Our position was desperate; at the moment the narrow street was empty, but anyone who happened to pass could see us. We couldn’t understand why the door, which was usually open, was now locked. Suddenly we realized: There were Jews hiding in the other room, and they had locked the door from the inside. “We are Jews, open the door!” we called. No answer came, but we heard a noise like the shuffle of feet. We tried to frighten them. “We know you are there. If they catch us, we’ll tell them where you are.” After a few seconds we heard the click of the turning lock and the door opened. Two old Jews stood there, shivering with fear. We went into the storage room and locked the door behind us. There was an attic above with straw and bags of cement. We climbed up the ladder and lay down on the straw.
We tried to think what to do. It would be too dangerous to try to reach the river during the first day or two of the action, so we decided to stay where we were until the hunt and the shooting had slowed down. It continued sporadically for another couple of hours, until nightfall, when it stopped. Exhausted, I fell asleep at last and slept for seven or eight hours.
Early in the morning we were awakened by the renewed clatter of machine-gun and rifle fire. The action was in full swing once again, and the hunt was on. It was Wednesday morning, September 2. At about eight o’clock we heard a voice outside that we recognized. My heart was pounding hard. It was the voice of the Ukrainian supervisor of the shop, who was knocking at the storage room door. “I know you are there,” he called out. “Don’t worry. I’m your friend.” In a quick, whispered consultation, we decided we had to take the risk and let him in. We unlocked the door. He came in and told us the Germans were shooting every Jew they could find. “You’d better stay right here,” he said.
The only possession of any value that we had left was Felek’s coat, a fine English brown herringbone tweed. “Give him the coat,” I whispered. Maybe with such a gift he would not betray us. After hesitating a moment, Felek handed his coat to the Ukrainian, saying, “Here, take it. If we don’t make it you’ll have something to remember us by.” The Ukrainian made a dismissive gesture, but he didn’t need much persuasion. He took the coat, saying, “I will be back,” and left.
New discussions ensued. “Is he going to betray us?” The Polish engineer had made us skeptical about trusting people, but we had no choice in the matter.
Machine-gun and rifle fire continued throughout the day. It would have been suicidal to go out. Once again night fell. We decided against going out as SS patrols were everywhere. I was in a state of nervous exhaustion, and that night slept fitfully.
The morning came, Thursday, September 3. Although we had eaten nothing in two days, we were not hungry. Thirst, however, was becoming hard to bear. My mouth and throat were very dry. Late in the afternoon a Russian who was a friend of our Ukrainian supervisor came to the door. He was not a local man but a Soviet citizen who had come with the Russians in 1939 and had been unwilling or unable to escape with the Russian army. He came into the storage room half drunk. His speech was slurred as he assured us that we had nothing to fear from him; he was a friend. On and on he kept assuring us of his friendly feeling. We couldn’t figure out at first what he was getting at, until it occurred to us that he wanted something from us, money or a gift. But we had nothing left. Half of our money had gone to the Pole, the other half and our watches to the Ukrainian policeman. Felek now had no coat, and the coats of the rest of us were old and valueless. We didn’t know what to do. Felek had a straight razor that we all used to shave with, but should we offer it to the Russian? Perhaps he would be offended by such an insignificant gift. We were reluctant, too, to give it up because we had talked about using it to cut our wrists. Better that than to be shot by the Germans. Giving the razor away would mean losing the chance to take our own lives.
The Russian kept gabbling away. Finally Felek said, “We have nothing left but this razor.” He handed it to the Russian, who examined it, opened the blade, tested its sharpness, closed it, put it in his pocket, and staggered out of the room, as we tried to assure him of our sincerity. “Really, we have nothing else left. Please believe us.”
It was night again, but I could scarcely sleep. My mouth was very dry and there was not a drop of water anywhere. Friday morning came, and the shooting still continued, although now it was less frequent. We decided we couldn’t stay any longer where we were. At least two people knew we were there, and they might have told others. And our thirst was becoming unbearable. We decided to leave that night—if only we weren’t betrayed in the meantime.
