Resistance

by Tec, Nechama

  What both Zygmunt and Antoni underplayed in our conversations was the danger they had put themselves in by helping Jews. There was no direct benefit for them to do it, and they consistently put their own lives on the line. The Germans were merciless in the treatment of Poles who took in the Jewish cause. They had to fight a two-front battle—against the Germans, of course, but also against a good number of their fellow Poles, who simply could not understand why there was any moral imperative in assisting Jews.

  Now we turn to a young Jew and his experience with resisting the Nazis. Ephraim (Frank) Bleichman was seventeen when the Germans occupied his small town, Kamionka, home to about a hundred Jewish families. The closest big city, Lublin, was some twelve miles away. Ephraim was the second-eldest son of eight children in a Jewish Orthodox family. Except for Ephraim’s older brother, the rest of his siblings were considerably younger. As with most other Jewish parents in Kamionka, the Bleichmans were deeply religious. Also, like most Jews of their generation, they viewed the German occupation as a temporary setback, something which in due time would be redressed by God. Despite the continuously expanding brutality, their trust in God’s wisdom persisted.

  The younger generation was less complacent. Their confrontations with the new reality did not increase their trust in God. Quite the contrary, the youth of Kamionka were restless. Searching in vain for solutions, they soon became frustrated. They believed in self-reliance but were at a loss as to how to effectively channel their mounting frustrations, or what form their resistance should take.

  Among the many restrictive German rules was an order to create the aforementioned Judenrat, or Jewish Councils, and a Jewish police force. These two bodies had to cooperate in carrying out the orders of the occupying forces. One of these requirements called for a steady quota of Jewish laborers for work outside their community in camps, factories, and in maintaining or building roads. Many such laborers had disappeared without a trace. Disturbing rumors about their fate soon began to circulate. One day a group of Jewish laborers returned to Kamionka in a most deplorable condition. Practically all of them were covered with bruises and wounds, inflicted either by brutal work supervisors or by horrible working conditions and probably both. These laborers were unable and seemingly unwilling to talk about their experiences—but they did not need to. Their physical and emotional state spoke more loudly than any actual stories could have. In dire need of care, most of them found solace in their family homes. Despite all this, German pressure for the delivery of more young Jewish laborers did not cease.

  While the older generation of Jews continued to await God’s intervention, the young became more convinced than ever that they themselves would have to come up with their own solutions. The experience of the Bleichman family in large part reflects that of most Kamionka Jews. Mr. Bleichman, Ephraim’s father, had been barred from earning a living as a wood merchant. He was coerced into hard, humiliating work for which he received no payment. Ephraim was then caught by the Jewish police and sent off for compulsory labor. He began his work in a group of young Jewish laborers, on a nearby private farm. There he had to collect and pack a variety of produce into boxes, destined for German consumption. The labor was accompanied by incessant beatings and cursing by their Gentile supervisors. Requests to visit the outhouse were met with vigorous punching and crude swearing and name-calling, as if no Jew were entitled to such a privilege.

  With each passing minute, Ephraim was more determined to make this first day of compulsory labor his last. Indeed, beginning the next day, Ephraim disappeared. The Judenrat and the Jewish police searched for him eagerly. Familiar with his surroundings, he received help from many friends, both Jewish and Gentile, who conspired successfully to hide him from the police.

  With increasing food shortages, Ephraim became preoccupied with easing his family’s hunger. He considered contacting some of his Gentile friends to see if he could purchase food from them and resell it at a profit. He was confident that he could do that because of his appearance: he did not look Jewish and was completely fluent in Polish. One day, he mounted his bicycle, ripped the compulsory Star of David band from his arm, and disappeared into the countryside, which was off-limits to Jews. Avoiding busy roads, he visited his Gentile friends who welcomed him warmly. They were happy to sell him their produce, milk, bread, flour, vegetables, and much more. Their prices were fair. They even helped him attach his purchases to the bike and volunteered important safety tips on how to avoid encounters.

