“Did you deliver the present?” Lionka asked.
“I delivered the present not only to the police station, but also to the six policemen and two soldiers who were guarding it,” Motele said, laughing. “Oh, did I fool them!” He did two somersaults in celebration.
After Motele had left the police station, the policemen had continued to stand around, laughing at the poor state of the horse and its driver. When Motele did not return, the policemen decided to move the horse and carriage into their courtyard. Unable to coax the horse into pulling the wagon, one of the policemen started unloading the bran bags. He had gotten two bags on the ground and was unloading the third bag when there was a violent explosion. The bag had been connected to a bomb the partisans had placed at the bottom of the wagon.
The bags, the wagon, and horse entrails went flying through the air. Four of the policemen were killed and the other two were seriously injured. A piece of the wooden wagon struck the German soldier who was standing in the window, gouging out an eye and knocking out all of his teeth. When the peasants came running out of their homes to see what was happening, they saw hundreds of pieces of paper. These were leaflets that had been in the bran bags. They had been hurled into the air by the explosion. The paper slowly floated down, covering the roofs, the yards, and the road like fresh snow. The leaflets, which the Red Army had airlifted to Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group just a few nights earlier, boasted of the German defeats on the Eastern Front. They warned the Ukrainians that those who continued to collaborate with the Nazis would be punished by the approaching Red Army.
It was not until May 21, 1943, more than five months after he joined Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group, that Motele finally disclosed his true identity to the partisan brigade. His confession came as Uncle Misha was mourning the first anniversary of the murders of his wife and daughter. Uncle Misha, Lionka, and ten other partisans from Korets decided to leave their camp to say Kaddish in private. Noticing that Motele was following them, Uncle Misha ordered him to return to the camp.
“What kind of holiday is today?” the boy asked.
“Today marks exactly one year since the Germans murdered our family,” Uncle Misha replied.
“The Germans also murdered my parents.”
“But we are Jews and we are going to say a prayer to our God.”
“My father told me that all people have one God. I won’t bother you. Let me come with you.”
Uncle Misha relented.
By the time the partisans reached their destination on the other side of the swamp, the sun had already set. They nailed two rows of candles on a wide tree stump, and lit them. One of the partisans took out a prayer book and led the evening prayer. When that was finished, the mourners tearfully said Kaddish. When the partisans were finished, they heard Motele slowly reciting the last line of the Hebrew prayer: “Peace upon us and upon all Israel, and say Amen.”
Astonished, the partisans turned to the boy who was standing in back of the group, holding a small prayer book in his hand. It was the book that Motele had taken from his father’s house. He had kept it with him ever since.
Large tears were rolling down Motele’s cheeks. He ran up to Uncle Misha and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Uncle Misha, I’m a Jew, too!” he exclaimed.
The partisans were stunned. Why had the boy lied about his Jewish heritage? There was certainly no stigma for being a Jew in Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group.
“First of all, what’s your Jewish name?” Lionka demanded, feeling betrayed. “Second, why didn’t you tell me that you’re a Jew? Do you think that being a Ukrainian is a greater honor?”
“My real name is Motele, which is what I want you to call me from now on,” the boy finally divulged. “Secondly, I didn’t reveal my Jewish identity because from the day the Germans occupied our territory, I suffered so much as a Jew that I felt safer not identifying myself as one, even when I was among friends. Besides, it seemed to me that as a Ukrainian I would have more opportunities to avenge the deaths of my parents and my only sister.”
Fighting alongside the partisans under his true Jewish name, Motele continued to demonstrate astonishing skills and confidence.
On July 6, 1943, Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group was attacked by two German fighter planes while attempting to cross a river. When a partisan radio operator named Mania got stranded on a small island in the middle of the river, she shot herself to avoid being taken alive and possibly tortured for her secret codes. As the partisans watched in disbelief, her body fell into the thick undergrowth that surrounded the island and disappeared. Losing Mania meant also losing their radio batteries, which she had packed in a cigar box in her leather satchel. It was through that radio that they received critical tactical information from the Partisan Movement Central Headquarters in Moscow. It was through that radio that they would need to dispatch an SOS signal if they were to have any hopes of surviving the German attack.