Late in the afternoon the Russian returned, even drunker, and rambling still more incoherently. He became abusive, calling us “Nadoedlivye Yevrei.” There is no exact English equivalen for nadoedlivye, but it means people who are a nuisance to others. Yevrei means Jews. We knew it was just a matter of time before he betrayed us, and could only hope he was too drunk to do it before nightfall. When he left he was reeling, so drunk he couldn’t walk without holding on to something. After he had gone, we counted the minutes.
It finally got dark outside. We decided to go first to Mietka, who had been Sam’s friend and lover during the Soviet occupation. She lived in her father’s house on the outskirts of Uściług, and we were hoping to get water and food from her, and then go to the river Bug.
At about midnight the locksmith wished us luck and went out. Then the four of us stepped out into the dark. (The two old Jews had decided to stay.) We dashed from one dark spot to another, hiding whenever we saw a guard until he passed. When we arrived at Mietka’s house, Sam called out her name in a low voice. A wave of joy swept over me when I saw the tall blond girl come to the door. I’ll never forget her face—a sweet face with a strong nose—and her long, straight blond hair. She was surprised to see us, and glad that we were alive.
Nor will I ever forget the sensation of drinking the milk she brought us. That milk was an elixir of life, filling every dry cell of my body. It was heaven. We drank and drank and drank. Only after we finished the milk did we realize how hungry we were, and we wolfed down the bread.
The girl warned us to be quiet. Her father was asleep, and she was afraid that he might not want us there. Evidently he was not so brave and humane as his daughter; I had the feeling too that he didn’t approve of her friendship with a Jew. She led us out to the barn so we could get some rest. I lay down on the straw, enjoying the bliss of a full stomach, and promptly fell asleep.
Just before dawn we were awakened by a loud man’s voice. It was the girl’s father, and he was not in the least friendly. “Out, out you go,” he ordered. We pleaded with him: “It’s almost day, please let us stay here just until night. It would be very dangerous to go out in the street now.” But he was adamant. “If you don’t leave immediately, I will get the police.”
We came out of the barn and started walking toward the river. The sun was not up yet, but soon it would be daylight. Suddenly we heard a voice say, “Stop!” There was a Ukrainian carrying a rifle but not wearing a uniform, only an armband—he was one of the auxiliary militiamen who had been enlisted for the duration of the action. We knew right away that he was no danger to us—he even showed us which way to go to avoid the SS patrols. We thanked him and walked on a few more blocks.
Soon we realized that we were near Lipińska’s, whose son I used to tutor; Sam and Felek knew Mrs. Lipińska, too. It was almost daybreak. We had to find a place to hide for that day, and so we cautiously entered the Lipiński yard. The house was on the edge of a property of about two and a half acres, with vegetable and flower gardens in front. Farther down was a barn with a cow, and a stall where Mr. Lipiński kept a horse. On the opposite side of the path, facing the stall, was a haystack. Behind it was a fruit garden with raspberry bushes and other fruit trees and bushes. The hay was packed tightly between four poles about twelve or thirteen feet high, which formed a square, each side seven or eight feet long. A tile roof rested on top of the four poles, and a ladder leaning against the hay led to the top
of the haystack. It had been made from the trunks of two young trees, with small branches for rungs. We climbed the ladder to the top of the stack and wearily lay down on the hay.
Soon we saw Mrs. Lipińska come out of the house and walk toward us. She was a woman of about forty with blue eyes, light brown hair, and a round, pleasant face. Cautiously I called out, “Mrs. Lipińska!” She was startled but calm. “How many of you are there?” she asked. Father, Sam, and Felek raised their heads so that she could see the four of us. She nodded and told us to be very quiet and not come down, because the SS and the Ukrainian police were searching all over town for Jews. She said she would come back later, then went into the barn.
At least she hadn’t thrown us out; probably she would let us stay until nightfall. But we were worried about her husband, whom the Germans had appointed mayor of Uściług; to what extent was he cooperating with them?