  When this new entrepreneur reached the Jewish territory, he divided his purchases into two parts. One part he sold to some of his fellow Jews at a profit. The rest he kept for his family. Satisfied with the outcome of this first venture, he repeated these transactions with some regularity. Although his parents welcomed the extra food, they were concerned for their son’s safety. Ephraim tried to alleviate their worries by minimizing the dangers, even denying there were any. In turn, knowing how stubborn their son was, his relatives eventually stopped objecting. News about Ephraim’s illegal transactions reached the Judenrat. The police increased their efforts to arrest this flagrant renegade. Knowing that Jewish functionaries were out to capture him, Ephraim became more innovative. A cat and mouse game ensued, with Ephraim taking refuge in one safe haven after another, with his Jewish and Gentile friends and a variety of family members, close and distant.

  By 1942 rumors reached the Jews of Kamionka that they, like so many Jews in the region, would be soon transferred into a specially created Jewish ghetto. They heard about small Jewish communities that were being moved into larger ghettos. For the Bleichmans these rumors took on special meaning. Ephraim’s parents knew how deeply their son valued his freedom and that he would never voluntarily relocate to a ghetto. Deportation to a ghetto would cause a family split. This expectation remained a painful possibility; it was too painful even to talk about.

  The summer of 1942 brought the official news that all Kamionka Jews would be transferred to another community where, with other Jews, they would work and live in peace. This was soon followed by an announcement specifying the time and place of assembly for relocation. The Kamionka Jews were told to bring only a limited number of belongings, to make the move easy. Noncompliance carried with it the death penalty. At the designated time and place the Bleichman family showed up as ordered. The majority of the Kamionka Jews obeyed, but some of the younger unmarried men, including Ephraim, and a few young women did not. “From the beginning I knew that I wouldn’t let them kill me,” he told me, “and that I would not submit.”21

  By placing Jews into ghettos, the Germans were taking a logical step in the fulfillment of their policy of annihilation. All Jews were destined to die. But the process of destruction could not happen instantly. In retrospect, we can identify a number of distinct stages or steps in this process of extermination. The first involved identification. This was followed by the expropriation of all property, continued with the removal of Jews from gainful employment, and culminated with isolation in the ghettos. Once separated from the rest of the population the Jews were led to their deaths, either through mass executions or forced transfers to concentration camps. Complex, often overlapping, these stages were a steady process of humiliation and designed systematically to degrade any possibility of resistance.

  Ephraim recalled these painful times and the equally painful decisions to which they gave rise. “My parents knew that I would be leaving, that I could not take the humiliations; but I just didn’t have the heart to tell them that I was not joining them. I left without saying goodbye. But, I knew that they had expected it.” Ephraim’s instinct was to seek out those who felt as he did. The first evening of his escape, a group went to a nearby estate where some of their Jewish friends still worked and spent the night there. “In the morning, we came upon others who had also refused to go to the Jewish assembly place. . . . There was a group of about thirty or so of these youths.” He explained that they chose two boys who looked most Aryan and asked them to
spy for them and bring back the latest news. “Upon their return, we heard that there had been a deportation . . . and they had taken all the assembled Jews, made everybody run very fast. Whoever couldn’t run was shot. . . . The rest had been brought to the Lubartow ghetto.”

  This news was met with a painful silence. Ephraim sat beside his friend Jankl. Earlier, they had agreed to stick together. Ephraim offered to take Jankl to Klos, a Polish peasant who a while back had told Ephraim that should he need help he should come to him. Ephraim shared this information, explaining that he was not sure just how firm this offer might be.