“I can swim over to Mania and rescue the satchel containing the batteries,” Motele volunteered.
“That’s impossible,” Uncle Misha replied. “The Germans will see you as soon as you surface.”
“They won’t see me,” Motele said confidently. “I’ll swim underwater.”
“How will you be able to stay underwater for so long?”
“I can stay underwater for several hours. Let me show you.” Motele got undressed, crawled over to the shore, and plucked a reed out of the ground. He put one end in his mouth and blew through the reed as if it were a straw. “I can swim all the way to the Volga with this reed!” he exclaimed.
He climbed into the water and disappeared. All that was left was the other end of the reed, barely sticking out of the water. Uncle Misha and the other partisans watched as the reed made its way across the river. As the Germans surveilled the partisans from the opposite shore, the reed made it to the island. The bushes swayed a bit before going back to being still. Then the reed started working its way back to the partisans. Motele triumphantly emerged from the water with Mania’s satchel. An hour later, the Russians heard the partisans’ signal and were able to come to their defense, thanks to Motele’s heroic swimming.
Motele Blows Up the Soldiers Club
In August 1943, Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group was operating in the dense forests of the northern Ukrainian province of Zhytomyr. Despite growing tired of their grueling life in the woods, the partisans were bolstered by the latest radio reports of the success of the Red Army, which had gained the upper hand on the Eastern Front during the Battle of Kursk just weeks earlier. The Russians were now advancing westward, liberating towns and capturing Germans along the way.
Although the Soviet leaders had ordered the partisan commanders to suspend their sabotage missions until they could be reunited with the Red Army, Uncle Misha was not ready to end his quest for vengeance. He was planning a surprise attack on the nearby city of Ovruch to destroy the train station and the large bridge that served as main gates to the Eastern Front.
From an informant named Karol, Uncle Misha learned that the Orthodox church leaders in Ovruch had convinced the German and Ukrainian police to allow visitors to enter and leave the city without documentation on August 20. This would allow everyone to freely celebrate the First Feast of the Savior. Uncle Misha decided to take advantage of this temporary lapse in security by dispatching several partisans to Ovruch to familiarize themselves with the town, to find out which military units were stationed there, and to assess the residents’ allegiances. He also wanted to confirm Karol’s report that the police department was prepared to surrender to Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group and hand over their weapons.
In addition to the partisan spies, Uncle Misha sent Motele and his violin to Ovruch. While the partisans were gathering intelligence, Motele was to join the group of beggars soliciting alms in front of the church. Posing as a street performer, Motele could surreptitiously observe the spies and immediately report back to Uncle Misha if they were discovered. Motele was even provided with counterf
eit documents, forged by a partisan who was a former stampmaker, indicating that he was Dmitri Rubina from the Ukrainian village of Listvin. If he was questioned, Motele would simply reply that he was traveling to the city of Zhytomyr to find his father Ivan, who he had heard was being held in the German prisoner-of-war camp there.
The beggars included a blind man singing psalms while accompanying himself on a lyre, a one-legged veteran of the Russo-Japanese War playing an accordion, an elderly woman with a swollen and bandaged cheek, and several other destitute and handicapped drifters hoping to elicit sympathy from the holiday travelers. Motele sat on a wooden stool at the back of the crowd and placed a clay bowl he had purchased in the market between his feet. He tuned his violin, strummed a few strings, and began to perform one of the many Ukrainian folksongs he had learned in Krasnovka. The folksong was “The Ant,” a song about a woman whose work is so underappreciated that she asks God for wings. Motele would sing a stanza and then play the melody on his violin.
