Read The End of Days Online

Authors: Helen Sendyk

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

The End of Days (13 page)

BOOK: The End of Days
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Page 71
It was a risky trip, and it was brave Vrumek who undertook the perilous journey. Avoiding the watchful eyes of the Germans, he rode to Oswiecim on his bicycle. The camp in Oswiecim was heavily guarded. For hours he circled the camp, trying to make contact with the prisoners, endangering his own life: if caught he would have been arrested for spying. He eventually came close enough to speak to the prisoners. He asked questions, but there were no answers.
Vrumek dreaded coming home to his brokenhearted parents with no news of Shlamek. So he lied. He told us that Shlamek had been seen in a hospital in the town of Sanok. We eagerly grasped at this proffered straw of hope.
One morning I woke up and promptly ran to Mama, happily telling her about the dream I just had. In my dream I saw Shlamek. He could not hoist me onto his shoulders the way he used to because he was ill. Both his legs were heavily bandaged, and he could not walk. But he smiled at me and assured me that he was getting better, that he would come home soon all well again. My dream was so vivid that I laughed and happily tried to persuade Mama that Shlamek was indeed alive and well.
But Shlamek could not recover or send home any messages because he was dead. He was wounded by a bullet to the head in the town of Sanok near the river San. Weeks later, Papa found someone who knew exactly how it had happened. The bullet hit him just below his helmet in the back of his neck. With hospital treatment Shlamek could have lived, but there was no help available on the battlefield, where the wounded were left to die.
So for my wonderful brother Shlamek Stapler, life ended on a cold battlefield. In agony, Papa said Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, for his first-born son. And Mama, she could not forgive herself. "I had him right here," she cried. "Why did I let him go?" No one could console her.
 
Page 72
Chapter 5
Goldzia's life was pure misery. As a victim of the dreaded polio, she'd been bedridden now for eight years, and her inactive muscles had deteriorated. Once intelligent and talkative, her speech had slowly become too slurred to be intelligible. She still had a lot to say, but she knew that others became impatient when she struggled to communicate. She would restrict herself, but we knew how she suffered. We stood by helplessly, until talented Vrumek constructed an alphabet board. When Goldzia wanted to say something, we would place the board in front of her and she would point her finger to the letters, spelling out what she wanted to say. This manner of communication was much easier for her. With tears in her deep blue eyes, she kissed Vrumek's hands to thank him
 
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for his invention. Goldzia could comment on any subject and give sound advice. When the war broke out, our concern for her welfare became a debilitating obsession.
In one of the house searches, the young German SS officers who came into the apartment were quite intrigued when they saw Goldzia's radiant face, milky white skin, deep blue eyes, and blond hair. They stopped by her bed to ask questions about her. Goldzia motioned to Mama for the board. Goldzia proudly spelled out in perfect German, which she had never formally learned,
Ich war in Wien:
I was in Vienna. The Germans stood there mutely staring at Goldzia, straggling with their emotions. After momentarily being caught in the act of being human, they began yelling and throwing things about in the usual German fashion. Goldzia, well aware that she had stirred the inner feelings of humanity in the soldiers, defiantly smiled at them, as if daring them. The Germans made a lot of commotion but quickly finished the search to get away from Goldzia's haunting gaze.
Unfortunately, it did not work out the same way in our future meetings with the enemy. It seemed that in the beginning the Germans did not quite know what they were supposed to do with the Jews, but as time progressed they became better skilled at persecution. They found new ways to abuse, torture, and inflict their wrath upon the Jews. While performing subsequent house searches they were more destructive and cruel, and Goldzia was lucky to be ignored.
New decrees were imposed daily. Jews were shut indoors in the early evening with a strict curfew. They were to wear white armbands on their sleeves, ten centimeters wide, with a blue star of David clearly imprinted on them. Failure to wear the armband was punishable by death. Jews were not to congregate; this meant no walking in pairs or stopping to talk to anyone in the street. Jews were forbidden to shop in non-Jewish stores, which meant that an important source of food was eliminated.
Fat Commandant Schindler kept visiting the store as long as there was enough chocolate to satisfy his expensive appetite. When the supply was exhausted, his visits diminished. With
 
