by Nechama Tec
These successes had depended upon efforts to create new hiding places, as well as complex tunnels and invisible passages.85 One of these sophisticated shelters was at Mila 18, which offered refuge to the ŻOB leaders and many of their fighters. Neither the Germans nor their deadly fires changed the Jewish fighters’ determination to die with what they defined as an honorable death. At Mila 18, most of the fugitives kept their last bullets for themselves, to commit collective suicide when there was no other way out. This is what, indeed, happened.
Even the German general Jurgen Stroop, who was in charge of burning down the ghetto with all its inhabitants, was amazed by the Jewish fighting spirit. Stroop was especially impressed by the presence of the heroic women fighters who had participated equally with the men.86 Despite Stroop’s amazement, his total disregard of the loss of human lives is apparent in his last report, in which he notes drily: “The former ghetto has been completely destroyed; except for partially remaining portions of buildings. . . . Only five walls are left standing where no explosives were set.” Stroop concludes, “These ruins will yield enormous quantities of stone and scrap materials for further utilization.”87
Up to January 1943, the Germans had acted as if the ghetto belonged to them. Gradually, as Jewish submissiveness evaporated, the Nazis had to readjust some of their tactics. Basically this meant that the Germans now had to enter the Jewish living quarters in search of their victims, who were no longer simply going to emerge willingly. When this happened the Jews would swiftly attack their enemies, depriving them of their guns and often their lives.
Zukerman describes what happened:
The first gang of four or five Germans that entered the house at Zamenhof 58; our people were hidden—some behind doors and some elsewhere. I was sitting in a room with my gun cocked. We heard them, we heard the shouts: “Raus! Raus!” (Get out!). No one left. Then, we heard them climbing the stairs. The sound echoed in the empty house. It was very tense. . . . I’ll never forget that picture: Zacharia Artenstein was sitting in the first room and, as I recall, he was holding a book by Sholem-Aleichem; he sat and read, facing the door. They came in and there he was, sitting and reading a book. It didn’t even occur to them to tell us to put our hands up. After they entered our room, Zacharia shot them in the back. Then we shot more of them and the Germans began to run away. After the first shot, they didn’t even have time to take out their guns. They were so sure of themselves. One of the fellows threw a grenade at the fleeing Germans. I took the gun from the German who fell in the room. He was still alive; it was a pity to waste a bullet on him. But we did take their guns and grenades. Right after that, we heard a few of them run into the street, which was full of Germans. They started shouting and whistling. Regular Prussian shouts, mixed with pain.88
It was a shame that Ringelblum was not there to witness this transformation. Despite German efforts, Ringelblum’s work yielded three collections of historical texts. One of them is known by the Polish name “Kronika,” a volume which was later discovered in the ruins of the Warsaw ghetto. This volume contains a wealth of information and is available in several languages. The second body of evidence covers the Warsaw ghetto deportations of 1942 plus the historical changes that occurred during that time. The third includes Ringelblum’s book about central figures during the German occupation. An additional body of evidence involves the letters which Ringelblum and his wife Judyta exchanged with people who lived outside the bunker. As readers of these materials, we encounter Emanuel Ringelblum in a variety of roles: as a historian, as a participant in the study of the evolving wartime history, and as an individual who spread the knowledge among Jews about their wartime past.89
The Germans put a stop to Ringelblum’s work when, on March 7, 1944, the bunker on Grojecka Street No. 81 was discovered by the Gestapo. All those who were associated with the bunker were arrested. Among them were Ringelblum and his family, their Polish protector, Morczak, his family, and his assistant Mieczyslaw Wolski. All were transferred to the Pawiak prison. According to one report, a small group of Jewish craftsmen who had worked at the Pawiak prison offered to rescue Ringelblum by dressing him as one of them and by smuggling him out. He rejected this proposal when he realized that his wife and son would not be included in this rescue.90 All of these prisoners were executed on the ruins of the Warsaw ghetto, on March 10, 1944.
