Together
Page 1
The only way they would survive, was if they stayed …
TOGETHER
Sala Schonwetter lived the perfect life. Married to the man of her dreams, mother to two beautiful children, and a member of one of the most respected families in town; she had it all. The year was 1939, and the world was about to change. In a heartbreaking instant, she had to trade her life of security, family, and simple pleasures--for one of unspeakable loneliness, hardship, and danger. Nothing more than hunted prey, she relied on her inner strength and indomitable will to keep her children alive. But would it be enough? How far would she have to go, and did she have the resolve to get there? One thing she knew for sure ...she and her children would live or die one way …. TOGETHER.
Manek was six years old when his world began to collapse. At first, his young eyes failed to see it, but reality came quickly into focus, when his loving gentle mother was forced to beat him in order to save his life. That is when he realized the Nazis wanted to kill him. Suddenly thrust into a new role as man of the house, would he be able to help keep his family safe? Was he strong enough to protect them? He knew only one thing ... they would survive if they could stay …TOGETHER.
In Together: A Journey for Survival, Ann Arnold shares her family's journey through Poland's countryside as a war of nations thunders around them. The story displays the magnificent strength of a mother's love and the incredible courage of good people during the worst of times.
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING
"An important work. Ann Arnold's effort to both tell the tale of her family's survival during the Holocaust while being a part of encouraging the next generation to embrace tolerance is inspiring."
— Michael Cohen
Eastern Director of the Simon Wiesenthal Center
“A fascinating story that takes a reader inside an already wounded family toiling through horrific difficulty in the pursuit of life itself. ... It forces readers to ask themselves if they could endure a struggle or whether they might support another person in a life or death battle. This angle makes the book valuable for teachers to use and beneficial for students to read at the high school level.”
— Lawrence M. Glaser
Executive Director, New Jersey Commission on Holocaust Education
“A moving and inspirational tribute to survival. The story in “Together” becomes our story. It is told with such vivid and poignant detail that the reader becomes part of the family. And so every reader proudly shares in the responsibility to remember and retell these inspirational stories for the sake of generations to come."
— Rabbi David S. Widzer
Temple Beth El of Northern Valley
"Together is a story that demands re-telling. It's an important addition to the voices of survivors who will live on through the telling of their tales."
— Robin Raskin
contributor, Huffington Post
"Arnold’s perspective is colored not only by those non-Jews who saved her father’s family but also by her experience visiting Brzostek as an adult.”
— Johanna Ginsberg
New Jersey Jewish News
"What an inspiring story about three survivors who can teach us much about faith, courage, and sheer human strength."
— Nido R. Qubein
President, High Point University
"Together: a Journey of Survival, shows how brightly the human spirit can shine even in the darkest of times."
— G. J. Phoenix
bestselling author of Seat of God
"I was lucky enough to read an advance copy of Together; it is a thrilling and riveting story that you will not be able to put down."
— Hayley Dinerman
Executive Director, Triple Negative Breast Cancer Foundation
“Incredible Story”
– Northern Valley Press
"This story is about a mother's love and the incredible strength in that bond. Sala Schonwetter's story resonates with anyone who understands the extremes you go to for your children."
— Ricki Fairley
Thought Leader, Dove Marketing
Together: A Journey for Survival
Copyright © 2016 Ann S. Arnold
Published by Avalerion Books
Smashwords Edition
Cover Designed by Dracontias
Paperback ISBN: 9780692689189
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016940629
All Rights Reserved
First Print Edition May 2016
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
This book is for your personal use only. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
Chapter 11 The Jewish kids in Ghetto. Photo: wikimedia commons Bundesarchiv, N 1576 Bild-003 / Herrmann, Ernst / CC-BY-SA 3.0
Avalerion Books, Inc.
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Miami, Florida
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This book is based on the memories of my father, Mark, and my Aunt, Zosia, not to mention the stories we heard from my grandmother Sala growing up. Some names have been changed, some dates may be off. The spirit however is quite real.
To my father, Mark, my grandmother, Baba Sala, and my Aunt Zosia for inspiring me beyond what words can describe.
For my children, nephews and cousins – May our legacy live on through you and inspire you to remember that everything is possible.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are so many people to thank that have helped me along my own journey. Dad, you are my hero and my everything, thank you for all you have shared, and even those things you wished you never had to think of again. To my aunt Zosia, thank you for all your time and memories. Maximillion, my mentor, my book whisperer, my friend, I will never be able to thank you enough for all you have done. John, who gave patience in equal measure with his expertise. To my mother, sister, family and friends that have encouraged
The Question: Who?