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his visits went his promise of protection. Schindler was on hand when the Germans eventually made us clear out of our apartment and store. His pink, hanging cheeks creased in a broad smile and his fat belly heaving with every chuckle, he stood there carrying out the evacuation orders. Our world had suddenly caved in on us.
Luckily, Blimcia had her own apartment; disorganized and distraught, we quickly moved there. Papa was frantic about moving his store. From his prestigious, elegant store on Mickiewicza Street, which he had built so laboriously and with such pride, he relocated to a tiny, dilapidated store on Koscielecka Street at the other end of town. We were targeted for this displacement because it was inconceivable to the Germans that Jews should be allowed to remain in the Municipal Building complex.
Meanwhile, new ordinances were announced daily. Jews were not allowed to possess radios. Jews were to turn in all their valuables, including furs. There were quotas of gold and silver, which they were to submit to the authorities. Large sums of money were also requested of them. A daily contingent of males for hard labor was demanded. Hostages were taken from among the prominent Jewish citizens and members of the Jewish community council.
Food was scarce. The lines in front of the few bakeries that functioned were long and dangerous. One had to stand on line for hours to obtain a quarter loaf of bread. One quarter loaf could barely feed two or three people, and surely not the large families that huddled together. People lined up before dawn, since there was not enough to go around. The angry Poles claimed that the Jews were taking away their bread. They would start fights, pretending that a Jew pushed ahead of them in line. They would complain to the Germans, who would eagerly punish the Jews. The lines also yielded young Jewish males whom the Germans picked up for slave labor.
Sholek and I became our family's only lifeline with the outside world. We scavenged the city for food every day. We would stand on separate lines for bread, so as not to be recognized by Polish neighbors, who would readily report to the
 
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Germans that a brother and sister were bringing bread back to the same family. Sholek cleverly cut holes in his coat lining. After sliding each portion into his secret compartments, he quickly ran back to the end of the line to wait for another portion. I would follow suit. Together we were able to keep the family from starving. Sometimes, though, the Poles discovered our ruse and started a commotion. We'd have to run for our lives.
Blimcia's apartment near the Planty, at 1331 Slowackiego Street, belonged to Uren Hochbaum. Uren and Malcia Hochbaum had supplied fruits in Katowice for Papa to import. The apartment was situated in an elegant five-story building, one of the newest in Chrzanow. It was surrounded by a garden and bordered by a large park and the castle-like Lebenfeld house, a city landmark. Before the war the gates to the Lebenfeld's private park were always closed to the public. When the chestnuts were ripe on the trees, the servants would open the gates and let the neighborhood children go picking.
Now, in wartime, we had the early evening curfew to contend with. The fence between the Hochbaum house and the Lebenfeld park had been carefully cut to allow postcurfew passage and secret contact with the neighboring houses. The park offered a place to hide from German eyes and a haven for smuggling food and information.
March 17, 1940, was a blustery clear and cold day. Blimcia had not slept all night, and by five o'clock in the morning her pains were coming at regular intervals. She went quietly to the bathroom, not to wake anyone. But Mama, always the light sleeper at Goldzia's beck and call, heard Blimcia and went to her daughter's side. By the time the rest of the family had awakened, Blimcia's hair was in disarray, her forehead was covered with cold sweat, and she was sprawled exhausted on her bed. Mama cleared everybody from the room and spread some clean sheets on the bed. She sat next to Blimcia, wiping her brow and squeezing her hand when the pains came. I was scared, sitting glued to the closed door, waiting for Mama to come out with some news. All I could hear were the sounds of my older sister groaning in pain. Mama ordered Sholek to run
 