  The group began to debate their options. Soon it was realized that among them were some former Jewish policemen. Several of them suggested that there might be a need for policemen in the Lubartow ghetto; others concurred. Jankl turned to Ephraim and asked him how he felt about going into a ghetto. “It is easier to go into a ghetto than out of it,” Ephraim replied. Then a few of these youths began to scatter, some singly, others in small groups. Still others just sat there, silent. Ephraim signaled to Jankl that it was time for them to leave. The two moved away, heading in the direction of Klos’s home. Suddenly, Jankl stopped abruptly, explaining that he had decided to join the others who were going into the Lubartow ghetto. This was the last time the two of them ever saw each other.

  “To be left all alone, with hardly any money, and without a definite promise of aid was not easy,” Ephraim said. As he continued toward the home of Klos, he wondered whether he had made a mistake, if perhaps the others knew better. “I had all kinds of thoughts. Was I wrong? Then, I began to talk to myself, ‘What are you afraid of? You are a free person. Be free!’ But inside me I was unsure.”

  Rather than go to Klos’s house, Ephraim decided to wait until night and hid in the fields. Finally, later, he went to the hut. “They received me as if I were their son. I was amazed. They hugged me. I could not talk. I was numb. They were all so wonderful, the whole family. They sat me down and sat around me. Klos said: ‘Don’t be afraid; the Russian front is approaching.’ They talked to me, but I was speechless. The wife invited me to just sit. They were very fine people. They said, ‘Wait, and see what happens tomorrow.’”

  Ephraim was afraid that his being in the peasants’ house would condemn these good people and told them that he would sleep in the barn. “They looked at each other, husband and wife, and they agreed. The wife gave me pillows and blankets and I went to the barn. They followed later. They put me in the upper part there. I was completely a broken man. They tried to console me, to comfort me, and stayed with me. I pretended that I was falling asleep, because I wanted them to sleep. I was imposing on them and I felt sorry for them. When they left, I couldn’t sleep all night. I walked all over that barn. I was so very, very restless.”

  In the morning Klos went to investigate the situation. Ephraim recalled that when Klos returned he told him that the Kamionka Jews who had arrived in the Lubartow ghetto were kept together and would be shipped off to an unknown destination. Most of the young Jews who, like Ephraim, had left had also been picked up. “This was the summer of 1942. At that moment, I realized fully that I would never see my parents again. Klos tried to comfort me with better news. He had visited his two brothers-in-law, in this area, and they promised that in case of danger they too were prepared to take me in. I was stunned.”

  Ephraim told them that he could not wait in the barn. “I just couldn’t absorb it. . . . So, I went into this peasant’s house and said that I needed to know more details about my family, and that I would return. He said, ‘Go with God.’”

  Ephraim went to another Polish friend, a widow. She also received him warmly and was willing to help. Basically, she reconfirmed what his other friends had said. This only deepened Ephraim’s sadness and increased his restlessness. On leaving this widow’s place, Ephraim met a Jewish boy he knew. The boy told him that he was on an errand for his parents who were hiding in the nearby forest. The boy readily told Ephraim where they were. “I went to tell Klos that I had to be away for a few more days. He asked me to be very careful, because many people were looking for Jews. He also gave me warm things to wear, food and bread.”

  Familiar with the area, Ephraim wanted to find the Jews that this boy told him about. Eventually, he learned that there were about a hundred of them living there, in bunkers they had built in the forest. They came from several little towns around them. They welcomed him and offered him a place in a bunker. He felt less lonely, and grateful for people with whom he could so easily talk. “It was strange for me, the first night in the forest, because I wasn’t used to it: the little animals, the birds . . . I was fearful of anything that moved. After a few days I settled in.”

  Nevertheless, Ephraim recalls thinking about his fate and about the family that was ready to take him in. “I asked myself how long would this very decent, peasant family have kept me. Perhaps, after a while, they would have become tired of me.” In the forest, however, he felt free. “All of us cooperated. Jewish women would take turns going to the nearby villages to buy food. Some of them were confronted by anti-Semitic name-calling. They managed to escape. We all knew that our situation was shaky. To spread the danger we decided to divide into several bunkers. We were close to the forest, Bratnik.”

