The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (Boomer Book Series)

by Othniel J. Seiden

  "Compose yourself. Relax. You're safe here in the woods. They have no reason to suspect you're here," Sol mouthed. He crawled on his stomach to a small clump of brush at the edge of the trees. Hidden there, he made a surveillance of the farm. No one, but the voices continued. Three, then a fourth voice - no, a fifth-all in front of the house. One by one, five soldiers came around from the other side of the hut. They were looking in the window, annoyed to find no one there. At the back of the house, they saw the cellar's entrance. One man opened the door, pointed his gun down the stairwell and called into the empty storage room. He listened, then slowly started down, pulling a flashlight from his belt. One of the other Germans stayed at the door with his weapon ready. After a minute, the first emerged again. They both went on, leaving the door open.

  Now a few more soldiers appeared-eight all together. One was obviously an officer. He barked commands left and right and the others made themselves busy. They searched the house with the same caution as they'd used in searching the cellar. Then the officer pointed out the few animals that were grazing, pecking and wallowing about the farm. As he did an aid at his side made notes on a clipboard. Probably they'll send a truck out to get them, Sol thought. They all went around to the front of the house, out of sight and in a few minutes, he heard motors start, vehicles driving off.

  Solomon remained where he lay for the rest of the afternoon. Not until Ivan and Sosha came home, after dark and he saw the light go on in the house, did he come out of the woods. Even then he looked into the window before he knocked.

  He told them first about the search of the premises. Then he told of his exploration. He warned that the Germans would probably be back to confiscate the livestock and food stores. He insisted that he move to his new home, the cave in the ravine. Ivan agreed. They decided to move much of the foodstuffs from the cellar to the cave where the Germans wouldn't get at it.

  "But how will you explain that to the Germans when they come? They took notes on what they saw!" Sosha reminded.

  "I'll think of something." Ivan replied, hoping he could find a reasonable answer. He didn't want to let the Germans have a thing of his.

  The day had been exhausting for everyone. They decided to retire and plan more in the morning. Sol went to his bed under the steps for what he hoped would be the last time.

  16

  See No Evil

  Hear No Evil

  Speak Not...

  Father Peter could not get the German Major's visit out of his mind. Over the next several days, he became more and more disturbed. Each day, he heard the intermittent gunfire from Babi Yar. At each silence, he pictured a line of humans being marched out in front of the guns-imagined the anguish they felt as they faced their last, horrifying moments. Then he heard the gunfire again.

  The only respite was when the wind occasionally blew toward Babi Yar; but Father Peter knew they were still busy with their loathsome work.

  "Dear God," he would murmur, "how long can they keep that up? How many people are they killing? People! They killed all the Jews of Kiev in the first week. Who are they killing now? Will it ever stop?"

  The questions haunted him. He could not reverse his stand in his next sermon. Memory of the German's words assaulted him day and night. Father Peter knew the historic facts about the Church were true. Anti-Semitism was a product of early Christianity and it had been kept alive by the Church ever since. These were facts he and the Church had to accept but preferred to sweep under the rug. As an historian, he could not deny the truth, but he did not like having these facts pointed out to him by Major Oberman. And, in spite of all, he would not believe his superiors expected him to sit silently while human beings were being slaughtered like so much livestock. He would write to his bishop for advice.

  For two nights he lay awake, composing the letter he would send. Over and over he wrote it in his mind. But before he had a chance to put his thoughts to paper, he received a letter from the bishop. Word of the sermon had gotten to his superior churchman. The letter didn't contain the history lesson the German presented, but it did express an unquestionable reprimand for the stand Father Peter had taken. "It is not our place to mingle in politics. Our place is to teach the words of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Political matters are to be left to those who govern and now that is the occupation force of the German Reich. They are our allies in the Church's struggle against Bolshevik oppression."

  He knew he could not bring himself to reverse the stand of his last sermon. The words of the Lord, Jesus Christ did not condone the political slaughter of men women and children. He struggled with his conscience. Finally, he decided that his next sermon would be on a subject completely divorced from the problem, a simple commentary on a Bible reading in no way connected to the events and the times.

  Since his bishop had left no doubt about the position he was taking, Father Peter decided to take unprecedented action. He would write directly to the Vatican for guidance. He would not say more on the subject until he heard from the Holy See or his representative. That was as far as he could make his own conscience bend. The thoughts he was going to put on paper for his bishop he now wrote to His Holiness, Pius XI.

  Father Peter wrote and rewrote that letter, perhaps twenty times, until he thought it was just right. He wrote of his sermon in great detail and his defense of it. He also wrote all the details of his encounter with the German, Major Hans Oberman. And he wrote of what he'd heard about Babi Yar. Then he asked for enlightenment on all agreements and policies of the Vatican and the Roman Catholic Church in regard to the activities of the German Reich. He closed his letter asking for specific guidance: "How should I advise my flock, my parishioners to behave under the occupation? How should I behave toward the occupation? And what must I do about the activities at Babi Yar?" His answer would be long in coming.

  17

  A Changing

  Insane Time...

