‘Get up you lazy swine,’ he said. ‘You’re keeping your friends from getting home. You’re wasting their time. But more importantly, you’re wasting mine.’
But it seemed that the man on the ground had hurt himself badly. I don’t know what was wrong with him, but he couldn’t get up. He kept trying. However, he would fall back holding his leg and ankle. Perhaps he’d twisted or sprained it. I had no way of knowing. His nose was dripping blood and it made me sick to look. The Nazi yelled again, ‘If you don’t get up, I will shoot you.’
The man was crying. With one hand I held the water glass and in the other, I twisted the corner of my skirt into a knot. Then, as I somehow knew he would, my father went to the man who lay on the ground and began to lift him.
‘Get away from him. You,’ the Nazi pointed at papa and my heart leapt in fear. But my father seemed deaf to the Nazi’s words. He continued to try and lift the man from the ground. ‘I said get back into the line.’ The Nazi pulled out a gun and pointed it at my precious father, my dear sweet and gentle papa. I bit my lip and tasted blood. Under my breath, I whispered, ‘Papa, please do as he asks.’ But I knew that my father would not listen to the Nazi. He served a higher master. He served God and no one else. I wanted to run to my father, but I was so young and afraid. My hands began trembling. I dropped the glass of water and the glass shattered all over the ground.
I didn’t realize that my Mama must have heard the commotion because she had come outside. She began running towards my papa. The Nazi seemed unnerved by his loss of control of the group. His face was scarlet with anger. My father was not listening to him. My mother was running through the street. Then before I knew what happened, I heard the first shot. My father fell, so softly that there was no sound. I gasped. I couldn’t breathe. ‘Papa . . . ‘ I whispered, shocked, not believing what I had just seen. ‘NO!’
But my mother did not whisper. She cried out with the pain of a wounded creature in the throes of the deepest darkest suffering a living being could witness. “Zindel . . . Zindel . . . ” She was weeping as she called his name. Mama was running as fast as she could towards Papa, but she never made it to my father’s lifeless body, which lay on the ground covering the man he had tried to help only minutes ago. The Nazi’s bullet caught her several steps before she got to him and she, like my father, crumbled to the ground like a rag doll, silent forever. Next, the Nazi turned the gun on the young man who my father had gone to help and shot him too.
‘Let this be a lesson to you swine. Don’t try to help each other. Just take care of your own needs and don’t try to be heroes or you’ll end up like your bearded friend here,’ he said, pointing to my father whose beard now reached up to heaven. ‘Get moving,’ the Nazi said. The group did as they were instructed.
Once the men had turned the corner, I ran to my parents. I let out whelping sobs when I saw all the blood that filled the dirty street. I don’t know how long I lay there on the ground, blood on my hands, in my hair, and all over my clothes. Still crying like a forlorn child, I gently and carefully replaced and straightened my mother’s shaytel, which had come off almost completely when she fell. I didn’t want her to suffer humiliation at losing her wig in public even though I was certain she was dead. Papa’s payas had come out from behind his ears. He always tucked his curly sideburns behind his ears. With hands of love, I tucked them back in for him and whispered ‘Papa.’ Such good people, my parents were. Such kind and loving people. Now they lay dead on an unfamiliar street, murdered in an unfamiliar city, and leaving me an orphan to stand on my own. From this day forward, I would be all alone. I was an unmarried Hassidic woman fending for herself in the Warsaw Ghetto.
If you were to ask me what happened next, I couldn’t tell you. I know only that somehow my parents’ bodies were removed from the street and somehow I ended up back in the apartment in the kitchen. Mrs. Greenberg made me a cup of tea. Her children, who were usually running around or fighting, were unusually quiet. Mr. Greenberg had not returned from work yet but Azriel and Seff were sitting at the table.
‘What happened?’ Mrs. Greenberg asked.
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. My throat was raw with crying.
‘It’s all right,’ Azriel said, touching my hand. ‘There is no need to talk about it.’
I quickly pulled my hand away. A man’s touch was forbidden to me unless he was my husband.
‘A Nazi guard shot Mama and Papa,’ I managed to say. ‘He shot another man too. I don’t know who the man was. I’ve never seen him before.’
‘Bastards,’ Seff said.
‘Why is this happening to us? Why?’ Mrs. Greenberg asked with her hands extended above her head as if she wanted God to answer her.
‘You want to know what I think?’ Azriel said, his voice angry but full of conviction. ‘I think it is to give our people the strength to build our own country, our own land. The Jews need a homeland.’
‘More Zionist crap,’ Mrs. Greenberg said. ‘We are cursed.’
‘We are the chosen people,’ I said, and a tear ran down my cheek as I added, ‘It is God’s will. We must accept . . .’
“You don’t believe that, Ruchel. I know you don’t. We can’t just sit around and accept this as God’s will as Jews have done throughout history. It is time for us to raise our fists and to fight back. We must unite. All of the sects that divide us must unite. If we are going to be strong then Jews must band together. Separating into little groups, like Orthodox and Hassidic, will never help us to defeat an enemy like the Nazis. I know you are Hassidic and you don’t believe this, but we Jews should be one people, Ruchel. One people! And if we are to survive as a people we must have our own country, our own land,’ Azriel said.