  Among the one hundred or so fugitives, there were about twenty young men. Ephraim was the youngest. His group decided to organize. They elected as Commander Yankel Klener, because he had served in the Polish army. They had two guns, each in deplorable condition, and they lacked ammunition. Still, when peasants were confronted with these “weapons,” they were likely to part with their provisions.

  One day two of their group went to fetch water. They returned very agitated with the news that the Germans were attacking the other bunkers and would no doubt come for them next. Ephraim recalls that there were twelve of them. “We decided to run away. I urged them to follow me, because I knew the area very well.” They went for about a mile, until they came to a road that led to another forest. “As we reached that road, we saw three Germans with machine guns, looking in the opposite direction. We realized that they had surrounded the forest. They were coming from the other side, so we fell to the ground. Grenades fell all around us; soon they were shooting at us. We ran close to the ground, perhaps for an hour. When we returned at night, the place was silent.”

  Had it not been for the separate bunker, Ephraim knew, they would all be dead. He and the others suspected that Polish collaborators had brought the Germans. “A day earlier, we had seen Poles walking around with pails, as if collecting mushrooms. They had probably been spying on us.”

  Not sure what to do next, the young men kept away from the bunkers and stayed on the move, buying food wherever they could. As they continued to roam around, they came upon a variety of people. Some identified themselves as Jewish partisans, some as Russian partisans. Most of them had very few weapons. In one of these groups, someone told them about a Polish peasant who had some hidden arms. At night two from their group, Ephraim and another tall and rather impressive-looking man, each equipped with a defective gun, demanded weapons from this peasant. They told him they had been sent from the Soviet Union to organize a partisan unit. This peasant had some communist connections. He supplied them with several guns. More significantly, he directed them to others who had a variety of guns and ammunition. “I personally didn’t know how to hold a gun, let alone how to use it. But the minute we had weapons, we became much braver.”

  After winter came, conditions in the forest grew difficult. They were attacked by a small group. “We concluded that three Polish collaborators were at the head of this group. Earlier, they had been seen walking around in the forest, as if lost, looking for a way out. Now, they started to shoot at us. When they realized that we were armed they lost their courage and we caught two of them, we tied them up, stuffed rags into their mouths and retreated, taking them with us. At first the rest of their group was following us. But, soon when we began to shoot ba
ck, they were less heroic, not as eager to be near us.”

  That night they interrogated the men they had captured and learned that their goal had been to find Jews. “They were also fighting those who were helping Jews. In addition, they were informing on Poles who were illegally selling their produce, cows, chickens, and so on. They were well organized, and they gave us important information. We were so excited, we couldn’t sleep.”

  That same night Ephraim and the others went to find more of the collaborators that the captured men had told them about. “We shot them right there, that very night.” He recalled how strange it was to see these men who had denounced them “kneel in front of us and beg for mercy. We realized that they were much more frightened than we were. We didn’t care so much about life; we had lost everything; they had their families to lose still, so they were afraid.”

  Life in the forest improved. The network of informers had been destroyed and the few collaborators who were still left had more difficulty. “Without collaborators, Germans could not easily identify Jews. They stopped searching specifically for Jews and for Poles who protected them.”

  Still, threats to the forest Jews could and did continue to come from various directions. From 1939 to 1941, because of the Soviet−German friendship treaty, the communists had to put their open criticism of the Third Reich on hold. The June 22, 1941, outbreak of the Soviet−German war transformed this situation. Immediately after the start of the war, entire Red Army divisions collapsed. Thousands of Soviet soldiers escaped into the surrounding wooded areas to avoid being caught by the Germans, whose treatment of prisoners was merciless. Estimates of Russian causalities in German captivity run into the millions. German brutality directed toward these former Soviet soldiers served as a strong incentive for escape into the forest and for the subsequent formation of partisan groups.