Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Historical, #History, #Holocaust, #test

The End of Days (14 page)

 
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household and becoming a homeless pauper. She ran out to the terrace, ready to jump to her death. Her husband and daughter restrained her, her little daughter bursting into wild screams. "Mama, Mama," she cried, "please don't leave me! Mama, you have to live for me, for Papa. Mama, please! Mama, I will die without you! Mama, don't leave me alone!"
The Germans flocked to the side of the house to watch Mrs. Korngold hanging over the railing of the terrace, trying to free herself from the grip of her husband and her child.
Sholek, alert to the opportunity, quickly grabbed a table and chairs and stuffed them into a storage shack just before Mrs. Korngold was restrained and the Germans came back. That was it. A table and four chairs were saved. Nachcia used the opportunity to smuggle out the basket of food that Mama had prepared.
Mama stood there in the house near Goldzia's bed, shocked and confused, contemplating Mrs. Korngold's suicide attempt. "Maybe Mrs. Korngold is right," she said. "What is there to live for? To be reduced to thieves stealing our own food and furniture?"
It was her children who packed and carried and grabbed whatever came to hand. Mama just stood there unable to function, looking down at her daughter, her helpless child, her Goldzia. Where was she to take her? Into the street? Yet she could not even consider Mrs. Korngold's option: she lacked the strength, the courage, and the time to go kill herself. She had Goldzia to worry about.
Before noon the Germans made their rounds to make sure that all the inhabitants were cleared out. "
Raus schnell!
" is all the former occupants heard now, as they lingered in the street, remembering a photo album they had left, or that they had nowhere to go.
The family was now scattered between Aunt Esther's and Grandmother Chaya's house. A futile search for a place to live began. Sholek, on the other hand, was absorbed in plans to salvage the table and chairs from the storage shack.
On the next Monday, Vrumek and Sholek ventured into the yard of 1331 Slowackiego Street. They tiptoed to the storage
 
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shack, loaded the chairs onto the table, went out through the ripped fence, and swiftly vanished into the Lebenfeld park. In the park the going was easy, for they were hidden by the bushes and trees. Eventually they had to come out into the street. They were just two houses away from the house of Kalman Klein, their prewar neighbor, where they intended to hide the furniture if they encountered a German patrol.
"
Wohin gehst Du denn Abraham, mil diesem Tisch?
" the German asked. Where are you going, Abraham, with this table? The blood clotted in the two brothers' veins, and a cold sweat dripped down their backs. Before they could mumble an explanation, they were led into the police station, table and all. The table was identified as an article missing from Blimcia's apartment. Vrumek and Sholek thought that this was the end for them, but miraculously the Germans were more interested in the table and chairs, which matched the rest of the furniture in the apartment, than in the two fellows. They were made to carry it back and got off cheaply this time, with only some lashes. Beaten and empty-handed, they returned to their scattered family.
Eventually a small one-bedroom apartment was found on Kadlubek Street. The house belonged to David Stapler, a cousin of Papa's. Symche Stapler's family now crowded into this tiny apartment, the children being sent away at night to sleep in relatives' houses. For two months we suffered in this uncomfortable little apartment we called home.
The Germans continued their searches and persecutions. The house on Slowackiego Street, number 1331, stood empty and abandoned. The Germans decided to then play a devilish trick on the Jews. They notified the Jewish community council that the original owners of the apartments were allowed to come back. At first there was apprehension and fear. This was the better part of town; surely the Germans would not let the Jews live there for long. But there was so little to lose. Even if we had to move again, Papa preferred living there even a short while to our present situation. We had no furniture to move back anyway. Our only possessions now were some chairs, a
 
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table, a bed for Goldzia donated by Aunt Esther, and some sacks of straw for the rest of the family to sleep on.
And so the family moved back to 1331 Slowackiego Street. Slowly, other neighbors began coming back too, for all were in the same crowded predicament and preferred the bare walls of their own apartments. There was some cheer in the reunion of old neighbors, but life did not return to normal. On the contrary, every day brought harsher decrees from the oppressor. Food got scarcer, searches continued, and more men were sent away to forced labor camps.
The long hard winter of 1940 had come to an end. With the coming of spring came fond memories of our previous existence. The days were longer, the trees in the Lebenfeld park found their green garb, and the shrubs and flowers smelled sweet. The sun was so much warmer, but its rays could not penetrate the tiny apartment where we were now all huddled together.
Before the war, we would rise with the first rays of the sun on a morning like this and go hiking into the woods with our cousins. We'd pick berries and mushrooms or play hide-and-seek in the old hollow trees. We might go to the river to wade and splash, taking along baskets of fresh fruit. But things had changed. There was no use getting up with the sun, for we were not allowed outside at curfew time. No one carried picnic baskets anymore, for there was nothing to put in them. What little food one could obtain outside a breadline had to be well hidden and well paid for.
Food shopping for the family was now mostly entrusted to Sholek and me. On Thursdays food was accumulated for the Sabbath, so that's when I ventured into the marketplace. Dressed in a light cotton peasant dress, my light brown hair gathered into two long braids, I tried to look as Polish as possible. Jews were not permitted to shop in the marketplace, where the merchants were local peasants. Ordinarily, I would remove the armband that identified me as a Jew, make my quick purchase, and vanish through an alleyway.
Today, however, I was not lucky. I had only succeeded in
 
