In the meantime, the Schwarzers joined us from Jaroslaw: my mother’s older sister, Zofia, her husband, Wilhelm, and their son, Zygmunt. The Leibels also came from Bielsko: my mother’s youngest sister, Helena, her husband, Henryk, a lawyer, and their eleven-year-old son, Richard, as well as Henryk’s parents. Aunt Helena was good-looking and charming, a funny lady with a great personality and an infectious smile. They all moved into vacant apartments in Mother’s building.
The “victorious” Nazis entered our town ten or so days after the outbreak of war. Nazi soldiers wore spic-and-span new uniforms and shiny boots, their hair neatly trimmed and cheeks clean-shaven. After all, they did not have to fight in combat but simply conquer Polish cities and lands by bombing them.
A couple of days after Przemyśl was occupied, I happened to be walking to town when I saw a frightening situation. About seven or eight young men were standing against a building, facing a wall with their arms up, while a German policeman, Schutzpolizei, pointed a gun at them. I realized at once that the young men were Jewish. I didn’t wait to see what happened next and ran home. I breathlessly told my father, “Daddy, Daddy, you have to hide! The Germans are rounding up Jewish men!”
My father quickly hid in the attic that had many nooks and crannies, old furniture, and boxes. Only my mother and I knew he was hidden there. One of us would bring him food when no one was around.
Because the Germans ordered “business as usual,” my mother had to keep the store open. When questioned by authority, we all answered that my father, like so many other men, had fled east.
Almost at once the Germans began rounding up Jewish men, claiming they were being taken out for manual labor, such as digging ditches and clearing bombed sites, but these men never returned. In the first ten days of occupation, the Nazis killed about 240 Jewish men. Later, much later, I found out that at the end of two weeks’ occupation, the Germans trapped 700 more Jewish men, led them into a nearby forest, and shot them all.
As soon as the Nazis occupied Przemyśl, they immediately placed huge placards with new orders on the main streets of the city; the orders had to be obeyed under the threat of severe punishment. All arms, radios, and bicycles had to be turned into the police. All businesses had to stay open.
A few days after the Germans occupied Przemyśl, a large truck pulled up in front of our store. Since Father was hiding in the attic, Mother was working in the store alone. Three Nazis entered and without any explanation, proceeded to remove the entire inventory from the shelves. Bolts upon bolts of fabrics were taken down and loaded onto the truck. Though frightened, Mother kept her composure, neither protesting nor arguing. After all, she was Jewish, considered subhuman by the Nazis, whereas they thought themselves superior, being “victorious and pure Aryans.” It took about three hours for them to empty the whole store; they left with smirks on their faces because yet another Jewish store had been liquidated.
In late September, we awoke to see Russian soldiers on our streets. We knew that Hitler and Stalin had signed a peace treaty in August, but what it really amounted to was divvying up Poland between the USSR and Germany. In Przemyśl the River San served as the border, splitting our city in two.
Although my father no longer conducted business, he was still considered a capitalist and an enemy of the state.
Our store stopped existing after the Nazis looted our inventory and we were unable to order more fabrics from any European country. A few weeks later, we were awakened in the middle of the night by a loud banging on our door. We jumped out of our beds, frightened at such commotion. To our surprise as we opened the door, three Russian soldiers stood, pointing their rifles at us. They had slanted eyes and looked morose and frightening. One soldier ordered my father to get dressed and took him to the police station. They gave no reason for the arrest and we had no right to ask any questions. In the meantime, the other two soldiers started opening all the closets and drawers, searching for hidden firearms. They found no firearms but helped themselves to our money, jewelry, art, linens, china, sterling silverware, and anything that attracted them. Luxury items were not available in the Soviet Union after the 1918 revolution. All the art, gold, silver, and antiques were stashed away, and ordinary Russians lived a life that included only the basic necessities.