  The next morning, after breakfast, Sol and Ivan went to the cave. Following the landmarks Sol had set, they had no difficulty finding it. The jaunt took them only about twenty minutes. They estimated that, if pressed, it could be done in half the time. They decided which provisions should be taken to the cave. Sol suggested they make a small enclosure in the woods to keep some of the livestock hidden.

  "The Germans will surely be back to confiscate the animals. Why let those bastards find them all? You could say some were stolen. I'm sure they are being stolen all over."

  On the way back, they selected a spot by the stream that the trail followed, so the animals would have water. They returned to the spot with tools, cleared an area and made a makeshift fence. This done they herded a few of the animals from the farm to the corral. They hurried, knowing the Germans might be back anytime-certainly in a few days.

  The next day, they made several trips to the cave, each time carrying supplies until they had provisions to sustain a person for weeks without having to leave the cavern. All the time they worked, Sol wondered if he would be the only person needing the sanctuary of that little cave.

  Ivan and Sosha told Sol all about their trip to Kiev. They had no leads on how to contact a resistance group. People in Kiev were all extremely cautious-afraid to talk openly of their feelings. No one trusted anyone. The city was completely without Jews now.

  People said, "All have been killed at Babi Yar!" "If any escaped, it had to be before the roundup." "If there are any left they aren't in the city. Maybe a few are hiding in the woods." "It's no loss, really. The Germans did a good job of it."

  Whomever Ivan and Sosha asked, they confirmed what Sol had told.

  "But if they killed all the Jews in the first week," Ivan asked an old acquaintance in the market, "then who are they shooting now? I can still hear gunfire!"

  "Oh, Bolsheviks that they find or bring in on trains from God knows where, captured Russian soldiers-anyone who doesn't follow their edicts..."

  There was a curfew in Kiev now. Anyone on the street after the appointed time was shot on sight. Ea
ch morning, women, children and men were found where they'd fallen, killed only because they were on the streets after dark.

  The people who in the beginning greeted the Germans as liberators now feared them-hated them.

  "How foolish the Germans are to make potential allies into staunch enemies," Sosha said.

  "No one speaks of resistance," Ivan said. "If such a movement is already under way, no one admits being part of it. Too many are willing to sell information to the Germans."

  "I can imagine," Sol said.

  "Sosha did hear one bit of gossip that might be a lead. In the marketplace, she heard some women talking about a sermon that had been given by a Roman Catholic priest, a Father Peter. It seems he condemned the Germans in his sermon. The gossipers said he was sure to end up in the ravine for his comments, but so far the Germans had only reprimanded him."

  "Perhaps he's changed his views to save himself," Sosha suggested.

  "Anyway," Ivan continued, "It would be dangerous to see the priest at this time. He might be under surveillance. A visit could endanger him..."

  "Or the visitor," Sol interrupted.

  "Yes. But if I can't find another way to contact the resistance and if the priest is not put in custody-and does not change his sentiments-perhaps he might be a lead in the future. We'll have to wait."

  * * *

  Two days went by. Ivan and Sol moved some stones to a corner of the field near the woods at the back of the property. Ivan suddenly stood straight. "Listen!"

  "What is it?"

  "Listen! A truck!"

  It was very near. Sol ran into the woods. There wasn't time to run to the cellar. He dived to the ground and found himself near the same brush from which he watched the Germans the other day.

  "Stay hidden," he heard Ivan say. "I'm sure it's the Germans. I'll deal with them." He walked toward the house.

  There was a squeal of worn brakes. A door opened and slammed shut, as did another. German and Ukrainian voices sounded. The motor idled. Now Ivan could see the truck on the road in front of the house. Sol could not see it, but all the sounds reached him.

  Two Germans had gotten out of the cab and three Ukrainians jumped from the open rear of the truck. They had been riding there with several animals apparently picked up at other farms.

  Ivan met Sosha as she came out of the house. They walked together toward the approaching men.

  The Germans spoke neither Russian nor Ukrainian. The German who was not the driver, a corporal, spoke to one of the Ukrainians who acted as interpreter. He, in turn, spoke to Ivan.

  "We are here as representatives of the German occupation forces. We came to collect your livestock, as decreed by the commanding officer of the occupation forces of the Kiev area."

  "But I do not understand," Ivan said. "The Germans picked up my animals just yesterday!"

  Sosha's heart skipped several beats. She had no idea what Ivan was going to say to the Germans, but she never dreamed he'd tell a lie like that.

  "What are you saying?" the Ukrainian asked.

  "A truck came by here yesterday. Several Germans came on my property and just took my animals. I protested. It did no good."

  The Ukrainian repeated the story to the German who screamed questions back at him.

  "They had a German truck?" the Ukrainian asked.

  "Nicer and bigger than that one. They were all in German uniforms. No Ukrainians. All were Germans. An officer and four in uniforms like his."

  Again the confused Ukrainian spoke to the German corporal, who also became confused. More questions in German.

  "He wants to know why they left some animals."

  "I begged. I told him they were my livelihood. The officer finally agreed to leave me my horse and a few ducks. They emptied out my storage cellar."

  Again the Ukrainian talked to the German. The German answered, very animated and final.