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buying one miserable bunch of beets, which I slid deep into my cloth bag, pressing the bag close to my body to conceal its contents. Convinced that the bag was flat enough, I tried to squeeze through the stalls to make a quick getaway. Suddenly, I heard that bone-chilling "Sarah!" I continued walking, ignoring the shout. Having pretended not to be Jewish, I must not acknowledge that I was the one who was called. While trying to quickly disappear, I found my path blocked by a tall uniformed German. He pointed to my bag with his club, smiling sarcastically. In a shrill voice, he asked, "
Was hast Du denn da, Sarah?
" What do you have there, Sarah?
I felt that I was going to collapse upon jellied knees. My tongue stiffened in my mouth. "Nothing," I dared to say.
The German, his threatening rubber club in hand, made me open the bag. There were the incriminating beets. I wished I could become invisible under his stone-cold gaze. I twitched each time the club thumped into his open hand. The German, relishing my fear, took out a pad and pencil. "You know, Sarah, you are not allowed to shop here. You must be punished. What is your name, Sarah?" he demanded.
I was terrified. I knew that once a German records your name, you are in trouble. The Germans could then deport the whole family. But I had no time to contemplate.
"You will pay a fine of five marks," the German said while writing down my name.
Devastated, I handed the five marks over to the officer and ran as fast as I could. I was too scared to tell Mama what had happened, and besides, I did not want to worry her. I was worried enough myself. I could not sleep at night, feeling responsible for any fate that might befall my family. Every German action, every knock on the door, every crunch of German boots, sent shivers through my body. I suffered headaches, and my pillow was soaked with tears of anguish.
In May of 1940, curfew was set in the early evening, when it was still broad daylight. The tenants of 1331 Slowackiego Street would sit out in the garden; they were not allowed out the gate. They would talk about their situation, share the news of the day, and search for ways of easing their pain.
 
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There was talk about people getting away from the Germans, seeking refuge in the Russian-occupied zone. In our family Heshek and Vrumek decided to risk the move, walking forth into the darkness of the night with only some extra clothes in their backpacks. While reluctant to leave the womb of our family, the risks of staying were too great for young Jewish men. For Mama it was a traumatic experience to have her two sons vanish this way when she had not yet finished mourning the death of her oldest son, Shlamek. Two of her other sons, her pride and joy, would now be lost to the unknown. Even Papa had nothing to console her with, his once joyful spirit now broken.
Blimcia wanted her husband Jacob to join her brothers, for he was young too and could withstand the rigors of travel. If they could sneak through the border, there was hope for their safety. But Jacob would not listen to any of her pleas. "Blimcia, my dearest, how can you even conceive of my leaving you? I would perish with longing for you. We are man and wife. No force in the world will part us."
It was the nights that were safe for travel, when one could hide in the shadows of the forest. Joining a small group of refugees, Heshek and Vrumek marched through the forests, hiding out during daylight. Their heavy backpacks weighed them down, and they often lost their direction. Through battlefields and burnt-out villages they trotted, catching short naps, faithfully watching out for one another. Eventually they reached the border of Russian-occupied Poland. All day they lay low in the high wheat fields, observing the movements of troops. They noted the changing of guards, marking the time intervals. Finally, in the stillness of night, they made their move. Bent low to the ground, often crawling, they crossed over to the Russian side. At dawn they could make out the
rubashka
tunics worn by the Soviet soldiers, and they knew they were safe in the Russian zone. With exhilaration they hugged each other, hardly able to believe that they had really made it. They were free from the clutches of the Third Reich.
For hours they waited for the crowded train that brought them to Lvov. Now their task was survival in a strange city far
 
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from home and family. The two brothers, devoted to each other, swore to strive together to overcome the crises of war and to return safely to their family. Having lived together away from home before the war, even if in far better circumstances, prepared the brothers somewhat for this predicament. They rented a small room near the many other refugees who were crowding the city. The next most pressing issue was earning money. They had no legal documents and could not count on anyone hiring them. The alternative was to go into business. From Papa they had picked up a talent for trading. Into the marketplace they went, buying and selling all kinds of goods. They started with soap and sugar; then it was matches and kerosene lamps, which were much-sought-after products. Business was done out of the coat pocket and constantly on the lookout for approaching police. Since they were foreigners, refugees and illegals, they were vulnerable to arrest and deportation to the German side. Even in the freedom of the Russian-occupied zone people were assaulted and threatened. There were searches performed for illegal refugees, and here too life was stressful.
 
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Chapter 7
The resumption of our family's life in Blimcia's apartment on Slowackiego Street was short-lived. After a couple of months the Germans again showed up at the front door to announce our eviction. Once again we had no more than three hours to clear out. This time it went more quickly, for our possessions were now quite meager after the three previous expulsions. For Goldzia these evictions were torture. Her bones were deformed from inactivity, her muscles were soft, her back was bent to the cavity of her mattress. She had to be transferred into a series of strange beds and suffocating rooms. Every expulsion, every German search, every new order or decree made her cognizant of her unique helplessness. We all felt Goldzia's terror, but we knew that there was no way to help her or

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