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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
Warsaw is invaded
Survival is a phenomenon, an inherent instinct, a force encompassing mankind, for that matter all earthly creatures. That must be love, love of life.
To be young is like spring, when nature awakens from hibernation, rays of the rising sun, the dew-covered fields, small rills sneaking into the wide, swollen rivers, trees in blossom, flowers in bloom.
The full moon, a myriad of stars inviting, luring lovers into their arms, hot embraces, muted sighs. Only the eyes say how beautiful everything is, that life is worth living.
Even he who had loved and suffered is the lucky one, for though it is long past, memories linger.
Marysia, her gray eyes, snow-white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, fingers entwined in Jacob’s trembling with desire. Drinking from the cup of love, in fear that it would not last. Europe was in disarray, German Jews becoming pariahs, having the status of "persona non grata."
No one was spared, not even the converted, their belongings confiscated, left only with the clothes on their backs, and the six-cornered patch, the Star of David.
They escaped to Poland, seeking help from their bearded brothers in long black coats – their last resort.
Then, at the end of the summer of 1939, all ceased, cutting life and limb, destroying everything in its path.
It happened on a Friday. Jacob’s mother was busy in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up over her elbows, the big steaming pot, hand-made noodles ready to be cooked, and the chicken cooling off. The challas on the soft cloth, the apple strudel in the pan still hot, and the cookies waiting.
She was almost finished with her work; in a little while the long, arduous hours would end.
At sundown the store would be closed, all work would cease. Queen Sabbath was around the corner, the sweet bride would be welcomed, greeted in every Jewish household.
That Friday, the First of September, 1939, was one to be engraved in the memory of mankind, especially for European Jewry, when the German armies crossed the border, smashing everything in their path, leaving behind death and destruction.
Their panzer divisions rolled over lush fields, through rich orchards, meeting little resistance.
The Polish armies, proud gallant cavalrymen in sparkling uniforms, shiny high boots, ran for their very lives, tailing their commander-in-chief, Marshal Smigly-Rydz.
Only one man, the mayor of Warsaw, Mr. Starzynski, stayed behind, calling on the citizenry to resist the invaders, defend their beloved city.
The regiment of the capital, encamped on the outskirts of the hastily constructed barricades, waited in ditches and the echo of the enemy’s artillery put fear into the hearts of its inhabitants.
On the third day of the month, Great Britain declared war against Germany, warning the Fuhrer of the consequences. Emboldened, Jacob and his friends, joined by others, marched to the foreign ministry, the minister, Mr. Beck, promising a swift victory.
Nevertheless, the conquering armies marched north, south and west toward the capital, gathering the Jews in temples and synagogues, burning them alive.
The city swelled overnight, thousands of people with their meager belongings seeking shelter filling the streets. Stores closed, shelves emptied in a hurry, prices for daily necessities rising sky high.
On the second day of Rosh Hashana, the little shtibel was hit by a cannon, the shell entering one wall and leaving another, forming two huge gaps. By the end of the third week, the cannonade had subsided, the Germans altering their tactics. Instead of artillery and tanks, they decided to take the city by air.
It was no secret, Poland’s air force was no match against the Messerschmitts and silvery Heinkels.
Then, on the last Friday of that fateful month, Warsaw, the lively, pulsating city, the darling of all who knew her, met with sudden death, a horrible end.
At the crack of dawn, the terror began, the uneasy sleep shattered by the oncoming planes. At first a few, followed by more, tossing incendiary bombs.
Jacob’s mother filled pots with water, placed in all corners, bundles of clothes ready for any emergency, when all hell broke loose. Hundreds of unchallenged planes, like swarms of big bees, buzzing, dominated the skies, and if a machine gun dared to shoot at one, it was immediately destroyed, and with it the entire neighborhood.
The children were huddled in a corner of the house, but not Jacob, he would rather be out in the open.
Warsaw was burning, billows of smoke blackened the sun; tongues of fire maddeningly embracing buildings, turning entire blocks into an inferno.
