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.
28
Hillel..
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.
29
Ilya...
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!"
Ilya looked up, squinting through his newly broken lens. Without the glasses he was as good as blind. The man who had called to him was motioning for him to join the group.
"What do you want of me?" Ilya asked.
"If we can get that screen off that vent up there, you think you could get through it?"
Ilya looked up at the screened vent. "Where does it go?"
"Who knows? But what do we have to lose? Maybe it leads outside. Maybe you can get out and figure a way to help us. On the other hand, you may get caught in there." He paused and then shrugged. "Will you try?"
Ilya agreed without hesitation. If he got out he might also be able to help his own family. He realized his chances of even fitting through the ventilator were slim, that he was probably crawling to his death. But what choice had he?
"Like you say, what's to lose?"
Two of the larger men lifted his frail body easily. He tugged at the screen covering the vent, which popped loose, bringing dust down on him and those below. He handed the screen down and the two men all but heaved him into the small opening. He fit, easily. After he was in, they lifted another man, small, but too large for the vent, who snapped the screen back into place.
It was cramped and dark in the shaft. As he slid along, dust flew into his nostrils. Struggling to stifle a sneeze, Ilya Chuikov snaked his way on. He came to an elbow turn in the duct. He could get his head far enough into the elbow to see the shaft's outside screen. Daylight showed through and Ilya knew freedom was probably just beyond; but he could not get his shoulders past the elbow turn. With escape not two meters away, Ilya would be forced to return to the basement room.
As he started backing down the duct, he raised more dust. It penetrated his nostrils and he sneezed before he could stop it. He was over a seam in the duct, at a point where the thin sheet metal was poorly supported. The convulsing motion of his body was more than the duct could withstand. The seam gave way and dumped Ilya into a shallow crawl space.
Stunned and sore, Ilya found himself in darkness pierced only by a sliver of light off to his left. He crawled in the loose, cool dirt under the building. The light came through a crack between two boards in what felt like a small, wooden access door.
He put his eye up to the crack. Beyond there was a German standing by a car. Probably its chauffeur waiting for his officer, Ilya thought. He knew right away where he was. The little door was one he had often seen from the outside as he walked to and from the school. He'd never paid much attention to it. Now it was his doorway to escape.
It opened, he knew, onto an alley at the side of the building, next to the faculty entrance to the school. The stairway to that entrance would give Ilya protection from the view of anyone on the street. On the other side, he would be kept from view by trash bins. Now if only that damn German would leave!
For four hours, the German remained at his spot. He kept getting in and out of the car, yawning and talking to himself or anyone else who came by and would pause a moment. He must have smoked a complete pack of cigarettes. Doesn't he have to go to the toilet-or eat-or get a drink of water? Ilya wondered. But he never left his post. Finally, after dark, Ilya heard the officer return to his car. After exchanging a few words with someone in German, which Ilya couldn't understand, the car started and drove away.
Alone with his thumping heart, Ilya waited several minutes before trying the door. It moved easily. He slowly, carefully opened it. The alley was empty. He slipped out and followed the shadows to where the trash bins stood in the alley. He saw no Germans.
Now he paused. How could he help his fellow Jews? No sooner had he started to ponder the problem than he heard a commotion at the rear of the building. The Germans were moving the Jews he had been imprisoned with into trucks. If there had been any chance to help them, it was too late now.
He could not help his family either. He couldn't even find where they'd been taken. Dejected, despondent, overcome with grief, Ilya blindly-dazed, escaped to the countryside. He made his way into the forest, like a ghost, empty and in despair.
30
Partisans...
By mid-January of 1942, Solomon's partisan band was a community of more than a hundred Jews. Between November and mid-January, the encampment was moved three times. Moving was a precaution Moshe thought would reduce the chances of discovery or betrayal. It happened each time a partisan disappeared, to assure the Nazis couldn't torture the camp's location out of him or her if he or she'd been captured.
As the group became larger, moving became more difficult. Sol came up with an idea that would provide maximum security without constant disruption of their community life.
"What if there were three camps. The first camp, a very mobile one, would be where supplies would be gathered for and from missions," he explained to Moshe. "We wouldn't use it for more than two or three days. New members could be brought in through it, be observed, not being told about the other camps. If there were a betrayal or if someone followed newcomers or a returning raiding party-only a few of our number would be jeopardized.
"Returning from a mission, we'd stay at the first camp for at least twelve hours; maybe more. Long enough to make any followers think it was our headquarters." Sol paused, waiting for Moshe's reaction.
"Go on, what about the second camp?"
"Camp two would be a temporary camp, too. It would house mission eligible partisans and newcomers from camp one. The new people would remain at camp two until their loyalties proved unquestionable. We'd make it look to them that this was the main camp. The second camp would be moved only if there were a capture of one of our people. However, if someone is captured, we would know that he would disclose the first camp-to minimize the torture. We would move the first camp right away, leaving enough evidence to convince the Germans he wasn't lying. It may buy him or her a less painful death.
"Unless a major mission was planned, camp two would never house more than a fourth of our number. This would reduce the chance of a crippling raid on us."
Again Sol paused. "Any que
stion so far?"
"No. It's clear. So far I like the idea. Go on."
"Camp three would be the main camp, permanent community. It will be deep in the forest. Somewhere in an area of wilderness, far from any civilization - at least a day's travel from the nearest road or village. All routes to this camp would be posted with lookouts. A warning system would give us at least three hours to prepare for defense or evacuation. All the children, elderly and non combatants would stay there permanently.
"Those scheduled for a mission would leave camp three and set up a new camp one. Camp three would be far too remote to be a staging area for any mission."
"Where do you envision the camp three being?" Moshe asked.
"I have no idea. The site will have to be carefully chosen and very remote. These forests around Kiev are vast. People have been lost in them for weeks. We must find a place deep-hours deep into the wilderness-where we can build a permanent community-a secret community-under tree cover so as not to be seen from the air. And it must be defensible. Such a place might be hard to find, but it will also be hard for the Germans to find."
31
A Village in the Forest...
As soon as the site had been selected, the number one priority was to build shelters. Every person, man, woman, child, was pressed into working at whatever tasks capable. Snow was already in the air. Nights were cold but not yet freezing. Days were chilly. They thanked God that this winter of 1941 was beginning later than usual, but they also realized that late-starting winters were sometimes the bitterest when they finally did strike.
In four days, they had enough shelters built to house everyone in an emergency, should a storm strike. Over the next few days, they completed the rest of the necessary buildings.
The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII Page 12