by Ann Arnold
The soldier shot Mrs. Mordel's son in the head.
Such a terrible tragedy forced the Mordels to make a decision. They explained that they would no longer be able to hide their Jews. They’d done what they could for them and lost so much in the process. Besides, winter was almost over.
Sala felt her world start to collapse from the inside out. When would the killing stop? How many lives had to be lost? And this one felt like her fault. These kind people had opened their homes and hearts, had helped save her children, and they ended up losing one for their kindness.
To make matters worse, the winter might be over on the calendar, but nobody told Mother Nature. It was very cold, with snow everywhere. And the rainy season was going to start.
She was sure Manek and Zosia would not survive in the forest.
“I do not know the right words to comfort you. You have been so kind and brave, and in the process you lost the one thing you cherish the most. I hate to even ask, and I’m not sure it would matter, but are you sure you will not change your mind?”
Mrs. Mordel shook her head at Mamusia’s question. “I cannot. We have lost too much already. Please. I will watch the children while you look for a place, but you must go within a few days. We cannot risk the Germans wanting to check on the ranting of a crazy boy.”
Sala accepted her defeat. “Thank you for watching the children.”
Zosia and Manek both slept away the day while Mamusia went out to find them a new place to stay. Her efforts were rewarded, and she returned by the time the children woke up.
“Come, Manek and Zosia. It is time.”
“Where will you go?”
Mamusia turned at Mrs. Mordel’s question. “It is best if you do not know. It is safer for you that way.” She hugged the woman tightly, and then the three of them began to walk away.
“Where are we going, Mamusia?”
Sala stumbled at Zosia’s question but kept them moving. “You remember the Dziedzic family? They live just down the road from our old house. They help Jewish people, and Mrs. Dziedzic made us a nice place to stay.”
Manek hid a smile. When Mamusia got the most chipper and positive, he knew it meant they were about to do something they would not enjoy. Not only that, he remembered how long it took to get from home to Dembitz, and then how long the walk was to reach the Mordels. Walking all the way back to the Dziedzic house felt like it would take forever. He wondered if he would get shorter from all the walking. Nevertheless, he resolved to make the best of a bad situation.
“Zosia, what comes after two?”
“Three.”
Manek looked down at his feet. “Let’s count our steps and see how high we can go. If we don’t know the number, we’ll have to start it over again. Want to play?”
“Yes,” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
Zosia did not notice when both Manek and Mamusia winced at the noise she made. There were no Germans in sight, but such an outburst could possibly attract their attention.
“One,” he took a giant step. Mamusia gave him a small smile, one of the few he’d seen in a while, and it made his heart swell in his chest. When his sister gave him a suspicious look, he motioned her to come stand beside him. “We’ll make a game out of the numbers Mamusia taught us. We’ll walk together and we each have to say a number when we do. Whoever forgets has to start us over at the number one again. Maybe we can count up to this million Mamusia has told us about. Now, I’ll try this again.” Manek took a step forward. “One …”
* * *
“Two.” Sala kept her hands over her two children’s mouths as she tried to lie as flat as possible, willing herself and them to mold into the floor, as she felt the German soldiers moving around in the attic, talking to each other. The Dziedzics had been as good as their word. They had put them in the attic of the barn where they stored the hay. When they first entered the attic, the sweet, fresh smell attacked their nose. This hay was freshly cut, and not mixed with the animal manure yet. The hay had filled up almost three quarters of the attic, standing four to five feet deep. Manek and Zosia had regarded the filled space with suspicion, but all she saw was a comfortable, warm spot to wait for the coming summer. Even though the slits through the roof let the cold air in, it couldn’t have been a better spot.
Or so she thought.
One day the SS came to make inquiries. The Dziedzic house was close to the road, and the barn right next to it. When Sala heard the trucks pull up outside, she warned the children they had to be silent. Just in case, she took them all to the place farthest back in the attic and then buried them under the piles of hay. The needles pricked their sides, and it was difficult to breathe. But none of that mattered when your life was at stake. She positioned them to each side of her and had put her hands over their mouths. But the hay was so reactive to the slightest movement, she was afraid that if they even breathed heavily, the soldiers would see them.
“Where are the Schonwetters?”
The German demand carried all the way from the house. They are looking for us? Why? Surely, the authorities assumed they were dead and buried. She’d heard the reports of the liquidation in Dembitz. The SS had been ruthless in their pursuit of finding the escaped prisoners as soon as they could. The Dziedics were close family friends that lived a few houses away, but she never thought the Germans would be looking for them anymore. She thought they’d been forgotten within the chaos of the Dembitz deportations.
When they did not find any stowaways in the house, she heard a squadron burst into the barn. In due course they climbed the ladder that led to the attic. As they passed through the small trapdoor leading into her haven, their boots felt like exploding bombs echoing through the small space and making their prone bodies vibrate with the impacts. The Germans loved to do everything loud. She thought she heard the Dziedics below, speaking as fast as possible, but it was all a murmured blur drowned out by her thundering heart.
