The End of Days (12 page)

Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

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

BOOK: The End of Days
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he came to; with haunted eyes, he looked around. Urgently, he repeated his warning, ''Jews, don't go there."
With Papa's prompting, the man recounted the horror he had just experienced. He was on his way home to Chrzanow, just as we were, when the Germans took him off his wagon. They brought him to a barn. There were other Jews already there, all seated on the ground. With no explanation whatsoever and no accusation of any sort, the Germans began shooting them. They were shot one at a time, so that the others might watch. Only two words accompanied each bullet: "Jewish swine." Somehow the man had managed to fall to the ground without being hit. The bullet just missed him. He made believe he was dead and crawled out of the barn when the soldiers had left. He began running, too petrified to look back.
He urged us not to continue, to turn back: there were Gerroans on this road.
For a short while, we just sat there. Papa and Uncle Pinchas tried to evaluate the situation. They were bewildered and could not decide which way to turn. Here we were on the way home, where Mama needed us. Should we turn back? To where? To what? To the Petzenbaums? We could hardly wait to leavehow could we go back?
Papa looked around. There was Blimcia, so weary, her beautiful face twisted in discomfort. Papa looked at me. My eyes filled with fear; I was afraid to ask questions, but I sensed the danger. Jacob, Heshek, and Vrumek were edgy. As young Jewish males, they were primary targets for the Germans.
"I have faith in our God," Papa pronounced. "We will not turn back. We will go forward, and God will protect us." Jacob, Heshek, and Vrumek were not so sure. They decided not to stay on the wagon. They took to the fields, taking Uncle Pinchas and Chamek with them.
The road went through the town of Trzebinia. The wagon had to pass the town. It was decided that the younger men would march through the fields around the town, avoiding the main thoroughfare. They would come out onto the road again on the other side of the town.
The wagon continued on the main road. Blimcia made Papa
 
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slide down into the wagon, where he was hidden from view. Blimcia and Nachcia pulled big kerchiefs over their heads, peasant-style, lowering their eyes and hiding their faces. I closed my eyes and made believe I was asleep. In reality, I was too scared to look.
The wagon rolled through town. German soldiers were all over. The road was blocked by military vehicles, cars, wagons, carriages, and people. Slowly, we proceeded through town. No one stopped us. We saw a group of men sitting on the ground in the center of town. The sun was hot and the men, who appeared to be Jewish, were distressed. We glanced at them in fear. The Germans were too busy with these men to pay any attention to the three peasant women and the old driver. After a long while, we were out of town. The road was clear now. On the horizon we noticed the silhouettes of several men walking towards the road. These were our men. Relieved, they climbed back into the wagon. The sun was setting, and the horse picked up its pace. Soon we would be home.
This was the first black Saturday in Chrzanow, the first since the Germans marched into Poland. Twenty-five Jewish families in Chrzanow were notified to come to Trzebinia to bury their fathers and sons.
Our reunion with Mama was gloomy. Even though we felt fortunate to be home again, there was sorrow and fear in our hearts. We learned from Mama what happened after we had left Chrzanow. When Shlamek arrived at his unit, it was immediately shipped to the front. Before the soldiers even dug in, they were pulling back. Shlamek had a unit of soldiers who were his responsibility. Their retreat took them through his hometown. It was pitch dark when they reached Chrzanow. Houses and streets were indistinguishable. The men were exhausted. Shlamek settled them in the large marketplace, instructing them to stay put until he returned. Running through the dark but familiar streets, past the church and the school, he went home to see his family. How strange the buildings looked now, all empty and abandoned. Even the schoolyard, where he had spent his youth playing ball, was unrecognizable. The Municipal Building, where he had grown up, now appeared so
 
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strange and foreboding. The gates were pulled down over the storefront; there was no sound or movement anywhere in the house. He checked all the doors and entrances. Shocked, he came to the conclusion that the house was indeed empty. There was not a living soul in it.
He stood there for a while, bewildered and frightened. "Where could they all be?" he asked himself astonished. Suddenly, he felt completely exhausted; he did not know what to do next.
Sadly, he walked away, going back down Mickiewicza Street to the marketplace, where the soldiers were waiting. He saw them sprawled on the cobblestones, but he did not stop. His legs carried him instinctively down Koscielecka Street to Aunt Esther's house. His eyes had gotten accustomed to the darkness outside, but he was not prepared for the internal blackness. He felt his way up the steps and lightly knocked on the door. Aunt Esther's house was a second home to all of us, so Shlamek knew exactly where her door was. Attentively he listened for any sound from within. Aunt Esther opened her door, then burst into tears. She pulled him inside, screaming, "Shlamek! It is Shlamek!" In a second everyone surrounded him. He was overwhelmed by the intense emotional outburst of his family.
There was Mama kissing his face, Aunt Esther embracing him, Hania and Gucia, our two cousins, clinging to him, and the two Sholeks pulling and tugging at him.
He wanted to ask questions but was met by their own queries: "Where are you coming from?" "Where are you headed?" "What is happening with the war?" ''Are the Poles retreating?" "Is there going to be much more fighting?" "Will there be fighting here in Chrzanow?" "Where will the front be?" "Where are the Germans now?" "How long can you stay?" "Are you tired?" "Are you hungry?"
They told him how much they all worried about him, how they missed him, how they prayed for his safety and welfare. There was joy in seeing him, but it was a happiness mixed with sadness and anxiety. There was dreadful, tormenting worry, for they knew he was leaving soon.
 