The Answer: Me
The Question: Where?
The Answer: Here
The Question: How?
The Answer: Within
The Question: When?
The Answer: Now
The Question: What?
The Answer: Never Forget
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Epilogue
Ann S. Arnold
by Ann S. Arnold
My father has always believed that he is living on borrowed time. In all honesty, it’s a miracle he survived his chil
dhood. Maybe that’s why he lives life with such enthusiasm – easily embracing each new experience and collecting friends wherever he goes. How else could I explain my first day in college? Other parents helped their children move in, said their tearful goodbyes, and left for home. Not my father. I found him at a popular fraternity house, beer in hand, surrounded by brothers who were hanging on his every word. There he was, completely at ease and fully enjoying his newfound status as an honorary freshman.
Yet most people do not realize the horrors he has overcome. Telling people you are a Holocaust survivor is not a great conversation starter. My sister and I grew up hearing my father’s stories. Looking back, I can see how he toned them down for us when we were little. Even as a teenager, I am not sure I truly grasped the awfulness of his experience or the immense strength it took to survive. Not until I had my own kids and began to work on my blog and this book did I realize just how astonishing my family history is.
In 1939, only fifteen hundred people lived in their village of Brzostek in southern Poland. Of those fifteen hundred people, five hundred were Jewish. Three years later, less than fifty of those five hundred villagers were still alive. The only reason my grandmother, father, and aunt were among them is because they fled their home and spent the long years of the war in an endless search for survival.
When the German army invaded Poland in 1939, my father was a six-year-old prankster living in the house of the most prosperous family in his village. Back then, the Nazis were fervent not only in their desire to murder Jews but also in their belief that Poles were generally inferior. My grandfather quickly went from prestigious farmer and landowner to working on slave crews. One day his family received word that they were to be rounded up, and my grandmother with her two children escaped with little more than the clothes on their backs.
Three long, terrible years followed. Forced to flee their home, they were herded into a four-block ghetto in the nearby town of Dembitz, where they watched fellow Jews die in the streets. Thanks to their kind Gentile neighbor from back home, they fled just before the Nazis corralled the remaining Jews and sent them in cattle cars to Auschwitz. As near skeletons they wandered through the forest, taking shelter in the winter months with sympathetic Polish families. With the S.S. troops relentless in their hunt for Jews, they had to take refuge wherever they could find it. From living under hay stacks in attics, to living in graves under pigsties, this became their new normal.
I have always thought it amazing that my father could come from such horrors as a child and yet view life so brightly. Perhaps it is exactly because of his childhood that he regards life like a precious gift.
Outside Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Israel, is a long Wall of Honor bearing the names of thousands of selfless non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust. There is no greater honor than to be recognized on this incredible monument in what is known as the Garden of the Righteous. Many of those recognized are Polish, like the selfless people that took in my family. Thanks to the spirit, courage and strength of those people, my father, grandmother and aunt survived.
This is their story.
September 1, 1939
It was an excellent year. The spring had been wet, the summer hot. The earth had responded with gratitude by bestowing on the small village of Brzostek, Poland, a plentiful yield for all of their crops. The town square was bustling with villagers shopping for their daily necessities and food at the local outdoor market. Sala Schonwetter could almost taste the sweetness of the tomatoes, the crispness of the lettuce just by walking past each stand. As she left the butcher with her fresh meat, she added it to the bags she carried that already held the salt and sugar she had bought earlier.
She was dressed in a white shirt and royal blue skirt. Her black hair was pulled snugly behind her head in an efficient bun, and her olive features were darkened by the endless hours in the sun. As she left the square, she looked out over the lush rolling hills filled with neat, pretty little homes, their flower beds bursting with bright colors behind white picket fences lining the streets. As she passed one of the homes on her way out of town, she waved at the young woman cradling a nursing infant in the front yard. Everyone knew one another, accepting their differences as part of the warp and weave of small town life.
Just outside the center of the village, down the only paved road, Sala approached the largest farm in the area. The Schonwetter family owned numerous acres of land, but they lived unpretentiously. Israel was the head of the Jewish community in the village, as his father had been, and his father before, a line of Jewish leaders, Galicia landowners, who were known to be fair and honorable. Wealthy and successful, Israel was well respected not only by his peers, but also by all that worked for him.