Although Uncle Misha had specifically chosen Motele for this assignment because of his ability to blend in with Ukrainians, the beauty of his singing and playing far surpassed that of the other beggars. He quickly attracted a crowd. When he finished the folksong, the onlookers threw coins into his bowl and slipped dumplings into his backpack.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the back of the crowd. The congregation parted to make way for a German officer who was marching toward Motele. The officer stood in front of the boy. The young violinist was so engrossed with the music that he did not notice him. Finally, the officer tapped Motele on the shoulder with his riding crop. Raising his head and seeing the German uniform, Motele jumped to his feet and bowed.
“Come with me,” the officer commanded.
Motele felt his breast pocket to make sure he still had his forged documents. He calmly placed his violin back in its case, collected the coins from his little bowl, and followed the officer.
After walking a few blocks, they arrived at a building that was flanked by several German limousines and motorcycles. They passed an armed guard at the entrance and ascended a flight of stairs to a large restaurant where German officers sat around tables eating, drinking, and talking loudly. The officer marched Motele to the corner of the room, and whispered to an elderly man who was playing the piano.
“Can you read music?” the pianist asked Motele in Russian, assuming that the boy was an ethnic Ukrainian.
“Yes.”
The pianist dug through his sheet music and produced the score to Ignacy Jan Paderewski’s popular Minuet in G Major, op. 14, no. 1. From a political point of view, the work was an interesting choice for the venue, given that the recently deceased Polish composer had raised money for Hitler’s Jewish victims. From a musical standpoint, it was an excellent selection for a pianist attempting to accompany an unknown twelve-year-old street musician. The melody begins simply, moving stepwise in easy rhythms, and only increases in difficulty as the piece unfolds. If the boy stumbled early on, it would have been easy for the pianist to gracefully improvise a quick conclusion to the failed experiment.
But Motele was no ordinary street performer. He was a talented and well-trained violinist who had actually played that very minuet several times before, in the Gershteins’ palace with Reizele playing the piano. At first, Motele’s new pianist played only the accompaniment part with his left hand, listening intently to the young violinist’s playing. As he gained confidence in Motele’s abilities, the pianist added more harmonies with his right hand.
The restaurant grew quieter and quieter as the diners interrupted their conversations to listen to the beautiful duet. When Motele and his accompanist finished the coda—a tour de force of virtuosic passagework—the diners responded with vigorous applause. The Nazi officer who had discovered Motele was so pleased with the violin playing that he offered the boy a position entertaining the guests at the Soldiers Club for two hours during lunchtime and from seven to eleven in the evening. In return, Motele would receive two reichsmarks a day, plus lunch and dinner.
Motele protested, returning to his cover story of needing to find his father in Zhytomyr. He added that he would then have to return to Listvin to care for his sick mother and three small siblings. When the officer promised to find out if his father was in Zhytomyr and, if so, have him transferred to Ovruch, Motele was left with little choice but to accept the job.
Motele immediately visited Karol and asked him to convey his predicament to Uncle Misha. The partisan commander recognized the opportunity and ordered Motele to remain in Ovruch and report everything he observed through Karol.
The Soldiers Club was one of many restaurants that the Germans had appropriated as havens for soldiers on their way to the Eastern Front. It was a place where they could strengthen their resolve with great music, gourmet food, French wine, and pretty Ukrainian waitresses who served them in more ways than one. While playing his violin, Motele was able to track the numbers of units and the types of uniforms worn by German soldiers on their way to the front. He also eavesdropped on the conversations of the few who returned. Between lunch and dinner he surveilled the streets of Ovruch, taking note of everything for his reports to Karol.
Despite impossible conditions, young Motele was somehow able to conceal his disdain for the Nazis. He even earned their trust and friendship. A regional commandant who spent every evening at the Soldiers Club went so far as to have a little German uniform and cap tailored for Motele, to the delight of the other employees at the Soldiers Club.
Motele also discovered that the fat cook would prepare his best dishes in exchange for performances of his favorite song, “Rose-Marie.” Motele dined in the kitchen, which was located in the basement of the Soldiers Club. He usually ate his lunch before playing in the afternoon and returned for his dinner after he was done every night.
