long, people would drop into the radio room, which had quickly been added to the headquarters building. They listened to the signals, dispatches and newscasts that the priest continually monitored. Of course, all messages of importance were sent in code. The Jews had been starved for news. Now they could hear not only local transmissions but also broadcasts beamed into the area from unoccupied Russia.