I was shaking. On this horrific and fateful day, my life had changed in a matter of minutes. It would never be the same again. I had grown up believing that it was a sin to question God, but I couldn’t help but question why my beloved Hashem had let this happen to my family, especially a man as good and kind and pious as my Papa or a woman with a generous and charitable heart like my Mama.
Mr. Greenberg came into the apartment and walked over to the table. His face was as pale as my mother’s china cups.
‘I heard there was a shooting here in the Ghetto today.’
‘Yes, we’ll talk when we are alone,’ Mrs. Greenberg said, giving her husband a warning look. I knew she didn’t want to rehash the whole thing while I was there. Perhaps she couldn’t bear to hear my sobbing anymore. ‘Let’s all go to bed and try to get some rest now.’
I walked to my little area behind the sheet that separated me from the rest of the room and lay on the cot I had shared with my mother only the night before. As I lay down, I felt something jingle in my pocket. I reached inside and found my parents’ wedding rings. Tears rushed to my eyes again. I held the precious rings in my palm. My mother and father had worn these. I had seen them on their fingers every day of my life, and I knew that they had given them to each other on the day they were married. Holding them tightly in my fist was as close as I would ever come to feeling their hands again. Now my Mama and Papa were gone from this earth forever.
As I lay in my bed with the rings clutched in my hand, I heard Mrs. Greenberg serve her husband his dinner and tell him in a whispered voice what had happened that day. I covered my ears trying to block out any sound. If my stomach had not been so empty I would have surely vomited.
I couldn’t sleep. It was hard for me to believe what had happened and I was trying to figure out what I was going to do in the future. My parents were everything to me and now with them gone I wasn’t sure how to go on. I remembered what Azriel had said about fighting back and about building a homeland for Jews. A place of our own. I know that this is something my father would never have approved of. He firmly believed that our people should never fight. Back in our other life when we lived in our little village, which seemed like a thousand years ago, I had once overheard my father talking to his students. He told th
em that our beloved Rebbe said it was not the Jews who must bring about the birth of a Jewish homeland. We must not fight wars. Instead, we must wait for the Messiah to deliver us. The Messiah, my papa said, will lead us to our blessed homeland. Yet, now, as I looked up at the dirty ceiling in this rat-infested apartment and felt the emptiness of the loss of my loved ones burning a hole deep in my soul, I was beginning to have doubts that my father and the Rebbe were right. This was the beginning of an important change in me. A change that was different and radically opposed to everything I had been told as a child.
The following day, I did something very bold. When Azriel returned from work, I asked him to take me to a Zionists’ meeting. At first, he was reluctant. He knew that the Hassidics were against the Zionist movement.
‘Why do you want to come?’ he asked skeptically.
‘Because I am starting to believe that maybe God wants us to fight back.’ I knew even as the words left my lips that if my father were alive he would have been angry with me. But I couldn’t help it. I needed something to keep me going. I needed a reason to go on living. The only thing that made me feel even the least bit of joy was the idea of a Jewish homeland.
‘Can I trust you?’ Azriel studied me for several long unbroken moments. I began to feel uncomfortable. Especially since no man had ever really looked at me. After all, in the Hassidic culture, such blatant looks from a man were forbidden.
‘Yes,’ I said as boldly as I could. ‘You can trust me.’
‘You will not go to the Judenrats and tell them anything that you hear at this meeting? You swear it?’
I nodded. ‘I do.’ And I meant it.
He must have seen something in my eyes that reassured him because he said, ‘Tomorrow night be ready at eight. I’ll take you.’
I nodded. We had a curfew in the ghetto but I knew that Azriel and Seff never paid any attention to it. Mrs. Greenberg said that they were like ghosts, they knew how to disappear into the shadows of night. I hoped they could help me disappear too because we would be returning to our apartment after curfew and if we were caught there was a hefty price to be paid. Still, I was so hurt, heartbroken, and angry that I was willing to take the risk. And besides, at this point in my life, I had nothing to lose.
Azriel and Seff led me to an apartment right across from Mirowski Square, which was several streets away from our apartment. I shivered as I followed them. So out of character for a frum Jewish girl to be going somewhere with two men alone. But there I was, in my long black skirt and high neck white blouse, walking as fast as I could to keep up with these two long-legged men.
My first thought when we entered the room was to run away as quickly as I could. But it was getting dark and I had never been out alone in the dark in the ghetto. I looked around me at the others and it was obvious that there was no one there like me. There were several women in skirts that showed their knees and even one woman wearing pants. It was the middle of summer and I was the only person with covered elbows in the room. No one seemed to care what anyone else was wearing. They were already huddled in groups, engaged in quiet but heated discussions amongst themselves. I heard occasional words like guns, weapons, hiding places, uprising. These strange and frightening terms were coming from the mouths of the people in the groups all around me. I turned and saw Azriel looking at me. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘Yes,’ my whispered voice cracked.