One day, on his way back upstairs after lunch, Motele noticed that one of the storerooms across the dimly lit hallway from the kitchen had been left open. He peered into the darkness and discovered a large cellar filled with empty wine cases, herring barrels, and other discarded items that had clearly been forgotten.
On the wall opposite the doorway was a jagged crack, presumably the result of a nearby bomb explosion. Motele, who had heard numerous tales of sabotage from other members of Uncle Misha’s Jewish Group, stopped in his tracks. He realized that if he filled that crack with explosives he could blow up the Soldiers Club and kill all of the Germans inside. Every time he passed the open storeroom, his resolve became greater. He eventually shared his idea with Karol. Uncle Misha eagerly approved the plan and instructed his explosives expert Popov to work out the details with Motele.
The beginning of the autumn harvest season meant that peasants were traveling between Ovruch and the surrounding fields with increasing frequency. The German soldiers guarding the city had grown tired of searching their wagons and had become less meticulous in their inspections. This allowed Motele to leave the city in Karol’s wagon unnoticed under a cartful of straw sheaves for bundling wheat. The German guard who allowed Karol to pass over the bridge out of town never suspected that underneath the heap of straw twists was a Jewish boy who planned to blow up his comrades.
Motele rendezvoused with Popov three miles outside Ovruch. After discussing the thickness of the stone walls and how long the wick would need to be to give Motele ample time to escape, Popov calculated that it would take forty pounds of explosives to bring down the Soldiers Club.
Motele returned to Ovruch in Karol’s cart, then snuck out to the forest again a few days later. This time, Popov taught Motele how to construct a bomb and insert a detonator, a lesson that Motele had watched him give before. Popov gave Motele the explosives and sent him back to Ovruch with instructions to hide them at Karol’s house.
That evening, after finishing his dinner and saying good night to the cook, Motele crept into the storeroom. He hid his instrument inside an empty barrel and left the Soldiers Club with an empty violin
case. When he returned the next day, his case had a few pounds of explosives hidden inside. After his lunch, he snuck into the storeroom and swapped the explosives for his violin.
Motele repeated this process over the next several days, until he had successfully hidden all forty pounds of explosives in the cellar. Whenever he could, Motele would return to the storeroom to break off the stones that surrounded the crack in the wall and replace them with the deadly material. When he had packed all of the explosives into the wall, he inserted the capsule detonator and the long wick that Popov had given him. He hid everything behind a pile of garbage.
At the same time, Motele and Karol were working on an escape plan. Every day, they would visit the river that borders Ovruch, pretending to be fishing or swimming while actually looking for an area that would be shallow enough for Motele to cross during his getaway. On their way to and from the river, they would note the streets and gardens through which Motele would have to run on his flight out of town.
The only aspect of the plan that remained unresolved was when to detonate the bomb. The perfect opportunity finally presented itself when a division of the SS came through Ovruch on its way to try to salvage the increasingly hopeless situation on the Eastern Front. The success of partisan sabotage of the railroad had forced the SS division to abandon the train and instead travel eastward by road, stopping at Ovruch for the night.
At around three in the afternoon, their cars and motorcycles began to arrive at the Soldiers Club. The restaurant quickly filled with high-ranking SS officers in their formal attire. Motele’s violin and the piano accompaniment could barely be heard above the din of clanking dishes, clinking glasses, and loud laughter. Motele and the pianist were forbidden from taking any breaks as the guests got drunker and as the cigar smoke thickened. The intoxicated officers requested tangos and waltzes, occasionally insisting that the musicians play only “their song.” At one point, a red-faced German at one of the tables started screaming wildly, “Play ‘Volga, Volga,’” referring to the popular “Volga Song” from an operetta by Franz Léhar. Another officer stumbled around the restaurant hugging a bottle of cognac while tearfully singing, “My father does not know me, my mother does not love me, and I cannot die because I am still young.”
Violins of Hope Page 20