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and summon Mrs. Koniecpolska, the midwife. She also instructed me to open all the cabinet and closet doors in a superstitious effort to unblock Blimcia's birth canal. Nachcia put up water to boil on the stove and took care of Goldzia. Mama did not budge from Blimcia's side throughout the day-long ordeal. After dusk, when the sun was hidden behind the rooftops, a baby's cry was heard from behind the room's closed door. Mama opened the door, smiled faintly and said, "
Mazel tov
it's a boy."
There were no lively cheers, only a desperate sense of relief. Papa and Jacob, who had been reciting psalms all this time, put their prayer books aside. Papa shook Jacob's hand, wishing him
mazel toy
.
"Our first grandson," Papa said to Mama when she emerged from the room.
"May God bless him and keep him under his protection. May he live to know happiness and freedom from bondage," Mama said. She shed tears of relief, tears of hope for the baby's future, drawing from her own agonized but unshakable belief in the Almighty.
Mama called Jacob into the room to see his wife and son. I squeezed in right behind him. Blimcia rested on her bed, covered with a white sheet. Her face was pale, her eyes closed in exhaustion. She slowly lifted her heavy lids, looked at her husband and said, "Forgive me, I am so tired."
"Rest, my dearest. Rest and gain back your strength," Jacob said. "We have a son! I am so happy."
Blimcia dozed off while the midwife skillfully turned the baby on its stomach.
"Oh God!" I exclaimed. "He has a head like a cucumber."
The baby's skull was elongated, but Mrs. Koniecpolska smiled and assured me that there was nothing wrong with the baby. She tied a kerchief over the baby's head, babushka style, tightening it around the baby's chin.
"By tomorrow," she declared, "his head will be normal like yours and mine."
I got up early the next morning, curiously watching the
 
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midwife unwrap the baby's head. Sure enough, the cucumber had rounded into a tomato.
Papa was attending daily prayers in our building's makeshift synagogue, where a brief, quiet
bris
, the circumcision ceremony, was held. The baby was named Yitzchak after Jacob's father. There was no respite from the German oppressor, yet the thriving baby was our solace and our resistance.
 
Page 78
Chapter 6
Blimcia's one-bedroom apartment became even more inadequate for the two families, but space was not the reason why we moved again: the Germans fancied the elegant building at 1331 Slowackiego Street.
It was before dawn on a Friday morning. Mama was busy cooking, preparing for Sabbath. A hot soup was simmering, made from a small, bony chicken that was smuggled in from a nearby village at much risk. The now rare aroma of the soup caused hunger pains in our shrunken stomachs. A small fish in another pot was an additional piece of costly contraband obtained to honor the Sabbath. Sholek, our lookout, suddenly burst inside to announce, ''The Germans are coming!"
Mama's face flushed with panic. The Germans were making
 
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these sudden searches very often now. They might announce that they were searching for hidden weapons or gold, but one would certainly be arrested for harboring an illicit chicken or the possession of an unregistered fish. Even worse, one's husband or son might be abducted for a labor detailfor a job that never ended. Mama had to desperately hide the illegal food she'd been cooking. The chicken might have brought disaster on us all, but that's not what the Germans were after this time.
"This house is to be evacuated, abandoned, cleared out within three hours. You will take only your personal belongings with you."
Not a stick of furniture was to be removed. The Germans stationed themselves in front and in back of the house, blocking the exits. Now began the mad, nerve-wracking race against time. The tenants of the building had but three hours to move their households. Mama was so nervous that everything kept falling out of her hands. Blimcia started madly bundling clothes and linens, throwing pots and pans into any receptacle she could find. Nachcia and I were rapidly dispatched to get Papa and Heshek from the store, and to summon the help of Aunt Esther's family.
All the tenants were frantically running in and out, up and down the staircase, bumping into each other with heavy bundles, carrying whatever could be grabbed, remembering the soup ladle and forgetting a hidden watch, an heirloom. As people ran through the streets of town, trying to reach relatives and friends or to find anyplace to stash their worldly possessions, the oversize bundles burst open and scattered articles like some botanical miracle. The desperate chaos continued as a constant stream of people were thrown into the street, men, women, children, and elderly. With the world out of kilter, Mama concentrated on saving the food she had so laboriously prepared for the Sabbath.
A commotion erupted at the side of the house, where the terraces faced the Lebenfeld park. Mrs. Korngold, an immaculate woman on the third floor whose household was her kingdom, could not take the sudden shock of the German decree. She could not tolerate the thought of losing her exquisite
BOOK: The End of Days
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