There was a whistle, a bone-shattering whistle, when a bomb, a big one, headed in Jacob’s direction – suspended in time for the longest seconds. One of his neighbors crossed himself; Jacob instinctively murmured the "Shma."
The explosion was thunderous, deafening, the air filled with dust and smoke. Luckily, not harmed, Jacob found himself at the far corner of the arched gate, no blood, no injuries, just his cap was missing, then ran into the house, but saw nothing, only total darkness, when his calling brought his family out of hiding, scared but unhurt.
Laibl and Jacob went outside to examine the damage; what they saw was frightening. The bomb had exploded a dozen meters from the store between the tracks of the tram forming a huge crater, the rails turned upward. The corner house across the street was split in half, all gone, the other half dangerously leaning forward.
Jacob’s house was intact, only the door of the store, one of the windows laying nearby, parts of watches and tools scattered all over the place.
But for the immediate neighborhood the destruction was complete, apartments flattened, great structures smoldering, devoured by fire, turned into skeletons, window frames, like hollow eyes, dead.
Life stopped. The city ceased to function. Electricity, water, transportation were cut off completely, its most vital parts hemorrhaging. Bricks, mortar, huge holes and mounds of dirt making the streets impassable.
A center of culture and beauty, a magnificent testimony to long years of creation was summarily eradicated, totally destroyed.
Toward afternoon the bombing subsided, and those who dared to go outside were shocked by the city’s transformation.
People searched for their missing kin, the grim task of collecting the wounded and the dead.
Bearded men with wide curls and tzitzis, women, crosses glistening, lay close by in the fading sun. Children, their faces a tinge of deadly gray, little hands at their sides, other s folded, eyes piercing through the thick, heavy air.
In eternal peace members of the human race divided in life were united in death.
Only death brought them together, with it closing the ranks, the rich, poor, hatred, and bigotry.
But for the living the fight for survival continued. The hungry cut chunks of dead horses, hurrying home, returning, finishing them off, leaving the bones for stray dogs.
The railroads unguarded, men, bags in one hand, and in the other blunt tools, pried open freight cars, destroying what could not be carried away. A mob on the run, hoarding food, anything of value.
Laibl, Mayer and Jacob were among the looters, taking salt, kerosene, nails. Everyone was busy, even their mother bartered watches for provisions, stashing them away.
People like frightened animals buried their supplies, the extras for the future – and the future did not look bright.
At nightfall, a total darkness had enveloped the city, a heavy blanket covering the dead.
Warsaw, like a fallen giant, lay still, the great city turned into a huge cemetery, occasionally disturbed by a crumbling wall, muted moans from underneath.
The next day the Germans entered the city. Tanks roared from miles away, bulldozers cleared roads for the parading conquerors.
After the long procession they continued with their occupation, rigorously imposing harsh rules.
Suddenly there was a surge of spectators wearing crosses, holy medallions of all sizes, shapes and color – a depicted advertisement of one’s faith.
Soldiers with fixed bayonets dragged men, young and old, to clean up the mess. Others patrolled the streets, watching the bread lines.
Sensing danger, Jacob’s mother ignored the queues, baking tiny rolls, using the water sparingly, but with a family of that size it did not last long.
The next day, Jacob and Mayer, each with a bucket in hand, went for water, challenging mountains of dirt, huge craters. They crossed the Towarowa street, the viaduct over a submerged railroad, eyeing the filters of the city’s water supply.
At the crossroad an officer with a rod in hand, like a musical conductor, regulated traffic, scores of people with their empty pails waiting for a sign to go, caps pulled down over their heads, when the officer called Jacob.
"Sie! Kommen Sie hier," he said in German, smiling.
"Sind Sie a Jude?" he asked.
For a moment Jacob did not answer, but just stared at this taller than average man in a meticulously fitting tunic, a black swastika band on his left arm.
"Ja, Ich bin a Jude."
Immediately the officer’s smile vanished, and he ordered Jacob to join a group of Jews. Dr. Jekyll transformed into Mr. Hyde.