To the right, just off the road, stood the family’s two-story red brick house, highlighted by a row of beautiful violets. Running past the house was a dirt road that led to the farm’s outbuildings and the fields beyond. The first barn, on the left, was surrounded by cattle and a team of horses. Their second barn was visible just before the line of a stone fence. It was filled with crops of rye, wheatberry, and beets from their summer efforts. To one side of the barn sat fresh hay they collected from the legumes, stored for later use in the stables. Even the bins in the basement overflowed with potatoes.
Once Sala had put away her purchases, she called out for her son. “Manek? Manek … where are you?”
Sala walked out onto the elevated porch at the back door of their house, her deep brown eyes intently sweeping the farm. As she descended the stairs, she ran into Heniek, one of her husband’s most loyal and hardworking young men.
“Have you seen Manek?”
He smiled. “Playing games again, is he?”
“Isn’t he always? But there is a time and place for everything. If you see him, please let him know I am looking for him.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Sala headed toward the barn, continuing her search. She passed one of the plows, resting on the side wall. The horse that had been drawing it greedily lapped up the water from the trough.
Hiding behind the stack of hay, the boy watched his mother calling and searching for him. The barn with the horses was where he liked to hide the most. The fields surrounding the house were dotted with men hard at work, harvesting the final crops before the winter cold came. He’d waited until his mother went upstairs to get his younger sister, Zosia, before running as fast as his five-year old legs would take him out the wood plank door, across the backyard, through his mother’s empty vegetable plot, to dive behind the haystack.
Sala waved at her husband, Israel, and came over to the fence where he was hitching the wagon. Manek hid his laughter behind his hand. He would not be drawn from his new favorite hiding spot unless his father turned, put his hands on his hips, and called him by his full name: “Mendel Schonwetter!” This is how he knew Poppa was serious. Although he was very strict, he was kind. The only time Manek remembered him yelling was when he was very young and had tried to “help” him in the vegetable garden by digging up unripe lettuce. He thought they were weeds! Now he wanted to stay out with Poppa as he went to check on the men working in the field. Not stuck working on the garden with his Mamusia and baby sister.
“I cannot find Manek. I thought he would help me with the weeding.”
“Sala, you know how much he loves to be outside with the horses. Let the boy be.”
“The boy needs to learn—”
“And he will.” Israel put his arms around Sala and gave her his special smile. It was the one which made his blue eyes twinkle. “Manek will learn everything you wish him to. We will teach him.”
“We may have to. I have no interest in sending him to that school, where they’ll insist he act like a good Polish boy.”
“He is a good Polish boy. One who happens to be Jewish.”
“Then he should wear his Keppalah even if they don’t like it.”
“Perhaps we’ll get the Jewish
school open again. If not, we’ll teach our Manek at home. If I could help you understand math, I could teach my son whatever he needs to know.”
Israel’s blue eyes mischievously sparkled with the memories. She had been only sixteen at the time, and he had fallen in love instantly. Even at his age, she was worth the eight years he had to wait for her hand.
“The only reason you tutored me in math was so you could spend time with me when my father refused your suit.” Sala countered, answering his knowing smile.
“He made us wait until your sisters were wed, as is fitting, as is custom. Besides, you were worth it.” They shared a kiss.
Sala was the youngest of nine children. Half of her siblings had moved away to a far-off land called America during the vicious pogroms of the First World War, many years ago. She had never met her eldest sister, who had left before Sala was born. The four younger ones had remained with their parents. Her father, Mendel Beim, was a devout orthodox Jew who believed that there was a proper order to all things. He was a farmer, and she had learned the way of the land from him.
He knew of the Schonwetters, since they were the wealthiest landowners in Zabka. These were Israel’s cousins. Israel’s father and brother owned much of the land in all the surrounding villages, and Israel had been given the parcel in Brzostek, while his cousin inherited the one in Zabka. When Israel had first met Sala while visiting his cousin, her older sisters, Mala and Rivka had not yet wed. He fell in love quickly, saying that he only had eyes for her. According to tradition, though, the eldest females must wed prior to the younger ones. Israel was given that option, and he refused any of the sisters. He waited eight long years to finally marry Sala, yet he had no ill will toward her father. He understood and respected the man. When Sala’s family lost their farm, he even took them in, housing them in the apartment attached to his house, until their deaths a few years back.