She imagined the SS, dressed in their gray coats with the shiny buttons, searching all around the small loft. The only thing on this second floor was the abundant amount of hay. There was nothing to see.
Why were they taking so long?
Playing Manek’s game, she started counting off the seconds in her head. She could feel her children’s breaths against her palms. She lost track of what number she was up to.
“One. Two …”
A metal clang shattered the silence. Pssht, pssht. In her mind’s eye she could imagine an SS soldier, frustrated at being assigned a fool’s errand, grabbing the pitchfork the Dziedzics kept in the corner and thrusting it into the hay, randomly hoping to hit his mark.
The sounds were getting closer. She tightened her grip on her children, feeling their bodies trembling beneath her hands. She was trapped. There was nowhere to run. She silently prayed to a God she did not think listened, and then entreated the husband she hoped could hear her. Please let them survive this horror.
Her entire body turned to ice as she felt the boots draw near. She tensed her limbs, waiting for impact.
“Please let it be me and not my children that is stabbed,” she silently prayed.
As the tip of the pitchfork pierced her leg, her survival instincts took over. She did not move, not even flinch. The pain was masked by the shock of being injured. The tine was pulled out as quickly as it was thrust, and the pitchfork plunged again a few feet away. She finally heard it thrown into the corner of the attic with a clatter. Slowly, softly, Sala let out her breath in relief.
Their footsteps, a sound she had grown an expert at listening for, were descending down the ladder.
Next they heard a truck door open and close.
Sala imagined the Dziedzics following the Germans outside, smiling bravely as the occupiers left without wreaking any major damage. This was all the Polish people could ask for during these murderous times. Indubitably, she and the children would have to leave soon. But moving on might be for the best. She’d come here because they were desperate after
Mrs. Mordel had ended their stay. These were good, kind people who had done all that they could.
Asking for more from them, especially after the Germans had searched the house, would only make her feel ashamed.
When they crawled out from underneath the piled hay, the three of them let out breaths so loud they all smiled. They sounded like they had just plowed all of the fields by hand, no help from a horse or plow. Sala steeled herself and she checked her leg. She tried to turn away so she didn't scare the children. She scanned the wound to her thigh. It was no more than a bad scratch, not even much blood drawn. She sent a silent prayer of thanks.
“Mamusia,” the children said in unison, pointing at her coat with horrified faces. Looking down, she saw her coat, the one she’d kept with her through so many obstacles and traumas, now bore three pitchfork-sized holes on one side.
“Well,” she poked her fingers through the holes and wiggled them at her children, “at least they missed the pockets.”
“But, Mamusia, where will we sleep?”
“In the forest, of course, Zosia. We will sleep in the forest. The trees will hide us. The ground will give us food to eat, and wood to burn. The streams will provide us water to drink, even to wash in. We are going into the forest.”
“But why Mamusia?”
"Our family will be safe with the trees." Always with the questions, her daughter. Manek was more steady. He was his father, through and through. He would take all of the information in and process it in his own way. When he was ready he would understand what the adults knew with far more detail. Zosia wished to know everything now and she was not hesitant to ask for it.
Sala loved her daughter for this trait. She was even more proud she’d given birth to such a strong, smart girl. But she was afraid Zosia’s demands would get them all killed.
Zosia was seven years old now. Sala made herself remember what Manek was like when he was that age. She remembered what she was like, as wild as the wind. Always running after her brothers, trying to outdo the boys. She remembered how proud her antics made her grandfather. How he would have adored these children of hers. He would have spent hours with Zosia …
“Why, Mamusia? Why? Why? Why?”
“Enough, child,” Sala laughed. “We will go into the woods because there I know we can be safe. One day, when this war is over, we will be able to go wherever we wish, you shall see.”
It was late April, and spring had sprung. Although the night was really quite cold, during the day the temperature was above freezing, and the rain seemed to have stopped. She was still stunned by the unselfish, heroic words the Dziedics had spoken as she left. She could remember the look on their faces, the conviction in their voices, when they told her they would continue to help. When winter came again, she could rely on them to assist her in finding shelter. In this dark world, she was slowly finding that bonds of friendship were as powerful as bullets.
She turned to Zosia and continued, “Years ago, before you were born, when I was just around your age, actually … I lived through a war like this.”
“Is this what the Germans coming is called? War?”
“Yes, Zosia. This is war. When I was your age, there was a war back then, too.”
“Were the Germans here then?”
“No, Manek. When I was little, the Russians invaded our land and they were everywhere. They were mean and cruel.”
“Like the Germans?”
“Yes, my smart daughter. Just like the Germans. Your grandma and grandpa taught me to run into the woods when the soldiers came. Run deep into the woods with my sisters and brothers—”
“Uncle David.”
Two words. They were all it took to make her stop in her tracks, kneel before her son, and hug him close to her chest. Zosia had already forgotten her uncle, but Manek would remember. She knew no matter what, her son would never forget. Perhaps, for people surviving a war, not being forgotten was the only keepsake one could truly hope for. Being recalled with fondness, with love, would be the best kind of memorial of all, and she could promise David’s spirit that much.
