The End of Days (11 page)

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Authors: Helen Sendyk

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

BOOK: The End of Days
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Page 59
It was pitch dark when we reached Trzebinia, a small town somewhere between Chrzanow and Krakow. Under total blackout, the town seemed like a quiet graveyard, the houses like silent monuments. Dark images, like ghosts, were moving around in the night with blank faces.
Jacob's back was sore from the heavy rucksack. Nachcia, who generally suffered from headaches, was dizzy now. Blimcia was nauseous from her pregnancy and looked worried and tired. I was fighting hard to keep my eyes from closing.
"We will have to find a place to rest for the night," Blimcia said.
"Yes, we will look for a place," Jacob agreed, seeing that Blimcia was unable to continue.
There were hundreds of people, all looking for a place to rest overnight. We knew that no one in town would let us into their house or barn. All the public places we tried, schools, churches, synagogues, were already crowded to capacity. Jacob was not a pushy man. He dragged us around town until we found a small Jewish study hall where there were still some benches available. Jacob pulled the blanket out of his rucksack, spread it on a bench, and made Blimcia lie down. I cuddled next to Blimcia on the narrow bench, while Jacob covered us with the coats. Nachcia squeezed underneath the bench on the bare floor, just to be out of the way of passing people. Jacob slept in a sitting position, resting his head on the bundle.
As soon as the first rays of light broke through the darkened windows, the commotion started. People were gathering their bundles and leaving. Jacob folded the blanket into his backpack, and we marched out into the breaking dawn. Somewhat refreshed from the rest, we were able to keep up a steady pace and negotiate some distance before the sun became too warm for our tired bodies and heavy clothing. Before noon we took a break, going into the fields beside the road for a short rest and some food. Straining but determined, we continued on the asphalt road, passing wagons loaded to the top with bundles and children. People walked slowly, bodies aching, dragging their tired feet, changing heavy bundles from one hand to
 
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another. Some discarded possessions that became too heavy to carry. The road became littered with suitcases and bags. Coats and shoes that were too heavy and too warm were left behind; blankets and food containers were strewn around. Occasionally neighbors would pass each other on the road. There would be hurried greetings and inquiries about where is Rifka or Sala or so-and-so. Then the grim march would go on.
Suddenly the murmur of airplane engines was heard. In a wild scramble people tumbled down into the roadside ditches or fled into the fields trying to find shelter. We too ran down into the field, where we lay down under a lone tree. Covering our heads with our bare hands, we prayed. When the buzzing intensified, we looked up to see a German airplane. Huddling together, we awaited the impending disaster.
But the bombs never came. Instead, we saw five Polish planes in close pursuit of the enemy plane. A short battle ensued, and soon the German craft burst into a ball of flames, burning shreds falling like fiery torches to the ground. There was exhilaration and happy waving at the Polish planes, with some people applauding the Polish heroes who had just saved their lives. I was thrilled with this sight and was convinced that now the war was surely going to end, since it had just been won by the Polish air force. Enthusiastically, I asked Jacob if we could turn around and go home now.
"We are very close to Krakow," Jacob explained, "and we will have a good rest in my sister's house."
With renewed spirit in the wake of the air battle, we resumed our journey, and soon we were approaching the outskirts of Krakow. The crowds were thickening, the marchers slowing their pace. Eventually we realized that the columns were not moving at all. Bewildered, we found out that this was the end of the road. People were just piling up behind each other, for the gates to the city were closed. No one was allowed in.
"This is a dangerous area," Jacob told Blimcia. "We must get out of here. We are totally exposed to enemy bombardment. We will have to take the long way," he said decisively.
We turned and walked back into the fields, away from the
 
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crowds. Avoiding populated roads, we found our way into the city through narrow passages near small blacked-out houses.
Soon it was pitch dark, and Jacob became disoriented in this unfamiliar part of the city. The search for street signs and house numbers was tedious. It was way past midnight when we finally stood in front of the house marked Brzozowa 16. Up the dark staircase we climbed, shuffling along a long balcony. We knocked on the door. Sleepily, Jacob's sister, whose married name was Petzenbaum, embraced us and welcomed us all into her darkened house. She immediately busied herself, searching for blankets and arranging makeshift beds. Other relatives were already huddled together here; the house was full of people sleeping two to a bed or squeezed together on the floor. Jacob's sister, a sensible woman, said, "We will talk in the morning. Get your rest now."
In the morning we found out that the city was bursting with refugees. There was a lack of food, housing, and other facilities. The authorities feared an outbreak of disease. There were thousands more at the gates pleading for entry.
Things were not much better in the Petzenbaum apartment. For Jacob, the reunion with members of his family was emotional; for Blimcia, Nachcia, and me, these were just a lot of people crowding together for elusive safety. Krakow had its share of air raids, with people scrambling into shelters and the back yards of buildings. Jacob's nieces and nephews, the Petzenbaum children, were busily scavenging the city for food to feed all these unexpected guests. When darkness fell, people would congregate in the back yard to avoid staying in their hot, blacked-out apartments. Solemn discussions were taking place as to the course of the war.
It was way past midnight when we were awakened by voices calling, "Petzenbaum, Petzenbaum!"
Jacob sprang to his feet and ran out to the balcony. In the darkened yard he saw some images. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, he could distinguish five people, some carrying backpacks. They were coming towards him now, two older figures leaning on the arms of three younger men.
"Papa? Heshek? Vrumek?" Jacob called excitedly, running
 
