Most agreed it was a favorable point, but skepticism still ran high in the group. "How do we know one of them won't radio the Germans directly of our positions?"
"Why are the Germans after them? How did they get the equipment and supplies? How did they get the radios? I think we need the answers to those questions before we make a decision," Solomon insisted.
"Father Peter told me he recently wrote to his superiors of the German atrocities," Ivan replied. "Especially of those carried out at Babi Yar. He pointed out that mass murder is going on there and that the Church in its silence is condoning the crime. He wrote that he could no longer sit by as if deaf and blind. Not to condemn the Nazis, he told them, is a sin of omission. He closed his letter by asking direction-asking direction for the second time, by the way." Ivan looked about at the still skeptical faces in the room. "Well, his reply came, opened by the Germans. Censored! But they let it go through to him. Father Peter realized that his letter to his superiors must have been opened, too. But the Germans had not yet made a move against him. Possibly they also were awaiting the Church's reply. Because of the reply ..., which pleased the Nazis, I'm sure-the Germans decided to hold off a little longer. After all, the priest's arrest might incite the members of his congregation."
"What was the reply?" Sol asked, hoping to get Ivan back to the subject.
"The gist of the letter was that Father Peter had already been informed of Church policy. They reminded him that his job concerned the religious needs of his parishioners, not the nation's political problems. As a crowning blow, it pointed out that deviation from policy might lead to German retaliation, from which the Church could not protect him. Also, his superiors threatened that if he deviated sufficiently from Church policy, he might be subject to punishment by the Church - even excommunication, if his actions warranted it."
The Jews understood what excommunication meant to a priest or any devout Catholic, for that matter. Ivan could see that the hard expressions of doubt were softening. He pressed his argument.
"I'm sure the reply satisfied the Nazis. I'm sure they decided just to watch Father Peter more closely, avoiding the problems his arrest might initiate. Anyway, Sunday the die was cast. In his sermon, Father Peter condemned the Nazis as murderers, not only of human beings, but also of civilization. He condemned the Church and the Holy See for disassociating themselves from morality and humanity. He called the Vatican 'the seat of world hypocrisy.' He called on his parishioners to strike out against the Nazis or be damned with them, for to be silent was to condone the horror."
The listeners felt Ivan's conviction and one by one they were swayed from their fears.
Father Peter told me he was awaiting his arrest when suddenly Gregor and several other of his parish came to his chambers. They'd met after the service, waited until the rest of the congregation left-and most left in one hell of a hurry! They then spirited him away before the Nazis returned to arrest him. To give themselves more time, one of them killed the German who sat in the congregation to watch each Sunday.
"Without waiting for his consent, they took him from the premises and hid him in the forest. It was then that Gregor, his family and the others decided they would try to find a partisan group to join. Each went to get what things he had that might be of value in the forests. They met back in the woods with their belongings to begin their new lives. Two days later, Father Peter contacted me to see if I would lead them to you."
"How did they get the radios?" Dovka questioned again, to keep the group from lowering their defenses.
"Yes," Moshe asked, "how did they come by those radios? It's an important point."
"Gregor and his father have-had the biggest blacksmith shop and foundry in Kiev. You who were hidden by them saw it. You'll also remember the Germans took some of their heavy equipment there for repairs. They've done it since the beginning of the occupation.
"When they decided to leave for the forests, Gregor and his brothers stripped the radios and generators out of three half track trucks that were in for welding. When they took all that they could carry, they put a torch to their home and their shops. A lot of German equipment and everything they owned went up in flames."
"Well, what do we do?" Moshe asked.
"I'm not convinced," Dovka announced. "What an opportunity for the Germans to get a spy to us. We must be very careful! We might be condemning those of us who move into camp two with them to death!"
It was a sobering statement.
"I trust them," Sol said. "But I agree we must be very careful. I would bring in Father Peter. I would bring in all their equipment and supplies. I would keep the rest of them in a new camp one, under tight surveillance. Supply them with what they need to live in camp one while they prove themselves to us. Then we bring them in to the family camp as we have always done with newcomers in the past. I will volunteer to live in camp one with them. All should be volunteers. There need to be enough of us to make it look the real camp to them."
It seemed the safest and most reasonable plan. The Jews agreed on it.
44
Love Breaks Through...
Solomon believed the newcomers were what they claimed, but still he wanted to devise a way to prove them safe. In two days or as soon as a new camp one was established, he would have to go along with a few others to spend a test period with the strangers. A camp one was always uncomfortable, primitive and unpleasant to live in. It was a frustrating dilemma that troubled him all day. After their evening meal, Rachel tried to distract Sol.
"You're trying too hard," she told him. "The solution will come to you if you relax and let it. It's a beautiful evening for a walk. Why don't you take me down to the lake? Let's forget the war and the Germans and all those other people for a while. Please, Solomon."
He agreed. She picked up a blanket and they walked.
The night was cool. A light breeze ruffled the small lake. There was neither moon nor clouds in the sky. The stars shone brightly. Sol pointed out the various constellations. He'd learned them as a boy from his older brother. It saddened him. "I guess as long as I can recall the stars and their names, a little of my brother will live on."
"Solomon, all of our past lives on in our memories," Rachel said softly. "It's an age old proverb that as long as you are remembered by someone, you have immortality."
"I guess that's so."
He lay flat on his back looking up, recalling nights many years past when his brother would show him the stars. He could always see the big and little dippers, but he could never even imagine all the other constellations. He distinguished the grouping said to be a bowman-he could find the stars, but no bowman.
Rachel lay on her side watching him. Suddenly, impulsively she rose up on her elbow, leaned over to him and kissed him on the lips.
Surprised, Sol lay rigid a moment before responding.
"There," she said. "I think that was long overdue!"
"Very long overdue," Sol agreed.
He kissed her and held her to him for a very long time. "Rachel, Rachel, is it possible that you feel as I do?"
"Only if you love me," she said almost teasingly.
Again there was a long silence as they held each other and kissed.
"Solomon, these are unusual times," she finally said. "It isn't good that we keep our feelings to ourselves. In our lives, where there is so much tragedy and terror-we need to express our love. We can't live on fear, hate and vengeance alone. When everything is so indefinite, we need to hold on to our love. It gives us one more thing to hope for."
"Oh Rachel, I do love you. God, I've wanted to say it a thousand times-but-well, I didn't know if you were ready to. After Avraham, I mean."
"We mustn't suppress our desires. The times do not allow us the luxury of long courtship. Time is too precious!"
"God knows how I've wanted to hold you, Rachel."
"We must express ourselves fully and without inhibition, Sol-my dear, dear Sol."
He wanted her, but he was shy. He pul
led her very close again and held her.
"I want you, too, Sol. Want you-intimately."
She sensed his uneasiness. She took his hand and put it to her breast. Solomon felt helpless, almost terrified. He felt the fool. He'd heard other men and boys talk boastfully of their exploits with women, but he'd never had any experience like this himself. He'd always felt self conscious about it when among braggarts. Now he felt almost ashamed. What will she think of me? What am I to do now?
"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!"
45
The Gunfire
Continues...
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 th
ey 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.
46
Yosef...
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.
The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII Page 16