I Shall Live (15 page)

At least she hadn't thrown us out; probably she would let us stay until nightfall. But we were worried about her husband, whom the Germans had appointed mayor of U
ś
ciług; to what extent was he cooperating with them?

In mid-morning Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska left the house. A few hours later she returned, went into the house, and came out to us carrying a bag full of food: potatoes, soup, bread, butter, and milk. This we had
not expected; what a wonderful woman! At least for the moment the pressure was off, and we enjoyed every bite. She came back to collect the dishes and warned us again to be very careful. Her husband and children must not see us, she said. Her children might say something to their friends, and her husband might not be willing to run the frightful risk of having Jews found on his property.

No wonder. In the afternoon a sound truck drove by, blaring out a warning: Anyone caught hiding Jews, or helping them in any way, would be summarily shot. If he or she had a family, they also would be killed. It took a very special person to run this kind of risk. Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska knew very well that she was endangering not only her own life, but also the lives of her son, daughter, and husband.

Those were wild times, savage, merciless. It meant nothing to the SS to take a life, Jewish or Gentile. The order was “Kill all Jews,” and anybody who stood in the way was eliminated as a matter of course. Nevertheless, Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska never hesitated. It was clear to us that she was prepared to do whatever was necessary to save us, regardless of the risk.

On our second day there we heard a woman's voice humming a little tune as she approached the Lipi
ń
skis' house. We recognized the voice as that of an elderly woman known for her anti-Semitism even before the arrival of the Germans. She was always very solemn; Felek and Sam, who knew her well, had never before heard her laugh or sing. “Can you hear her now?” Sam said. “Happy as a lark. She's delighted to see Jews being killed.”

Later that afternoon we suddenly heard the voices of men nearby. As they drew closer, we realized that they were Ukrainian police searching for Jews in the bushes nearby. Suddenly there was a commotion, and a female voice, pleading. Then we heard a shot, and a loud scream, a full-throated cry of terror. It was cut short by another shot. The voices of the Ukrainians grew louder, until we could hear
their every word. There were two of them, and they were directly beneath us.

One of the two poles of the ladder leading to the top of the haystack was longer than the other, and from our perch we could see the end of it. Suddenly it shook a little. My heart stopped. Then one of the voices said, “Oh, there's nobody here. Let's look in the stall.” We heard steps move away and the creak of a door. After a moment we heard them close the door of the stall and move off toward the house. We went limp with relief. But how much longer could we live with such tension?

Later, Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska came out to the haystack. She had seen the whole thing from her window. The Ukrainians had found two elderly Jewish sisters hiding in the bushes and shot them on the spot. Then they walked over to the haystack, and she saw one of them set his foot on the first rung of the ladder, about to climb it. “This is the end,” she thought. Her heart was beating so hard she was afraid of a heart attack. We could imagine her relief when she saw him change his mind. The two Ukrainians then came to the house and questioned her about the two Jewish women. She assured them that she hadn't known they were there. One of the policemen happened to know her husband, and they took her word for it. Later in the day laborers came and removed the bodies of the two women, loading them into a wagon.

We told Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska that our plan was to swim across the Bug to get to Hrubieszów and join the rest of our family. She had been born in U
ś
ciług and knew the area very well. She told us that there were heavy patrols along the river near U
ś
ciług, and that in any case the current there was too strong for us, especially Father, to swim across. Two or three miles downstream it would be easier to cross, but even there we would need help, she thought. Sam suggested that Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska contact his friend Mietka. Mietka was Polish and
had friends in Hrubieszów. The idea was for Mietka to use her contacts and arrange for Fred and Mother to send a guide to meet us at the river Bug and take us to Hrubieszów.

We told Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska it might be many days or even weeks before we received an answer; was she willing to let us stay that long? Was it possible for her to hide us for such a period of time without her family finding out? And what about the risk in getting involved with messengers? She shrugged: What else could we do?

Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska contacted Mietka, who in turn agreed to help. We waited. Twice and sometimes three times a day Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska would bring us food: meat, potatoes, borscht, bread, milk. As we sat on top of our haystack, we could hear people passing by in the street. Sometimes Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska's children played right beneath us. Occasionally friends would come to visit. No one ever suspected our presence. The only time we left the haystack was late at night, to relieve ourselves in the nearby bushes.

The days dragged on, and we had no idea whether the message would ever reach Fred or, if it did, whether he would be able to arrange for a guide. We weren't even sure what had happened by now to the Jews in Hrubieszów. Maybe they had had an action there too, and no one was left. But even if the Hrubieszów ghetto was still in existence and we did succeed in joining our family, sooner or later an action was certain to begin there. Everything was so hopeless.

I tried to steel myself for the moment of execution. It would be scary, but short. A moment of fear, that was all. A bullet in the brain, and it would all be over. Living in this world wasn't worth it anyway. Time and again I recited this to myself, and after a while I felt I had mastered the fear and was prepared to die. I wished that it would be over quickly, and that I would die with dignity. It wasn't all that easy, though. The next day the old stubborn will to live and
the terror of death would regain the upper hand and I had to start the rationalization all over again.

I was not religious in those days, but I tried praying. “Dear God, please save us. We haven't done anything wrong.” But I felt only contempt for myself, making such an appeal. “You phony, who are you trying to kid?” I stopped praying.

Day after day we waited for news from Hrubieszów. At last one day Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska came out to the haystack in great excitement. A messenger had come with a note, brief and unsigned, from Fred. At midnight on September 17 we were to wait for a guide to meet us at the crossing Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska had suggested. He would whistle as a signal, and we were to whistle back. He would take us to Hrubieszów.