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towards them down the long balcony, taking hold of Papa's arm.
"I am all right," Papa said. "Thank God we found you, for I would have perished."
Jacob was happy to see Papa, Heshek, Vrumek, Uncle Pinchas, and his son Chamek. He wanted to ask so many questions. Where was Mama, Goldzia, Aunt Esther, and the two Sholeks? Jacob's mind was feverishly working to figure out where to put them all. How was he going to tell his troubled sister that there were five more mouths to feed?
Papa looked around at all the people sleeping on the floor and sadly said, "Why did I listen to you, my sons? I left Mama and Goldzia. I should have had enough sense to know that this is not for me anymore. I am no youngster. I'm weak with exhaustion, and there is no room for us here."
Jacob made him lie down on his own spot, gently covering him with his blanket. Vrumek pulled out the blankets in his rucksack for Uncle Pinchas. Eventually they all found space to lie down, too tired to have regrets or complaints.
It wasn't until morning that we all hugged, kissed, and welcomed Papa and the others. We were anxious to know what had happened after we left Chrzanow.
Papa held me on his knee as he spoke. "The town started emptying," he told us. "The streets were abandoned. Whoever could walk had left. The panic was great. Rumors about the Germans taking away all males spread horror, and Aunt Esther came to the house pleading for me, Uncle Pinchas, and all the fellows to leave. I wasn't going to listen. I was not going to leave Mama and Goldzia alone. But Mama and Aunt Esther persisted. Finally, we came to a compromise. The two Sholeks, who are just boys, would remain. They would not be in danger and could be very helpful. Mama and Goldzia were to move to Aunt Esther's house, where they would be safer. Our Municipal Building was a prime target for bombardment. Mama's demands were relentless, so I gave in to her. We made it here in fifteen hours. There was no time to stop or rest. We had trouble finding this place."
Papa said he didn't see any possibility in staying when there
 
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was really no room. They must make arrangements to leave. Maybe they could go further east, away from the front.
Papa could not believe his ears when someone entered in the early afternoon to announce that the Germans were in Krakow.
"Are you absolutely sure?" he kept questioning the young man. "It can not be. You must have seen Polish soldiers." When the young man insisted that he heard them speak German, Papa went out into the street to be convinced. He could not conceive of the Germans taking the city of Krakow, the former capital and seat of the Polish kings, without a single shot being fired, without any resistance. Where was the Polish army? Were they fleeing like cowards? Where was Shlamek? Papa cringed at the sound of the German language coming from a group of soldiers in the street. He had no illusions now. They were Germans all right. He was confused and distressed. He regretted leaving his home, his wife, his child to undertake this treacherous journey to Krakow, only to find that the enemy had beat him there. Right then and there, he pledged to return home immediately.
All the refugees were similarly struck with chaos and confusion. The city was at a standstill. The stores were closed; people were afraid to go outside, not knowing what to expect of the occupying power. There was no public transportation whatsoever. Private cars or wagons were hard to find. But Papa did not rest, mobilizing even the Petzenbaums. Eventually a horse-drawn wagon was found to take us home. Ordinarily, of course, Papa never would have undertaken a trip like this on a Friday: he would never have risked desecrating the holy Sabbath.
Early Friday morning a man presented himself with his wagon in front of Brzozowa 16. We were all ready and waiting, having said our short, emotional good-byes. We eagerly piled into the wagon, and the horse broke into a trot. Papa sat up front, engaging the driver in conversation. Blimcia's nausea was aggravated by riding in the bouncing wagon. The impatient fellows would have liked to get off and help push the cart.
"Just a few more hours and we will be home again," Papa
 
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said. "We should be very grateful and thank God for bringing us this far. When we get home, we will all pronounce the
birkas hagomel
."
Distressed that he had not yet gotten a chance to recite his daily prayers, Papa was glad when the driver announced a stop for the horse to graze and get some rest.
Excitedly, Papa pointed to a building at the roadside and said, "Let's stop here. You can graze the horse while we go behind the building for a little while."
The man unharnessed the horse, letting it graze freely. Papa took out his
tallit
(prayer shawl) and
tefillin
(phylacteries) and said to the fellows, "This is perfect. Let's pray now, and we may still have time to eat something."
But the boys were tense. The building was actually a gigantic power transformer. If caught nearby, they could be accused of sabotage. The Germans were patrolling the roads. Who knew who else might be around? What made them most edgy was the sight of Papa wrapped in his
tallit
, swaying, absorbed in prayer. Behind the transformer, they were shielded from the road, but all around them were open fields. From a distance they could be spotted, identified as Jews.
"Papa," they pleaded, "we will pray when we get home. Let's not jeopardize our position here. Let's be inconspicuous. Let's get out of here, the sooner the better."
But Papa turned a deaf ear to his sons, and he and Uncle Pinchas continued their prayers.
The boys scattered in the field, strenuously keeping watch, alert to any movement in the area. Papa and Uncle Pinchas finally finished their prayers, just when the driver had harnessed the horse. Everybody climbed back into the wagon.
Soon we saw a man approaching through the fields. He was running, out of breath, his legs buckling under him. When he came near, we saw that his face was ashen. He fell upon the wagon, muttering something unintelligible, and fainted. We gave him some water and he came to. In a cracking, choked voice, gasping for breath, he managed to say, "
Yidn
, Jews, save yourselves, don't go there." Then he fainted again. We put him in the wagon, splashing water on his face. Once more

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