Mother politely requested that they leave us some knives, forks and spoons, but one Russian replied, “Listen, woman! We’ve eaten with wooden spoons since the Revolution and now it’s your turn to eat with wooden spoons.” While this was going on, I stayed in my mother’s bed, the covers pulled up to my neck. One of the soldiers going through the linen closet said to me quite seriously, “I want to marry you. Why not come with me to Russia?”
“I’m too young to marry,” I stammered, “I’m just thirteen.”
“Oh, no, you’re not too young. I would like to take you with me.” My mind raced, trying to find an answer, but I instinctively knew the best course was to keep quiet, not volunteer responses or criticize anything he said, no matter how outlandish. My mother and Aunt Helen were in the dining room, where the third soldier was removing china from a cabinet. Mother had no idea that as her beautiful things were being systematically looted, her daughter was being proposed to by a Russian soldier and that I might be ordered to marry him and move to Russia.
My father was released the next morning from jail. No reason was given for his arrest, but we were overjoyed and grateful that he’d come home.
Both occupying armies commandeered rooms for officers in people’s apartments. An NKVD officer occupied one of our rooms. The Russians were very suspicious of Poles, and when they were invited to partake of our meal, they usually refused, fearful the food was poisoned. One morning, “our” Russian officer came into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of browned butter and cooking eggs (still available at that time). Mother offered him eggs, and afterwards, he was so impressed with her culinary ability that he ordered a dozen eggs for breakfast each morning thereafter.
A couple of weeks later, the wife of the Russian officer arrived from Moscow. To our surprise, she came wearing a pair of bedroom slippers, clutching a paper bag that contained all her personal belongings. Average Russians were poor; acquiring such luxuries in Russia required coupons and months of waiting, and even then, the quality of merchandise was shoddy. The officer’s wife discovered that she could buy fabrics and shoes in Poland, and soon did so. On several occasions, I saw a soldier standing in the middle of the street with one arm raised, his arm draped with wristwatches. He was having his photo taken to send home in order to brag about owning so many watches. In the USSR, one had to wait six months to a year to get a Russian watch, and there was little choice as to color, type, or originality. A Russian citizen was happy to get any kind of watch after months of waiting.
Some weeks later as I returned home from school, I saw a truck in front of our apartment building, loaded with furniture. As I got closer, I realized it was our furniture, and I wondered why my parents hadn’t informed me that we were moving out. Then I noticed a couple of Russian soldiers lifting more furniture into the truck and I shivered, realizing our family wasn’t moving at all, but that the Russians were carting away our furniture. Just as the Nazis had taken everything from our store, now the Russians “liberated” us of our personal belongings.
After my father lost his livelihood and all our belongings, my parents decided it was time to leave Przemyśl. It was too dangerous living under the Communist regime as a bourgeois—буржуи in Russian. Those considered enemies of the state, such as professors, lawyers, business people, capitalists, and foreigners, were routinely rounded up in the middle of the night and given little time to pack their belongings. No explanation was given as to why or where they were being “resettled.” Doctors were an exception and escaped persecution or exile. The others were loaded onto trains and spent many weeks, journeying deep into Russia to gulags, Russian concentration camps. Sad, frightening stories filtered out of Russia, bewildering stories of children, old people, and abl
e-bodied men who had died from exposure to freezing temperatures, starvation, or disease.
My parents decided to move to Lwów to avoid being sent to Siberia. Daddy obtained illegal documents as a textile worker, having learned how to operate textile machines in France before he took over his father’s fabric store. Lwów was a place where no one knew us and therefore could not denounce us to the police. The hope was that my parents would find work as laborers, that I’d attend school, and that somehow we would survive the war by minding our own business. People did survive privation, and my parents were strong, healthy and unafraid of hard work, severe weather, or other hardships. But at that time, being sent to Russia was considered a fate to be avoided at all costs.