What joy! They were still alive, and where there's life, there's hope. Frantic discussions ensued; how would we find the place in the middle of the night? Could we trust that the guide would really come, and if he did, that he would not betray us? Would we actually get to see Mother, Fred, and Hanka again? Our nerves were strung tight with anxious anticipation.

When the night of the rendezvous came, Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska told us how to get to the crossing, warning us to be very careful; SS patrols were still around. Then she said good-bye. We thanked her from our hearts, and she went back to the house. As we set off, tension seized us again; would we make it this time? Suddenly we saw Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska coming back from the house with a coat on and a shawl over her head. She was afraid we wouldn't find the meeting place alone, and had decided to take us there herself. She would lead the way, and we were to follow her at a distance.

We could scarcely believe her courage. This lady was ready to take us to the border in the middle of the night, with guards and patrols all over the place. “Are you quite sure you want to do this?”
we asked. “If anything goes wrong, you will be killed along with us.” “I'm sure,” she said. “Let's hurry, we mustn't be late.”

She struck out across the fields at a fast clip. We followed her for about an hour. There were no roads; we walked up hills, through woods, and across fields. We realized that we never would have made it without her; it was like following our guardian angel. As I walked I marveled at her incredible bravery and strength. What made her do it? How was it possible for the human race to produce such polar opposites—a Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska and the heartless woman who lifted her little daughter up so she could watch the Jews being marched to their death? To this day, more than forty years later, I can still see in my mind's eye Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska silhouette before us, leading us through the dark night. That this woman was willing to risk everything to save other human beings is still and will forever remain the greatest inspiration of my life.

Every town had a few Gentiles who were willing to hide Jews from the SS. They too were heroic, but in most cases their heroism was of a somewhat different order. When fellow human beings appealed to them, they didn't have the heart to turn them away; in some cases, they even offered to shelter their Jewish friends on their own initiative. But Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska went far beyond that. She didn't even know us very well, and to walk to that river with us in the dark of night in such times of lawlessness and terror was an act of courage only the very best of the human race could perform. She was truly of God—sent by him to inspire courage in us, to counterbalance the evil that seemed universal, to hold out the hope that somehow—in ways we shall never understand on this earth—there is a reason for our being here.

The river Bug appeared in the distance. As we approached it, Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska stopped and showed us the spot where we were to wait for the guide. A quick embrace, a few mumbled words of farewell,
and she was gone. It was a cloudy night. We sat down to wait for the whistle. Twelve o'clock came, and no one appeared. We started to worry; maybe it would be like with the Polish truck driver again, left in the lurch. For two hours we waited, and no one came. We were heartbroken. We didn't know what to do. How could Father get across the river without a rope to help him from the other side? And even if he did, once we were across we didn't know the way. With heavy hearts we decided we had no choice but to return to Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska. We knew she would help us once more.

So that was what we did. We got lost on the way back, and for a while we were wandering without knowing where we were, but luckily we encountered no patrols.

It was almost dawn before we got back to the Lipi
ń
ski yard. We climbed up the ladder, and there we were, back on the haystack. I dreaded the moment when Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska learned that she had risked so much and been so courageous for nothing. In the morning we heard the familiar voice calling softly,
“Panie”
(Mister), with a mixture of hope and fear. Hope that there would be no answer, fear that we might have come back, that her ordeal was not yet over. I leaned out over the edge. When she saw me, she just clasped her hands over her head, turned, and left without a word. But this great lady could not stay discouraged for long. In a little while she returned and told us not to despair. Something must have happened that couldn't be helped. “Let's wait and see.”

We waited. The intensity of the hunt was slackening, so we weren't quite as anxious as we had been our first few days there. We just had to be careful not to be seen by the children or by anyone else. Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska continued to feed us well. I've never understood how she managed to keep us there for so long without anyone, not even in her own family, knowing about it. God was with her, and with us.

Then one day, full of joy, she came with another message from Hrubieszów. There had been a misunderstanding—no further explanation. On the night of September 30 we were to return to the same spot. This time the guide would be waiting for us without fail.

Those last few days passed as if in a dream. Minutes dragged like hours. Our long stay on the haystack was taking its toll. We were edgy and irritable. We loved each other, but lying for so long in such close proximity, scarcely able to move, was beginning to fray our nerves. Only Father never expressed any annoyance; he was the most patient, the most forbearing of any of us.

September 30 came. Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska again insisted on taking us to the crossing, and this time, remembering how lost we had gotten on the way back, we made no protest. It was drizzling lightly. Mrs. Lipi
ń
ska led the way once again, and we followed. We saw no patrols. We arrived without incident at the river crossing and hugged her good-bye once more. She turned and went back as we sat down to wait.

At midnight we heard a whistle. I whistled back. It was very dark. On the other side of the river a silhouette of a man appeared. We went down to the riverbank. He waded in and pointed to the spot where he wanted us to get into the water. The Bug was not wide there, but the current was very swift. About twenty feet separated us from the man. He threw a rope and I swam out and grabbed the end of it. We started swimming, but it was difficult. Father was not a very good swimmer, and he was weak besides. He managed by holding on to us. In the middle of the river we lost the rope. The current carried us about fifty feet downstream before we got across, but we made it. We climbed up the bank on the Polish side.

The man who met us was a heavyset Polish peasant with shrewd little eyes. He led us to a horse and wagon loaded with hay. He had brought with him farmers' clothes for Felek and Sam, hats and
all. Father and I buried ourselves in the hay at the bottom of the wagon. The Pole, Sam, and Felek climbed onto the wagon, and off we went.