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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
Minsk
Minsk, the capital of Belo-Russia, is an old provincial city of wooden structures, narrow streets, sprinkled with modern buildings. Immediately to the west is Poland, with its forests; to the east swamps; to the north Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, and to the south the vast plains of the Ukraine.
As a result of an edict by Catherine the Great, Jews were forbidden to dwell in the cities of great Russia, and were confined to a narrow pass from the Baltic to the Black Sea, in poverty and constant threat of pogroms … the Pale … a gigantic ghetto. Notwithstanding, great minds, poets, writers, musicians, scientists and freedom fighters were born there, the Bolshevik victory greatly improving their lot.
Hence, two decades later, an event of great historic significance emerged. Ribbentrop and Molotov, protagonists of Hitler and Stalin, signed a pact of non-aggression. And the masses were lulled into a false sense of security.
An exchange of postal mail was established. Once a month one was allowed to send home a parcel of food in the amount of 10 kilograms, and one might add it took Jacob almost that long to arrange it. In return he received from Zysyl a photo, a handmade sweater, a jacket and shirts, a family snapshot, the Star of David, "Jude," inscribed in the center, affecting him deeply.
Time was overdue to leave Poland, but few if any left, and the cause in great part was the returnees from Russia, these soft-bellied, hard-headed young men and women thus unwittingly becoming the best propaganda for the insidious Nazis.
One balmy Monday morning, Jacob and his schoolmate Bolek approached an old church that had been converted into a school.
Toward the end of the session, something unusual took place. All exits were cordoned off, young people clustered together, among them Avrum, Srulik’s twin brother, squatting in a corner, his eyes dull, apathetic.
Jacob rushed over, inquiring the reason for his arrest, angry glances of the militia following every move … soon to have the answer. The brothers had left Warsaw together but somehow had become separated. Alone, influenced by the latest epidemic, Avrum had decided to return home.
"Avrum! Avrum! Don’t do it!" Jacob implored. "I know how you feel, I do! I am homesick too. I miss my family more than you think. But my return would not help anybody. It would only aggravate the situation, and so would yours. Please, Avrum, stay here! My principal is a big "Shishka," he’ll vouch for you. Do stay! Over there is nothing but humiliation, degradation, hatred, and death."
"No! No!" he cried. "My mind is made up. I want to go home, be with my family whatever the consequences."
Minutes later Avrum was gone. The powerful N.K.V.D. took him away in chains.
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