Impeccable scholarly research, exceptional organizational skills, and an ability to coordinate and expand a range of activities: all of this was compressed into Ringelblum’s short life. Towering over this was his selfless dedication to the welfare of the Jewish people and the desire to improve their economic, social, cultural, and political lives. His selfless efforts improved the quality of life. He was both strong and weak. Despite his seemingly endless resources, he could not in the end save his life, nor the lives of his wife, son, and most of his dedicated coworkers. But Ringelblum’s strength reached beyond his grave and the graves of those whom he loved. His life was dedicated to paying special tribute to the Jews. In the last few months, in a race with death, he wrote historical profiles of leading activists and others who selflessly plunged into actions designed to learn as much as possible from the evolving Jewish history.
While the Nazis had succeeded in murdering millions of Jews and non-Jews, they failed to destroy the fruits of their victims’ compassionate labors. Just as Ringelblum and his archivists had hoped, the Jewish people became the inheritors and guardians of their well-documented history.91
CHAPTER THREE
The Forests
Some German attacks upon the USSR came in the form of massive onslaughts, and initially the entire Soviet Army seemed to be in complete disarray. Thousands of Russian soldiers fled into the surrounding forests, while many others surrendered to the enemy.1 As mentioned, the Soviet Army was made up of a variety of ethnic groups—in addition to the Russians, it included Jews, Slovakians, Belorussians, and a range of others. The victorious German Army was especially eager to identify the Jews among these newly captured Soviet soldiers. Large numbers—the exact figure is unknown—of POWs, both Jewish and non-Jewish, were victims of German mass executions. Others were simply allowed to starve to death. Estimates of these Jewish and Soviet victims run into millions.2
For those who did not surrender, flight into the forests was common. With time, some of these Belorussian forests became a refuge to a number of military and civilian fugitives. As most of them divided into splinter groups, they referred to themselves as “partisans.” Scattered throughout these forests, these anti-German groups lacked weapons, leaders, and discipline. Often, instead of fighting their German enemy, they would rob each other. Rivalry and greed would sometimes lead to murder. When confronted by easy targets they would fight the Germans, mainly in order to take arms and foods. Such early forest dwellers, though diverse in terms of background, nationality, and demographics, had much in common. None of them were driven by ideology. All were preoccupied with self-preservation. They had come to the forest because they wanted to live, not because they wanted to fight.3
Still, even at these early stages, some partisans were united in their hatred toward the Germans and their collaborators. The killing of Germans was equated with patriotism and heroism. Those who did not talk about waging war were subjected to ridicule and contempt. In particular, the Soviet partisans would greet the disheveled and hungry ghetto runaways with sneering comments, such as, “Why did you work for the Germans instead of fighting?”4
However, there was a discrepancy between the high value placed on fighting and the actual number of attacks directed against the Germans. The strong approval of fighting was unmatched by the actual number of assaults upon the enemy. This lack of correspondence between talk and action was in part responsible for some of the exaggerated claims about the extraordinary anti-Nazi escapades. Until 1942, in Western Belorussia, attacks upon the Germans by Russian partisans were rare. The few anti-enemy moves that did take place were in the form of sabotage, involv
ing the destructions of trains, bridges, telephone lines, and installations. Infrequent and sporadic, these early anti-German ventures became more coordinated and more common after the arrival of the specially trained military personnel from the USSR in 1943. Some of them were parachuted into the area. Others flew in planes that landed at secretly constructed airports. Still, only a handful of this new breed of partisans reached the forest.