In mid-morning Mrs. Lipińska left the house. A few hours later she returned, went into the house, and came out to us carrying a bag full of food: potatoes, soup, bread, butter, and milk. This we had not expected; what a wonderful woman! At least for the moment the pressure was off, and we enjoyed every bite. She came back to collect the dishes and warned us again to be very careful. Her husband and children must not see us, she said. Her children might say something to their friends, and her husband might not be willing to run the frightful risk of having Jews found on his property.
No wonder. In the afternoon a sound truck drove by, blaring out a warning: Anyone caught hiding Jews, or helping them in any way, would be summarily shot. If he or she had a family, they also would be killed. It took a very special person to run this kind of risk. Mrs. Lipińska knew very well that she was endangering not only her own life, but also the lives of her son, daughter, and husband.
Those were wild times, savage, merciless. It meant nothing to the SS to take a life, Jewish or Gentile. The order was “Kill all Jews,” and anybody who stood in the way was eliminated as a matter of course. Nevertheless, Mrs. Lipińska never hesitated. It was clear to us that she was prepared to do whatever was necessary to save us, regardless of the risk.
On our second day there we heard a woman’s voice humming a little tune as she approached the Lipińskis’ house. We recognized the voice as that of an elderly woman known for her anti-Semitism even before the arrival of the Germans. She was always very solemn; Felek and Sam, who knew her well, had never before heard her laugh or sing. “Can you hear her now?” Sam said. “Happy as a lark. She’s delighted to see Jews being killed.”
Later that afternoon we suddenly heard the voices of men nearby. As they drew closer, we realized that they were Ukrainian police searching for Jews in the bushes nearby. Suddenly there was a commotion, and a female voice, pleading. Then we heard a shot, and a loud scream, a full-throated cry of terror. It was cut short by another shot. The voices of the Ukrainians grew louder, until we could hear their every word. There were two of them, and they were directly beneath us.
One of the two poles of the ladder leading to the top of the haystack was longer than the other, and from our perch we could see the end of it. Suddenly it shook a little. My heart stopped. Then one of the voices said, “Oh, there’s nobody here. Let’s look in the stall.” We heard steps move away and the creak of a door. After a moment we heard them close the door of the stall and move off toward the house. We went limp with relief. But how much longer could we live with such tension?
Later, Mrs. Lipińska came out to the haystack. She had seen the whole thing from her window. The Ukrainians had found two elderly Jewish sisters hiding in the bushes and shot them on the spot. Then they walked over to the haystack, and she saw one of them set his foot on the first rung of the ladder, about to climb it. “This is the end,” she thought. Her heart was beating so hard she was afraid of a heart attack. We could imagine her relief when she saw him change his mind. The two Ukrainians then came to the house and questioned her about the two Jewish women. She assured them that she hadn’t known they were there. One of the policemen happened to know her husband, and they took her word for it. Later in the day laborers came and removed the bodies of the two women, loading them into a wagon.
We told Mrs. Lipińska that our plan was to swim across the Bug to get to Hrubieszów and join the rest of our family. She had been born in Uściług and knew the area very well. She told us that there were heavy patrols along the river near Uściług, and that in any case the current there was too strong for us, especially Father, to swim across. Two or three miles downstream it would be easier to cross, but even there we would need help, she thought. Sam suggested that Mrs. Lipińska contact his friend Mietka. Mietka was Polish and had friends in Hrubieszów. The idea was for Mietka to use her contacts and arrange for Fred and Mother to send a guide to meet us at the river Bug and take us to Hrubieszów.
We told Mrs. Lipińska it might be many days or even weeks before we received an answer; was she willing to let us stay that long? Was it possible for her to hide us for such a period of time without her family finding out? And what about the risk in getting involved with messengers? She shrugged: What else could we do?