Jacob was headed for trouble, something evil was brewing. Then again, he was not that anxious to find out. Thus, as soon as the officer turned, he sneaked away, got lost in the crowd, and joined Mayer at the water line, and the soldiers, thanks to his knowledge of German, were accommodating.
On their return home they took the Jerusalem Allee, not daring to cross the same bridge where they witnessed an incident, an extraordinary occurrence.
At the intersection a line formed, a half-truck loaded with bread, a middle-aged officer distributed one loaf to a person, two armed soldiers keeping order.
A heavily endowed woman with a huge cross extending over her ample bosom approached one of the guards, whispered in his ear, then retreated to her place in line.
The next moment, the "Kraut" grabbed the arm of a tall, bespectacled Jew, pulled him out of the line, and with the butt of his rifle hit him over the head.
Instantly blood started streaming down his face, his trim gray beard, and clothes – the woman grinning.
But the officer who had witnessed the incident ordered the soldier to bring the old man over. He dressed his wound, and handed him not one but two loaves of bread.
The transformation in that woman was quite noticeable, the grinning gave way to bewilderment, angry disappointment. But for Jacob her shameful behavior, her utter hostility, resulted in nightmares.
"What took you so long?" asked Jacob’s mother, taking whatever water was left. "I was worried. I had a terrible feeling that the Germans had taken you away."
"Almost," replied Mayer, complimenting Jacob on his daring escape.
"Thank God you are home," Mother signed with relief, rewarding them with a warm roll and tea.
Days went from bad to worse. Men were grabbed, jostled into trucks to disappear for many hours. Officers with loudspeakers selecting, mostly Jews. Choosing was easy, help eagerly forthcoming, and if there was any doubt they did not mind stripping them naked to make sure.
Yet a great many Jews did not anticipate the civilized Germans as such a formidable enemy. Laibl and Jacob had to find out the hard way, and that was when in one of the multiple raids they were lucky to escape the Nazis.
Drunk with victory, the Germans were having fun. Many with clippers worked over elderly Jews, cutting away one side of their beards, half of their moustaches, the middle of their head, leaving the scalp exposed and bleeding, adroitly outdoing one another, taking movies, and the curious amazed, others amused, shared in the sadistic spectacles.
But for Jewish children and grandchildren, witnessing the gross depravity, the immorality, was humiliating, heartbreaking.
Refugees with their pitiful possessions flooded the city, related stories, one more horrible than the other.
A man from Radom, tears in his eyes, recalled an incident of Jews forced to dance in the local river, among them his father, who refused to obey.
That was open defiance. No one could refuse the order of a Nazi, especially a Jew, and therefore he must be punished. Moments later a brute grabbed him by the back of his coat, dipped him in the icy water, in and out, playing with him like a toy. His father choked, coughed, wheezed, gasping for air until he drowned.
The onlookers stopped laughing, but not the German.
"Why, God almighty," the young boy cried. "Why do they do this to us? Why do they hate us? WHY?"
And there was a refugee from Chelm who related a most ugly incident, shocking in scope and deed.
Infants taken from their mothers were thrown into bags, tossed like balls. When their cries did not subside, they were silenced by smashing their tender little skulls on the nearest brick wall.
One of the dead tots was the refugee’s beautiful 10-month-old niece, cradled by his insane stricken sister.
Numb, dazed, Jacob wondered who is his worse enemy, the
"Cross or the Swastika"
The influx of refugees continued unabated – and so did the tales of terror.
A fellow from Skarshev recounted an incident of his grandfather, the most venerable Jew of the community, known for his piety – the "Mohel," dragged into the marketplace for a performance of depravity and debasement.
Stripped naked, his long white beard partly concealing his shriveled body – feet apart, his hands tightly held by volunteers, and there a forlorn baby lamb, wobbling on its tiny legs approaching.
Suddenly the animal gripped his penis, pulling, sucking fiercely, but instead of milk it was getting blood.
