The morning of 2 August is beautiful. The sun is shining. All of us are feeling brave. Despite our fears, we are all happy that the time has come. There is a smile on everyone’s face. We feel new strength, we feel more alive than ever. We go off to work with joy in our hearts, though we tell each other to try not to show it in our faces.
We prepare cans of benzine fuel, supposedly for the motors. Our barracks leader, who works in the camp as a butcher, turns to the Camp Deputy, Karl Spetzinger, for permission to sharpen his knives, because we are to receive a dead horse and the knives are dull. Spetzinger agrees, and Kalman the butcher sharpens his knives and the pliers to cut the barbed wire.
Everything is ready. Our excitement is running high, but so is our fear that the murderers might find out and shoot us. We step out for the midday meal. The latest news from Camp 1 is that everything is ready. Our only concern is that something might happen once again to spoil our plans. We have seen to it that at every point, such as the ovens, there will still be people at work, so that no one will be shut up in the barracks and unable to come to our aid. We claim that the fires need attention; that they are not burning well. In the kitchen we supposedly haven’t drawn enough water so we have to send several people back to get more. These are in fact three good soldiers. Their task, the moment the revolt begins, will be to cut the throats of the Ukrainian guards and seize their weapons.
The midday rations are being distributed. We are all hungry, as always, but none of us is able to eat anything. No one asks for seconds of soup. Dozens of comrades do not touch the food. Afterwards all of us go back to work filled with happiness. We say to one another—Ha-yom, ha-yom!” (Hebrew: The Day, the Day!).
The work goes quickly. The murderers are pleased that the work is humming along. We avoid speaking to one another, so that no one will notice anything. Our tools are hidden in the appropriate places.
Our comrade Adolf, using various pretexts, tries to check every position. Despite all our preparations, there are still many among us who have no idea what is supposed to happen here. The time passes with extraordinary slowness. The fear that something may go wrong is unbearable.
The clock strikes 3:30.
We hear two shots from the direction of Camp 1—a sign that the revolt has started there. A few minutes later we receive the order to quit working. Everyone hurries to his post. A few seconds after that, flames engulf the gas chambers. They have been set on fire. The Ukrainian standing guard next to the barracks lies on the ground like a stuck pig, blood flowing from him, his weapon now being used by our comrade, Zelo. Shots are heard from all sides. The Ukrainians, whom our comrades have lured from the watchtowers, lie dead. Two SS excavator operators are dead. We head for the barbed wire shouting—Revolutsya v Berline! (Russian: Revolution in Berlin!). Several of the Ukrainians become disorientated and raise their hands. Their weapons are taken from them. We cut the wires one after the other. We are already at the third barbed-wire fence.
I am next to the barracks. Many comrades have become confused and are hiding inside out of fear. We urge them out, shouting—Comrades, come out to freedom, faster, faster!
All are now outside. The third fence has been cut open. Fifty metres further on there are trestles, thickly interwoven with barbed wire. We try to cut these as well.
The firing of the murderers’ machine guns can be heard now. Some of them have succeeded in getting hold of their weapons. At the trestles lie many of our comrades who became entangled in the wires and were unable to escape.
I am among the last to go. I am already outside. Next to me is comrade Kruk, from Plock. He falls into my arms—Comrade, we are free. We kiss one another. I manage to run a few dozen metres when I see that the murderers are coming after us with machine guns. An automobile is bearing down on us at the same time. On the roof of the car is a machine gun shooting in all directions. Many fall down dead. There are dead bodies at every step. I change direction and run to the left off the road. The car continues along that Polish road and soon it is ahead of me. We run in various directions. The murderers pursue us from all sides.
I notice that the peasants working the fields and the shepherds run away out of fear. Finally, having run about 3 kilometres, we find ourselves in a small woodland area. We decide that there is no point in running further and hide in the dense brush. We number some twenty people. The group is too big, and we divide into two groups of ten men each. The groups are separated by about 150 metres.
We lie there for several minutes and suddenly see that Ukrainians with several SS men have surrounded the wood and are entering it. They encounter the second group and all of them are immediately shot.