We moved to Lwów in the fall of 1940. We had no idea what to expect from the occupation. We were not used to the way the Communist mind worked, and the Russians did not know anything about democracy or capitalism. The Russian people have always been suspicious, but the whole Soviet system was built on distrust and suspicion. People were taught to be leery of friends, neighbors, and relatives. It was imperative that they not discuss anything important with anyone but the closest family. Denouncing and reporting others to the police became an everyday occurrence. People felt helpless and at the mercy of the low characters, who seemed to surface during wartime.
My family felt lucky that we weren’t sent to Russian gulags. Though we lost all of our personal property and savings, we were glad to be healthy and together as a family. My father had confidence that he could always make a living and take care of us; we, in turn, were reassured by his conviction.
We found a small apartment and a school for me.6 My mother got a job in a glove factory, sewing leather gloves. Even though she’d never done such work before, she became proficient at her job and was named one of the top producers in the factory. Indeed, it was a great honor under the Communist régime, where everyone had to meet a certain quota. My father got a job working in a factory, manufacturing cloth for Russian soldiers’ uniforms.
We learned to keep to ourselves and never to express our opinion to anyone, to always listen with suspicious ears. We behaved as if it were the best life one could wish for. We realized how very precious freedom was and how easily it could be snatched away.
Life under the occupation was difficult and complicated, not only because we spent so much time queuing for every food staple, but also because we had to be careful of every move and every word we uttered. In order to obtain a ration of bread, a pound of sugar, a bit of oil or soap, we had to stand in line for hours before the store opened. Citizens with their precious food stamps had to stand in line at 4:00 a.m., waiting for the store to open at 8:00 a.m. As the time grew near for the store to open, husky guys pushed their way to the front of the line, elbowing out those more timid and less aggressive. The toughs got their hands on sugar and bread, and the supply quickly ran out. Those who had waited patiently for their rations were told by the store manager that all the food was gone and to try again the next day.
I learned certain tricks by forcing my way between the bullies. My parents had to be at work early in the morning and could not be late with a weak excuse like standing in line for bread. The black market flourished, but one could not buy much with money as it had lost its value. The peasants used a barter system to obtain linens, cook pots, shoes, and clothing. The items that the Germans and Russians hadn’t already taken were exchanged for meat, bread, butter, or other foods.
The Communists held parades and gatherings to show how happy and grateful people were under Communism and the power of the Soviet Union. It was mandatory for all workers and students to participate in the propaganda show. Those who did not were punished and scrutinized by their superiors, usually Communist Party members. Actually, unless one joined the Party, one could not expect to get a managerial position or a promotion. Most of our friends only had menial jobs because none of them wanted to belong to the Communist Party.
Near our apartment was a lovely little bakery that I passed every morning on the way to school. Each day the display window featured my favorite pastry, kremówki, that cost one ruble apiece. I was tempted to stop in and buy one because I usually had a ruble in my pocket and could have easily afforded it, but I begrudged myself the indulgence. Days and weeks and months went by, and I was tempted each and every day as I passed the bakery, each time checking my desire, promising myself I’d buy one on another day.
June 22, 1941, we awoke to witness a most unusual site: Russians, both soldiers and civilians, were leaving their homes, fleeing what used to be Eastern Poland. They carried the loot they’d accumulated during the one and a half years of occupation. They were literally running, dragging boxes and suitcases with them. We were in the dark about this sudden exodus because we had no radios—it was illegal to own them—and newspapers printed only propaganda. Soon enough we found out that Hitler had “surprised” his allies by invading the Soviet Union early that morning. On the heels of the Russians’ flight, we experienced night bombing for the next few weeks during which the city sustained a great deal of damage.
The invasion would be considered a turning point of the war in Europe. Even in Lwów, everything changed. I stopped attending school, the bakery shop closed, and the next day for pastries never arrived. I never had chance to indulge my passion for kremówki. I vowed that one day I’d allow myself to splurge on whatever I craved to make up for the many days when I stinted myself.