The bloodshot SS man turned to his subordinates, with his forefinger pointing at the emaciated old man, and said: "This, Meine Herren, is a ‘Mohel.’ For many years he cut little penises of newborn ‘Juden,’ and sucked its blood. It is an ancient custom of theirs, still practiced today. They call it ‘Metzyitza.’ So, let him know how it feels when it’s done to him."
Unrecalcitrant, the old man, his fiery eyes piercing through his tormentor, uttered "Shma Israel, Adonai Elohanu, Adonai Echod" and fell to the ground, dead.
Among the spectators was a tall, lean, elderly peasant in a coarse tunic, a heavy rope around his rigid body, one hand at his side, the other clasping his chest.
When it was over, he slowly staggered homeward. The next morning he was dead. A neighbor cut down the rope he had hung himself with.
The condition deteriorated with each day, nonetheless the city strived to get back on its feet.
One morning, a sinister looking soldier came into the store, and bought a watchband. To get rid of him, Jacob offered it free, but like an animal, his bloodshot eyes afire, he threw a coin at him, shouting "Sie, verfluchte Juden, Wir werden Euch Alle dershlagen," and left, slamming the door.
Hours later another soldier entered the store. At the sight of Esther’l he went over and took her in his arms.
A deadly hush fell over the place. Presently, with a choking voice he said, "I have a grandchild, a little darling like her," and with a kiss on her forehead he left.
Gloom, fear was the rule of the day, nevertheless Jacob’s family was intact, his father in the background – Laibl in charge. Only Zaide was missing, he returned to his younger widowed daughter who lived on the Nowiniarska street.
Despite his mother’s ingenuity, the food diminished, but not the appetite, when out of the blue she brought home a huge turkey. "Tonight we are going to have meat," she exclaimed, placing the candlesticks and candles on the white tablecloth.
Everyone was excited but Moishe. "What are we going to use for bread?" he asked. "Meat without bread is unheard of!"
Engrossed, how to solve the problem – when at the door stood Zysyl, a tremendous home-baked bread in her hands.
Delighted with her presence, all ignored to ask her how she had managed the trip – but Malkele.
That evening as in the olden days they celebrated the Sabbath, unaware that this would be their final gathering.
Early the next morning, six officers of the SS, each with a pistol in his hand, muscled themselves into the house.
"What are you doing here?" asked Zysyl defiantly. "What are you looking for?"
"Waffen! Waffen!" they shouted. "You, Juden have Waffen, hand them over! Schnell!"
Laibl opened one drawer, then another, exposing broken watches, tools of the trade, leftovers from the bombardment, saying boldly, "Here is the Waffen." They made him open the collapsible Singer machine, looking everywhere, even under the mattresses.
At last, one of them asked the obvious question: Where are the jewelry, diamond and watch stores located?"
Opening the front door, he directed them to the Graniczna street, the jewelry and diamond center – buried proprietors and their wealth.
Unsuccessful in their effort, they left, Jacob realizing that only a couple of days hence Laibl and he had buried two valises with weapons those murderers were looking for.
Zysyl left two days later. She took a good look at them and was gone.
A dream
I have a dream, awakening in a cold sweat, repeating, each time more frightening than before.
I am in a deep hole surrounded by snakes, thousands upon thousands, hissing, rattling. A reddish asp on top of a viper, nearby two black cobras, one across the other, their ends bent in opposite directions, resembling a crooked cross, fangs dripping poison. Rattlesnakes closing in, retreat, ready to attack.
Trapped in that slimy snake pit, splinters of rock like knives cut my hands, in distress, anxious to leave that Godforsaken hole. In my arms Esther’l, sobbing, David’l holding onto Father’s tallis, his white beard dishevelled, Mother, her eyes toward heaven.
Up there are my neighbors, friends. They know I am bleeding, why don’t they help? Shouting, please hurry, time is running out, but no one hears me.
Man, in total disregard of others, its iniquity like a plague encircles the earth destroying everything in its path, in their complacency sheer stupidity, like lemmings hurrying toward their own inevitable destruction. There is so much ambiguity, hatred. The preaching of brotherly love, a sham.
There is no escape. I am doomed. So are my brothers and sisters, my entire family.
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