Among us there is a Czech called Masaryk, a nephew of the former Czech President Masaryk. His wife was Jewish and he accompanied her to Treblinka. When he sees that the murderers are closing in on us, he takes a razor blade from his pocket and slits his wrists. Blood spurts from his wrists. I try to stop him, but he cannot be dissuaded, out of fear of falling yet again into the hands of the murderers.
We lie quietly for a brief period. Fortunately, they did not notice us and left the wood. I bind Masaryk’s wrists with a bit of linen and succeed in stanching the flow of blood. We lie there for a time, then notice that civilians have entered the wood. They apparently have noticed us and have turned back towards us. We decide to run away quickly. We run for several hundred metres and come to another wood. Evening falls and it begins to turn dark. At midnight we proceed further, not knowing where we are going.
Masaryk, a former military officer, is able to orientate himself at night by the stars. With him leading the way, we move on. We walk all night. At sunrise we find ourselves in a big, dense forest. We decided to stay there all day. We are exhausted and very hungry.
We lie there a whole day. We take turns every few hours to make sure that no-one snores loudly if he falls asleep, since every rustle resounds in the forest.
Chapter Seventeen
We knock at a peasant’s door.
The murderers look for us.
I head for Warsaw.
I meet a man.
They want to hand me over to the police.
I arrive in Warsaw.
AT MIDNIGHT WE SET OFF AND LEAVE THE FOREST. The night is clear, and we realize that we are not very far from Treblinka. We roam around then return to the forest where we walk till morning. On the way we come across a muddy stream. Our comrade Masaryk crouches on all fours and drinks the muddy water. We do the same.
After three days of wandering, tired and hungry, we decide that we have to take a chance and go to a peasant’s house to find out where we are and ask for something to eat.
I and my comrade Kalman, the one who set the gas chambers on fire, knock at a peasant’s gate. The others remain hidden in the forest, afraid that we might encounter unfriendly people.
The peasant opens the gate but will not let us in. He tells us that Germans in automobiles and on bicycles have been looking for us all day long. At the same time we learn that the mayor has let it be known that any peasant who turns over a Jew to him or to the police will receive a big reward.
The peasant gives us a loaf of bread and some milk, asking for gold in exchange. We give him two watches. We learn that we are 15 kilometres from Treblinka. We want to find out if he knows where there are partisan units. He doesn’t know, but he informs us that 5 kilometres from here there are big forests. We go in that direction and wander around for fourteen days. But we do not encounter any partisans. It often happens that when we knock at the gates of a peasant house, they refuse to open or to answer our questions. We are so weakened by hunger and thirst that we can hardly remain upright. We pull up potatoes and beets in the fields and eat them raw. Our situation is desperate. By day we are afraid to show ourselves, since everyone we meet tells us that there are round-ups going on.
After a fortnight in the forests, seeing no way out, I propose that we take a chance and travel to Warsaw. Several of us have acquaintances t
here, and perhaps we will succeed in saving ourselves. My proposal is rejected out of fear that along the way we might fall into the hands of the murderers.
Seeing that it is not possible for me to remain here, I decide to leave for Warsaw by myself. It is painful for me to take leave of my friends. Still, I start on my way. We embrace each other and express our wish that we may meet again.
After walking several kilometres I come to a village. It is evening. I enter a peasant’s house. He is afraid to talk to me. He hands me a piece of bread and tells me that Warsaw is 99 kilometres away. As I stand there, I suddenly hear the sound of shooting in the distance. The peasant runs back into the house and shouts to me to run away at once. I run into the potato fields and hide there. I hear more shots. Night has fallen. Heavy rain begins to fall and continues all night. I lie there for twelve hours until dawn. I feel I will not be able get up, but with my last ounce of strength I get back on my feet. After walking a few kilometres, I see a man approaching me. By now indifferent to everything, I keep going. The man comes closer. I see from his clothes that he is a peasant and ask him the way. He thinks about it for a little while then asks me—Are you one of those who fled Treblinka?