To sixteen-year-old Zvi Shefet, the German takeover of his native town, Slonim, was “a shock.” He states:
No one thought that they would come so fast. We saw so many Soviet soldiers; we thought that they were strong. There was a river near Slonim, Szczara, with a bridge, connecting the city. We heard the movements of the Russian Army, for months. There was tension, but we thought that Russia was so strong, that they will fight. There were planes, tanks and all kinds of equipment. We thought that this kind of an army could not be easily defeated.5 Surprisingly, on the third day of the war, the Germans took over Slonim. The occupiers began their rule by destroying Soviet equipment. They brought with them many prisoners. It was pitiful to see the chaos among the Soviets. The Poles who were there received the Germans well. Within a week or so, the occupiers issued announcements against Jews. The Gentile inhabitants committed robberies against the Jews. They robbed mills, stores, etc.6
Zvi was close to his mother, whom he describes as beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful. She had, he said, a way of creating good feelings around her. She tried to be in good spirits; at least outwardly. She was lively and people loved her. She kept up the morale of those around her. A graduate of a German high school, she was fluent in the German language. Her brother had lived for a while in Germany and was convinced that the Germans would never come to Belorussia. A few days into the occupation of Slonim, Zvi’s uncle was arrested. Sparing no effort, Zvi’s mother obtained an official order for her brother’s release. She received this order in the morning, only to learn that he had been executed the night before.
The first Aktion against the Jews in Slonim took place on July 17, 1942. A special division of SS men was assigned for this task. They came in trucks and rounded up Jewish men. They had lists and tried to collect prominent figures—lawyers, architects, doctors, and so forth, and in the end had assembled 1,500 men. The Germans had confiscated all of the prisoners’ personal documents and valuables. Next, they forced some of them to write undated letters, which the Germans later mailed to their families for propaganda purposes.
In no time, the Shefets found out what had happened. A forester and his wife, friends of the Shefet family, brought the news. Two days later, this couple visited the Shefets, bringing them food. When the wife reached their friend’s home, she embraced those who were there and began to cry. She could not stop crying for quite a while. Those who listened tried to fill in some of the missing parts of the story. The Germans had released 300 out of the 1,500 men. In their forest dwelling, this couple had heard continuous shootings. When the noises subsided, husband and wife ventured out of their home, moving into the direction of the, by then, sporadic shootings. When they reached what they assumed was the place of execution, they were confronted by an eerie silence. Then they saw how the freshly covered ground kept moving. It was as if those who were, as yet, not dead were restless in their graves. Later on rumors circulated on how these victims were severely beaten prior to their murder. According to some witnesses who watched from a distance, the SS men reached this place in trucks filled with Jewish men. Upon arrival they roughly forced them out of their vehicles, which immediately left to get a new load. The Germans would consult their lists. They might have been checking to see whether their lists included actual and potential leaders.
When stories about these systematic murders first emerged, most people had a hard time absorbing them. Some insisted on searching for the missing men. All they found were scattered pieces of clothing. Many refused to discuss what had happened, fearing that their curiosity could lead to their own destruction. Some kept hoping that after a while the Russians would return. The realists feared for their own future. Most of them seemed to agree that they could not spend the winter in the forest.
“I thought it strange that the grown-ups were so fearful,” Zvi told me. “I was blond and I did not look Jewish. When the order came to wear a Star of David, I refused to comply.” Asked how he managed to do that, he replied, “I did not go out so much. I had no problems. I managed to [avoid] those who would denounce me.”
Later, Zvi became more active. He substituted for his father’s compulsory work. Jewish men of specified ages had to register with the Judenrat. So, if the authorities needed people for work, they would take them. There were steady and nonsteady jobs. Zvi’s father was assigned to the category of nonsteady jobs. He had to be there every day and wait for orders. Those who failed to register for jobs were denied food cards. His father would register and Zvi would go to work instead of him. On many of these jobs the Germans would abuse the Jewish laborers. By taking over his father’s work Zvi shielded him from assault. The family agreed with these arrangements, without much discussion.
They tried to plan for the future. Zvi remembers a conversation his parents had with a Polish woman who seemed to be cooperating with the German authorities but who was still friendly with the Shefets. Zvi recalls that this woman, with his parents, raised the issue of what should be done with “the boy,” meaning Zvi. They considered a plan in which this Polish woman would take him to Warsaw and settle him there as a Gentile. He was blond and spoke Polish fluently. But Zvi strongly opposed this idea. “I was hurt that they wanted to get rid of me. I thought that I had to protect my family. I loved my mother very much and didn’t want to part from her. My sister had a typically Jewish look so she could not help them much.” In the end his vehement opposition to their suggestions meant that the move to Warsaw was dropped and Zvi was allowed to stay with his family.