On that first day of summer, 1941, the sirens sounded, and people grabbed their children, taking shelter in cellars. There, frightened people prayed, children cried, but most listened for the bombs as they whistled by. We could judge by the sound of the whistling how far away the bombs would fall. Those that hit nearby shook our building like an earthquake. There were times when I was baking bread and an alarm would sound and bombs began falling. I’d ignore the warnings to hide in the cellar; it would be a terrible waste if the precious bread burned. I’d answer, “Yes, I’ll be down there in a minute.” Instead, I watched the German planes to see if the Russian anti-aircraft guns hit them. Bombings occurred at night and it was easy to spot planes and Russians firing ammunition. Somehow, I trusted my premonition that I’d survive the war. For the same reason, I believed that a bomb wouldn’t kill me.
By the time the Germans reached the border of Mother Russia, the unprepared Soviets had had a chance to regroup and reorganize and thus began a long, costly siege that would last months and cause millions of lives.
Russians had many dedicated citizens and Stalin used them like pawns. For Poland, it was a Nazi occupation for the second time. The Germans occupied Lwów again following the Russians’ departure. By November, they’d opened a ghetto in the poorest section of Lwów.
Being efficient and precise organizers, the Germans got to work, installing loudspeakers on the corners of main streets that screamed orders all day long, stating that all people had to register (this would give them good information how many people lived in Lwów and where they lived). Jews received a “J” on their identity cards; Poles had a “P” on theirs or a “D” for volksdeutsch, ethnic Germans living outside of Germany.
Everyone had to obtain food coupons. Everyone was made to turn in bicycles, radios, and skis to the police; death awaited anyone who still owned them. The Germans were clever at marketing substitutes for unavailable items. Instead of sugar, one had to use saccharine; instead of coffee, they sold roasted oats. For clothing, they sold paper; I had a paper skirt that looked like real cloth, but I couldn’t wash it or it would fall apart in water.
Hitler had planned to reach Moscow before winter set in. But he miscalculated and never conquered Moscow. However, he continued a systematic persecution of Jews, issuing decrees that deprived them of civil rights, even in the so-called German section of Lwów:
- Jews had to wear white armbands with the Star of David embroidered in blue, from the age of 13.
- Jewish children could not go to school because they were
considered subhuman.
- Jewish people could not ride streetcars or buses because they were considered subhuman.
- Jews had a curfew and were not allowed on the streets after 5:00 p.m.
The slightest disobedience was punishable by torture or death. No Nazi had to explain to a higher authority why he shot a Jew. When my father left for work in the morning, we didn’t know if he’d return home that evening. The Nazis ruled by fear. We never knew what to expect or what might happen the next moment. People disappeared from the streets. Some were loaded onto trains; others were shot for no reason. We were always on tenterhooks. Daddy would come home each day bringing us news that was circulated on the street.
During the darkest moments of the war, when everything seemed lost and it felt impossible to go on one more day, Mamusia would pull a few precious green beans of coffee from a drawer. She roasted them in a pan over a gas flame, ground them, making a pot of wonderful real coffee. As sad and desperate as we all were, the smell of brewing coffee and a few sips of the real brew gave us the courage to continue. The aroma brought memories of better days and helped us cope.
At the start of the war, many people fled from western to eastern Poland, away from the attacking Germans. Russians considered them “foreigners” and thus candidates for “resettlement” to gulags and work camps in Siberia or remote Russian outposts. Many of these people hid or slept in other people’s apartments to avoid the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, which always searched for these “dangerous” foreigners in the middle of the night. They’d allow them one half hour to pack their belongings before taking them to the trains. Many of these “guilty” foreigners lived for weeks and months with packed and ready suitcases in case they might be visited by the secret police and sent far, far away to remote parts, deep within Russia. These poor families spent sometimes as much as six weeks on a train in cold and uncomfortable rail cars. In the vast area of the Soviet Union, the trains would go and stop, change directions, switch locomotives and drivers; those who had been rounded up were forced to stay on the train the whole time. They were fed black bread and cold soup.
The Girl in the Cellar Page 5