Seeing that he feels compassion for me, I tell him that I am indeed one of those who fled and ask him for help. He tells me that he has to go to the mill to buy flour for tomorrow’s holiday. But he turns back with me towards his house, some 2 kilometres away. He leads the way and I follow.
When I enter his house I see a woman with a child in her arms. I embrace the little child and kiss it. The woman looks at me in astonishment and I tell her—Dear lady, it is a whole year since I have seen a living child … The woman and I cry together. She gives me food, and, seeing that I am soaked through, she gives me a shirt of her husband’s to put on. She mentions that it is her husband’s last shirt.
I see that these people want to help me. Weeping, the woman says to me—I would very much like to help you, but I am afraid of my neighbours. After all, I have a small child …
After spending half an hour with them, I thank them warmly and want to say goodbye. The peasant points through the window to a barn standing in the middle of the fields not far from us. The barn belongs to a rich peasant and no one ever goes there. He advises me to hide there and come to him in the evenings, when he will give me food. I thank them and head for the barn. I burrow deep into the straw so that no one can see me. A real stroke of luck.
When evening falls I crawl out of the straw and head for my friends’ house. They receive me in a very friendly fashion. After I have been sitting there for a few minutes, a neighbour suddenly enters, and without so much as saying hello slaps me hard twice on the face. He screams—Yid, come with me!
I am unfortunately helpless. The woman, seeing what he means to do to me, begs him to let go of me and allow me to escape. But he refuses to budge. The woman kisses him and begs him—Franek, what do you want from that man? Do you even know him?
He screams at her for defending me—Don’t you know that these bandits set fire to Treblinka? I’ll get a reward for him!
Her entreaties and weeping are in vain. Seeing that she cannot change his mind, she goes over to him, grabs him from behind and shouts to me to escape. I tear myself away and dash out of the house. I cross the garden and run a couple of hundred steps and lie down in the field. I decide not to run away from here, since it would be a shame to lose such good people. When it is clear to me that Franek has gone away, I crawl back towards my friends on all fours, go into the barn and lie down again. In the morning the peasant comes in and when he sees me he greets me warmly. He is afraid that I will be caught because the neighbours all around are very bad people. He brings me food several times a day, and in the evening I hide in the barn in the middle of the field.
I spend about two weeks in that way. Every evening I come to the house of these good people and they hand me food through the window. But one time the owner of the barn arrives and unloads some grain there. I suspect that he has seen me and therefore decide to leave my hiding place for Warsaw, come what may.
That evening I go to my friends and tell them of my decision. They try to dissuade me, out of fear that I may fall into the hands of the police patrolling the roads. But I cannot be talked out of it and say goodbye to them. The peasant tells me that the nearest railway station is Kostki, about 7 kilometres from there.
The trip is a difficult one, as the trains are full of police inspectors. Nevertheless I am able to come to Warsaw without incident, and thence to Piastow, where my friend Jarosz, a Pole, resides. At first he does not recognize me and tries to give me a handout of 5 zlotys. Then, when he realizes who I am, he is happy to see me and helps me with necessities. He also provides Aryan papers for me.
After spending several days with him, I break down morally and physically. I lose my appetite and am convinced that I have no right to be alive after all I have seen and experienced. My friends care for me and try to convince me that there are few witnesses left like me and that I need to live in order to tell it all.
Yes, I lived for a year in Treblinka under the most difficult conditions. After the revolt I wandered for two months, lived for a year as a Pole with false papers, then after the Warsaw Uprising I hid in a bunker for three and a half months until I was liberated on 17 January 1945.
Yes, I remained alive and find myself among free people. But I often ask myself why. Is it so that I might tell the world about the millions of innocent murdered victims, to be a witness to the innocent blood that was spilled by the hands of the murderers?
Yes, I remained alive to bear witness against the great slaughterhouse of Treblinka.
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copyright © 2009 Les Arènes, Paris
translation copyright © 2011 by Solon Beinfeld
preface copyright © 2011 by Samuel Moyn
interior design by Maria Fernandez
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