By this point the Germans had established a ghetto into which all Jews, including the Shefets, had to move. As a part of their living quarters, the Shefets acquired a shed in which they stored wood for heating their cramped living quarters. A part of this shed was used as a hiding place. During the second Aktion, when the SS and Wehrmacht surrounded the ghetto, Zvi, his father, and several family members who felt threatened, disappeared into this newly created hiding place. From the outside, Mrs. Shefet shut carefully their shelter.
From inside, Zvi recalled that they could hear desperate cries. These were followed by the sound of someone pounding at the door to their dwelling. His mother, using her excellent German, admitted the SS men and German soldiers, who demanded to know where the men of the house were. Zvi’s mother replied that her husband was at work. They wanted to know how he got to work. After all, the streets were closed. He went very early, she explained. They wanted to know if they had a yellow permit, a “Schein.” Yes, Mrs. Shefet confirmed that they did, but that her husband took it with him. To this came the response, “shut the door and don’t let anybody in.” The Germans rushed off without searching.
At night, under the cover of darkness, they emerged from their shelter and wanted to know what had happened. They learned that the Germans had taken the grandparents, and an uncle who was hiding. This uncle had ventured out to get his coat and the Germans arrested him. The family never heard from him again. Whoever stayed in the Shefets’ hiding place was safe. Relatives who were taken away from other hideouts included a blind grandmother and an elderly grandfather. During this Aktion, the Germans had collected 10,000 Jews. They had expected to find only 7,000. The authorities insisted that this would put an end to all deportations. Some people believed these assertions. Zvi’s parents rejected them. This lull in the killing would only last for a short time.
After a while, people began to suspect that something was about to happen. They were suspicious about any and all changes. At the start of the German occupation, the SS had arrested large numbers of upper-class Poles.7 The recent arrival of SS men spelled
danger. Prominent Poles who had managed to survive began to search for hideouts. Some hid in the Jewish ghetto. At this time the Polish elites and the Jewish ghetto inmates were in equal danger. Some new developments took place, developments which were intended to sabotage the Germans’ efforts.
Born in 1922 in Poland, Oswald Rufeisen survived World War II by pretending to be half Polish and half German. Through an unusual set of circumstances, he accepted a position as a translator and interpreter for the German gendarmerie in the town of Mir, in Belorussia. Oswald had pledged to use this job for the protection of anyone who was oppressed by the Germans.8 And so, wearing a black German uniform and carrying weapons, Oswald was dedicated to standing up for the oppressed. He arranged a breakout from the ghetto Mir, which saved 305 Jews. He prevented a Belorussian village from being burned by intentionally mistranslating for the authorities. Oswald also managed to protect countless numbers of Soviet POWs and offered help to a large number of Jewish, Polish, and Russian underground figures.
On a particular evening, returning home from a visit with Polish friends, Oswald noticed a large number of recently arrived SS men. Equipment used for conducting surprise arrests accompanied these new arrivals. Oswald wondered why he had not been informed about these seemingly extensive preparations connected to the police station at which he worked. He suddenly realized that those in charge of this operation had purposefully excluded him from knowing about that night’s operations, because these were aimed at the destruction of the Polish intelligentsia.
Convinced he had reached the right conclusion, Oswald decided to warn as many of the Polish elites as possible. Going from one Polish household to another he urged the heads of these families to spend the night away from their living quarters. He returned to his Polish hosts for that evening. Oswald explained the situation, urging the head of this Polish family to get away from the house. But this friend dismissed the danger. Subsequently, that same night the SS men picked him up. Hardly any of those Oswald had reached took his warnings seriously. Only one of these prominent Poles listened and saved his life. All the Poles who were warned but refused to act upon Oswald’s urgings were arrested. Most of them ended up in concentration camps. Many did not survive the war.9