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He told them all he knew. He told them that the Germans were advancing. He voiced his disappointment that the Polish army was retreating in defeat. He was still hopeful for an eventual victory. He was certain that the army would regroup and put up a stiff resistance. In fact, he thought that right there in Chrzanow might be the decisive battle that would determine the destiny of the war. He was glad that Mama and Goldzia were there at Aunt Esther's. He instructed the two Sholeks to fill sand bags and put them up against the basement windows, so they could use the basement as a shelter.
There was crying when he told them that he must leave. He explained that he had a regiment of soldiers waiting for him in the marketplace and that he was not supposed to be there in the first place. He could not resist going through his hometown without stopping off at home, but now he really must go.
Aunt Esther hurriedly collected some foodstuffs for Shlamek to take along. Mama, beside herself, just wrung her hands in despair. Only Grandma Chaya, always ignored as a foolish old lady, now had words of simple wisdom for her grandson.
In a simple plea, she told him in plain Yiddish, "Shlamek, do not go back. Throw away the uniform and stay here. Put on your civilian clothes and stay. Without this uniform you are no longer an officer in the Polish army. You are nobody. Hide, Shlamek, and before you know it, the war will be over. The Germans will march in, and you will be a civilian like the rest of us. There will be chaos. No one will miss you when the Polish army falls apart."
"My sweet old Grandma," Shlamek said, speaking distinctly as if to a child, "this is not a game. If they catch me, I will be executed for desertion. It is wartime. I would be as good as dead if I stayed here. I cannot do that."
Mama and Aunt Esther desperately grasped at Grandma's idea. "Please, Shlamek, listen to us," they begged. "Stay here. We will hide you well. Can't you see the situation is not good? It will not last long. When the Germans come, you will be safer as a civilian. You are young, Shlamek, and know nothing about war. Please listen to us older folks. Don't be an idealist.
 
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Save yourself. They will not notice you missing. They are too busy retreating." They could see how torn apart Shlamek was when he saw Mama's suffering face and Aunt Esther's anxiety and had absorbed Grandma's common sense. They could see that he wanted to stay, but had to leave. It was all so brutal. Tearfully, they all embraced Shlamek and clung to him for one last minute. They somberly kissed him good-bye, sadly watching him disappear.
On Monday, September 4, 1939, at five
A.M.
, Shlamek and his army unit retreated from Chrzanow. That same day at noon the first contingent of German soldiers marched into Chrzanow. Without firing one shot, the Germans marched through Silesia, leaving the Polish population in chaos.
Except for Shlamek, we were all back home again. We were apprehensive about the future. The Germans' venom was immediately felt. The occupation began with the abduction of Jews in the streets of our town. People were randomly arrested and others forced to perform hard labor for the oppressor. The Germans were not yet skilled in differentiating Jews from Poles; they would grab whoever was at hand. But soon they learned to enlist the eager cooperation offered by the local population. The Jew-hatred that simmered in the Chrzanow population surfaced. They willingly helped the Germans identify and persecute the Jews. From the first day of occupation until the expulsion of the last Jew from Chrzanow, the Polish people presented the same threat to the Jews as the Germans did.
In the predawn hours, when Jews were on their way to synagogue, they'd be accosted and sent to dig trenches, clean the streets, and perform other kinds of labor.
Life became abnormal and uncertain, but life went on. The store was open, and even though there were no daily shipments of fresh fruit from Katowice and no Polish Chrabinas to patronize it, people still had to eat. Papa found other sources and was now selling more vegetables, along with staple groceries or whatever he could find.
One sunny morning bright and early a fat German marched
 
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into the store. He grabbed Papa by his long distinguished-looking beard and asked, "Abraham, what is your name?" The Germans called all Jewish males Abraham and all Jewish women Sarah.
"Stapler," Papa answered shakily.
"I like you, Stapler," the German said. "My name is Schindler, Commandant Schindler. Remember that. I would like you to pack up some of these chocolates for me."
Papa understood the hint. The beard had to go, and Schindler could be bribed.
Papa hadn't been going out into the street for a while; even in the store he was extremely on his guard. Whenever he noticed a German approaching the store, he would quickly hide in the apartment. Schindler had caught him by surprise. The Germans would mercilessly tear out Jews' beards. The Chassidic Jews, pious people that they were, would rather hide than shave their beards. Some Jews could be seen with kerchiefs tied around their faces, hiding their beards. The Germans, wielding clubs or whips, would pull off the cloth disguises, relishing in cutting or ripping out the beard to the agonized cries of pain from their victim.
Only after Commandant Schindler's warning did Papa reluctantly cut his beard, losing his sense of dignity with the falling clumps of hair. He felt humiliated, reduced from a God-fearing Jew to an ordinary man. A short, trimmed beard did not conform with Schindler's standards, so, after a second warning from the commandant and pleading from the family, Papa finally gave up. His clean-shaven face was listless. He looked like an old man, every wrinkle showing.
Poland surrendered, and the Germans occupied the country. The defeated Polish soldiers were either coming home from the battlefield or sending home messages from prisoner-of-war camps. There was nothing at all from Shlamek, as if he were swallowed up by the earth. Several Chrzanower soldiers returned, some of them Jewish, but no one knew what had happened to him. No one had yet come home from the prison compound at Oswiecim, so that going there was the only way to find out if Shlamek were there.

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