She started once more on their trek. As soon as they entered the woods, she felt as if the trees closed around them with a comforting embrace. “Your grandparents taught us all to take to the forest,” she said, taking up her story for them again. Talking freely was a nice change after the few weeks they had spent buried in the hay. “Your great-grandfather showed us the things we could eat in the forest. The way to make a fire which emitted no smoke. How to make sure the water we used was pure and clean. In the forest, we can survive without anyone’s help.”
“This is good,” Manek stated. “I don’t like us putting people in danger. We’re better together, just us.”
Sala smiled. Once again, her son understood before most adults. “Children, I will show you how to do all the things your great-grandfather showed me. We will be together and put no one else in danger.”
“Until it gets cold.”
Again, her son was being far-sighted. She had no idea what they would do when the weather turned again. But for now, while the sun shone brightly in the sky, she would use the outdoors as their shelter.
See our children, Israel? They will grow. They will feel the sun. They will run and learn. They will survive. And they would do all of these things because she would never give up on them. “We will eat and get fat in the forest, wait and see.”
“But will you go alone?”
Freezing in their tracks at the sound of a male voice, Sala pushed the children behind her. Isaac, Bunek and Ringel stood in the path. “How did you find us?”
“We followed you,” Bunek said.
Isaac smiled at them. “Sala, we are sorry for everything we did before. We’ve found a group of people in the woods. Some of them we knew from before, and some are from Dembitz. We came to take you to them.”
“Why?”
“To make up for not helping you before,” Isaac assured her.
Her fingers clenched in the coats on Manek and Zosia as she tried to decide what to do. It would be easier to have some help. More eyes to keep the children together and safe. Strong hands to do some of the work. Perhaps joining a band was a good idea. But her anger at her cousins had not dissipated, even after all this time. Her inner arguments ranged back and forth. On the other hand, anger did not feed an empty belly. She would never forget what they did, but now was not the time to let pride get in the way of survival.
She nodded at last, and silently the three of them followed the cousins through the forest. At the end of their march, she was stunned to come upon a group of almost twenty people. Men, women, and even two other children. Sala let Zosia and Manek go run to meet the new children, the first faces near their age since they had run from Brzostek so long ago.
Yet Sala was not persuaded that there was safety in numbers. “Isaac,” the other man bent over so she could whisper in his ear, “there are too many people here. We’ll be spotted.”
“Nonsense, Sala.”
“You are just a woman,” Bunek pointed out. “What would you know?”
“Little Sala knows more than you think.”
They all turned at the words from this knowing voice. Standing behind them were three men: another cousin, Ignash; Romek, an old friend of Israel’s; plus another man she’d never seen before. Sala hugged Ignash tightly. She was so grateful to find a man who knew her, who knew her family, and was not scared to admit he may not be all-powerful. “I can’t believe it,” she wiped her eyes when they began to tear. “What are you … How are you … I’m so glad you’re here.”
“We are fine, Sala,” Romek said. “This is my friend, Fish.” She shook the other man’s hands.
Ignash faced off with Bunek and Isaac. “What is this about? You know how smart Sala’s grandfather was. He taught her everything he knew, and then her grandmother added to her store of knowledge. If Sala says there is danger, we should probably depart. You are foolish to make the mistake of not listening
to her.”
“She’s just scared. We’ve been fine here for weeks.”
“You’ve stayed in one place for weeks?” Sala asked Isaac. “We have to keep moving.” She immediately looked around for Zosia and Manek.
“We’re not moving,” Bunek said.
“I’m sorry.” As she looked around at the group, her gaze lingered on the other mother. Manek and Zosia would be happy to have some friends.
Then she realized that her son returned to her side when she wasn’t looking. He was watching the exchange, his large dark eyes absorbing everything around him. His face revealing no emotion.
“Mamusia, Zosia and I are ready to go when you are.”
She took his hand, and his small fingers folded into hers with such trust. She turned back to the men, the men she’d been told since birth she should obey. And she knew that following them was the last thing she should do. Just as she once was forced to raise her hand in violence against her child to save his life, she would now break the mold every Jewish woman was pushed into since the beginning of time. “I am sorry, my cousins. I am willing to forgive you for the past, but I cannot stay here. My children cannot stay here. We have to go.”
“Fine,” Bunek turned away.
Isaac held a hand out to her. “Sala, we’re not coming with you.”
She shrugged. “I never asked you to.”
Manek ran after Zosia, and Sala knew her son would get her daughter to follow. She saw Ignash, Fish and Romek talking fiercely on the side. Bunek walked away from her in disgust, and Isaac put a hand on her shoulder. “Sala, you are being ridiculous. No one comes out here. The woods are silent.”
“So many people will draw attention. They have planes. They have eyes. You will be found. You will die.”
“We’ve been here for weeks with no problem.”
“You are going to die, Isaac. Come with me.”
“I will not leave my friends. My family.”
“And I will save mine.” She heard Zosia fussing, and saw Manek furiously debating with his sister.
“That girl will get you all killed.”