‘Maybe I should have told you more about what to expect before we got here.’
‘Who are these people, Azriel? Where are we? Is this a Zionist group?’
‘This is a group called the ZOB. They are a resistance group. You’re about to meet their leader.’
‘Resistance? There is a resistance group here in the ghetto?’
‘Oh yes. A very strong and determined one.’
I looked around me. There were a lot of people in this room but before I could say another word, a man stood up. He began speaking in a voice that was purposely hushed. Everyone immediately grew silent to listen.
‘For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mordechi. Like all of the rest of you, I am a Jew. I want to say first and foremost that I am very proud that our group is planning to rise up against the Nazis. I thank all of you for working to secure more guns from the Polish resistance. As you know, they too are planning an uprising of their own. Their fight against the Nazis should benefit us. We don’t yet have enough weapons. We must all do what we can to get our hands on as much weaponry and ammunition as possible. So if you can help in any way at all, we could use it.’
‘When do you think we will be ready to do this uprising?’ someone asked.
‘The plans are for the spring of next year. If all goes well, we should have enough of what we need by then,’ Mordechi said.
‘Spring is good. I would like to do it on Hitler’s birthday. I’d like to give him a birthday surprise he will never forget,’ someone else blurted out.
Guns? Weapons? Ammunition? A good Hassidic girl doesn’t have anything to do with such things I thought.
‘Anyway, I checked my Jewish calendar and Hitler’s birthday falls on Passover next year in 1943,” Mordechi said.
‘And so, so what?’ a woman called out from the back of the room. ‘Let the angel of death come and destroy the Nazis, huh?’
Another man said, ‘It won’t be some phantom who will kill our miserable oppressors. It will be us! Jews! Strong Jews who will bond together and wage war against our enemies, the bastards who have destroyed our lives and killed our friends and families.’
A muffled cheer rose from the crowd. I was nervous. Terrified.
‘If we should lose the fight, then what? Now, I know you aren’t dumb. So of course, you must all realize that we are bound to lose against such a powerful enemy,’ a woman in the front asked.
‘Then what? Then at least we took some of the bastards with us. Do you think that by sitting quietly we will be safe? What do you think those transports are all about? Those trains out there? The ones that the Judenrats and the Nazis are loading up with Jews every day? Nobody that leaves on one of those trains is ever heard from again. I have been working at a factory outside the ghetto. Because I am highly skilled I have an important position at the job, which has put me in contact with several individuals who have told me what is really happening to our people once they leave the ghetto on a transport. The people of whom I speak are reliable sources. They are Gentiles, but also friends of the Jews. I will not tell you who they are, but I believe in my heart they can be trusted and believed. They told me that those trains are headed for a place called Treblinka. Treblinka is a death camp where the Nazis are systematically murdering Jews. We have no choice but to fight. If we don’t fight we will all die. If we do fight, we will probably all die anyway, but at least we won’t go willingly. We will take some of those bastards with us,’ Mordechi said.
This was a lot for me to absorb. Murder? Innocent people being sent to their death. Was it possible? At that time, it was hard to believe that a country like Germany, known for its intelligent and cultured people, would engage in such a horrific act. And yet, had I not seen the cruelty of the Nazis with my own eyes. Did I not see my parents murdered? Little children killed? Old men beaten on the streets? Perhaps these Zionists were right. Perhaps it was time to open my eyes and see the truth.
After the meeting, Azriel walked beside me sheltering me from the light and guiding me back home. We walked in silence for several minutes. Then I asked him, ‘What about Hashem? Shouldn’t we wait for God to send the Messiah to save us?’ It was a last desperate attempt to justify what I had believed was the truth for my entire life.
‘God helps those who help themselves, Ruchel,’ Azriel said. Then he smiled at me warmly. ‘I know this is hard for you to grasp. But you are a smart woman. I have faith in you, that you’ll see our point here and understand that they have left us no other choice but to fight.’
I was quiet for several steps then I sto
pped walking and turned to look at him. I sucked in a deep breath. Breath is life, I thought and felt my chest expand. I wanted to cry. So much had been taken from me, from all of us in the Ghetto. And so this was the critical moment that I changed from being a good, frum Hassidic girl to a strong Zionist. I cleared my throat. Then I said, ‘I already see your point, and I agree with you. I want to be a part of this.’
He nodded.
That night I shivered in my bed, in spite of the relentless summer heat. I had made a crucial decision and I planned to follow through with it. I must admit, I was scared. But I was also very flattered that Azriel thought I was smart.
When Azriel returned from work the following day, he brought me several books.
‘Can you read?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, knowing how fortunate I was that my father had allowed me to learn to read. As I was looking at the books I swallowed hard, knowing that they were forbidden, as was any text that was not approved by the Hassidic Rebbe. And even though I had already decided that I was going to shed the past and start my life anew, I still felt a pang of guilt as I glanced at the forbidden books.
‘Here, take them. They are for you,’ Azriel said.
The Darkest Hour Page 5