Mrs. Lipińska contacted Mietka, who in turn agreed to help. We waited. Twice and sometimes three times a day Mrs. Lipińska would bring us food: meat, potatoes, borscht, bread, milk. As we sat on top of our haystack, we could hear people passing by in the street. Sometimes Mrs. Lipińska’s children played right beneath us. Occasionally friends would come to visit. No one ever suspected our presence. The only time we left the haystack was late at night, to relieve ourselves in the nearby bushes.
The days dragged on, and we had no idea whether the message would ever reach Fred or, if it did, whether he would be able to arrange for a guide. We weren’t even sure what had happened by now to the Jews in Hrubieszów. Maybe they had had an action there too, and no one was left. But even if the Hrubieszów ghetto was still in existence and we did succeed in joining our family, sooner or later an action was certain to begin there. Everything was so hopeless.
I tried to steel myself for the moment of execution. It would be scary, but short. A moment of fear, that was all. A bullet in the brain, and it would all be over. Living in this world wasn’t worth it anyway. Time and again I recited this to myself, and after a while I felt I had mastered the fear and was prepared to die. I wished that it would be over quickly, and that I would die with dignity. It wasn’t all that easy, though. The next day the old stubborn will to live and the terror of death would regain the upper hand and I had to start the rationalization all over again.
I was not religious in those days, but I tried praying. “Dear God, please save us. We haven’t done anything wrong.” But I felt only contempt for myself, making such an appeal. “You phony, who are you trying to kid?” I stopped praying.
Day after day we waited for news from Hrubieszów. At last one day Mrs. Lipińska came out to the haystack in great excitement. A messenger had come with a note, brief and unsigned, from Fred. At midnight on September 17 we were to wait for a guide to meet us at the crossing Mrs. Lipińska had suggested. He would whistle as a signal, and we were to whistle back. He would take us to Hrubieszów.
What joy! They were still alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope. Frantic discussions ensued; how would we find the place in the middle of the night? Could we trust that the guide would really come, and if he did, that he would not betray us? Would we actually get to see Mother, Fred, and Hanka again? Our nerves were strung tight with anxious anticipation.
When the night of the rendezvous came, Mrs. Lipińska told us how to get to the crossing, warning us to be very careful; SS patrols were still around. Then she said good-bye. We thanked her from our hearts, and she went back to the house. As we set off, tension seized us again; would we make it this time? Suddenly we saw Mrs. Lipińska coming back from the house with a coat on and a shawl over her head. She was afraid we wouldn’t find the meeting place alone, and had decided to take us there herself. She wo
uld lead the way, and we were to follow her at a distance.
We could scarcely believe her courage. This lady was ready to take us to the border in the middle of the night, with guards and patrols all over the place. “Are you quite sure you want to do this?” we asked. “If anything goes wrong, you will be killed along with us.” “I’m sure,” she said. “Let’s hurry, we mustn’t be late.”
She struck out across the fields at a fast clip. We followed her for about an hour. There were no roads; we walked up hills, through woods, and across fields. We realized that we never would have made it without her; it was like following our guardian angel. As I walked I marveled at her incredible bravery and strength. What made her do it? How was it possible for the human race to produce such polar opposites—a Mrs. Lipińska and the heartless woman who lifted her little daughter up so she could watch the Jews being marched to their death? To this day, more than forty years later, I can still see in my mind’s eye Mrs. Lipińska silhouette before us, leading us through the dark night. That this woman was willing to risk everything to save other human beings is still and will forever remain the greatest inspiration of my life.
Every town had a few Gentiles who were willing to hide Jews from the SS. They too were heroic, but in most cases their heroism was of a somewhat different order. When fellow human beings appealed to them, they didn’t have the heart to turn them away; in some cases, they even offered to shelter their Jewish friends on their own initiative. But Mrs. Lipińska went far beyond that. She didn’t even know us very well, and to walk to that river with us in the dark of night in such times of lawlessness and terror was an act of courage only the very best of the human race could perform. She was truly of God—sent by him to inspire courage in us, to counterbalance the evil that seemed universal, to hold out the hope that somehow—in ways we shall never understand on this earth—there is a reason for our being here.
I Shall Live Page 11