  "I am sorry," the Ukrainian said, "there can be no exceptions. We must take all that you have left. Our list shows you had five pigs, three cows, a horse and several chickens and geese."

  "All they left us was the horse and a few chickens. Surely you won't take them. What will we eat? How will I work the fields? If you take everything now there will be no production next year. What will they eat then?"

  Sosha was terrified. What if they didn't believe Ivan? Did he have to tell such a preposterous lie? Well, it was too late now.

  The Ukrainian spoke in German again. They both looked at Ivan. Sosha looked at Ivan. She couldn't believe the ignorant expression he had placed on his face. Had she not known him, she'd have believed him too. Stupid to have made up such a story. Maybe the German would believe. She had a sudden impulse to laugh. God, no! If I laugh now we're all dead. That thought was sobering enough that the impulse faded.

  The German yelled something to the Ukrainians and turned, walking back to the truck with the driver.

  "We must take the horse and all but three of your chickens. And you must show me that the cellar is truly emptied."

  Satisfied, they drove off to the next farm.

  Ivan turned to Sosha as the sound of the truck dwindled into the distance and chuckled.

  18

  Pain If Conscience...

  His church was full on Sunday.

  Father Peter didn't know quite how to interpret it. Were they there because they were in sympathy with him? More than likely, they were there out of curiosity. Would he speak out against the Germans again? He wondered who in the gathering had reported to the Germans last week. His eyes picked out a stranger in the crowd. He's too well dressed to be a Ukrainian, Father Peter thought. They're not going to depend on my congregation to tell them. German! Well, if they want fresh material for charges and arrest, they'll all be disappointed today.

  The sermon was no more inflammatory than the mass itself. As the worshipers departed the church, the traditional line of parishioners formed to compliment the priest on his service.

  The well dressed man was in the line. He spoke Ukrainian, but with a German accent. "A fine service, Father. I especially enjoyed your sermon. I want to continue attending your services while I am stationed here. It will be wonderful to hear such a sermon each week!" He tipped his hat and departed without waiting for an answer.

  Father Peter was relieved. He had feared the Germans would demand a public retraction of his stand. He could not have done that. He hoped the German's superiors would be satisfied. But all this was only a stall. Sooner or later, he knew, the matter would arise again. The Germans were not going to change. Every day the wind carried their message. He could not continue to ignore that sound. He'd eventually be forced to restate his feelings. He would have to do that much, regardless of Church policy.

  Days passed. No reply came to his letter. The gunfire continued. He could not escape it. From dawn to dusk Father Peter heard each report as a life snuffed out. How many shots could be fired in a single day? "Thank God the days are getting shorter," he mouthed, crossing himself. If each day is even a few minutes shorter, how many lives will that save? How many times can a machine gun fire in twenty to thirty seconds? How many march out in front of those guns each time? Ten-twenty-fifty? Yes, even a few minutes less light each day would be significant. And if a few minutes less daylight can save fifty lives-for another day-then how many are dying each day from dawn to dusk. "Oh dear God, no! This can't be happening! We can't close our eyes!"

  But it is happening and I am closing my eyes. He began feeling responsible for the deaths of all the people who died each day of his silence. "Silence condones the crime," he said to himself over and over. But what good will speaking out do? It will only add me to those in the pit.

  Still there was no reply. How much longer could he continue waiting? If he didn't get answeres soon, the pressures of his conscience would force him to act. If the Church did not show him the way, perhaps God would.

  19

  Gregor...

  Three days later, God replied.

  A man ap
peared at Father Peter's door. It was Gregor Kirtzof, a congregant for as long as Father Peter could remember.

  "Good morning, Gregor. How pleasant to see you."

  "Father," Gregor interrupted, "I must come directly to the point. I heard your sermon two Sundays ago."

  "It seems the whole world did!"

  "We all know your sentiments. I want to tell you there are a number of us who feel as you do. We realize you are in danger from the Nazis if you speak out again. You must say no more than you have. We implore you not to speak out again. There is a small but growing group of us who intend to act against the Germans. If there is any way we can serve your cause-I will be happy to be your contact-so you are not endangered further."

  Father Peter was so eager for a sign-some approval to act-something that could free him of his guilt. He was sure this was divine guidance, but, he had to be careful. It could be a test-a trap! How could he be sure the Germans weren't setting him up? He knew the consequences of trusting the wrong man. Arrest would be immediate. This could be one way the Germans could find out his true intentions...

  But Father Peter was at the limit of his endurance. Here was a chance to act. If it was a trap, then let it spring.

  Father invited Gregor into his personal chamber.

  Gregor lived at the edge of Kiev proper. He was the eldest son of a blacksmith and had apprenticed to his father. He was about four years older than Father Peter. The family business had made a meager living, but by Soviet standards they lived well. The family was large. Gregor had four brothers and two sisters, so the forge had nine to feed. The Kirtzof's were a religious family. The few Sundays they didn't show up, the church seemed more than a little emptier, especially when hymns were sung. Father Peter had known the family since he was a child.

  He closed the door to his humble apartment, two rooms attached to the rear of the church. He poured two glasses of tea and they sat down at a small table.