Revised january 30, 2009 a tangled web
Local Help, Food Forays and Pillaging
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Local Help, Food Forays and Pillaging
As numerous Jewish testimonies confirm, relations between Jews and the Christian majority—both Poles and Belorussians—in the norheastern Borderlands during the interwar period was, on the whole, proper and uneventful.432 The situation changed dramatically in September 1939, when an explosion of violence was directed mostly against the Poles. (These events are described in Part One of this study.) The Germans turned the western regions of Belorussia into a separate administrative division (Generalkommissariat Weißruthenien—Commissioner General’s Office for Belorussia) of the Ostland (Eastland), which as headed by Wilhelm Kube from September 1941. The German civil administration extended to the level of the Gebietskommissariate (Regional Commissioner’s Offices). Below this level, the authorities availed themselves of the existing indigenous administrative machinery, albeit the composition of the personnel often underwent major changes, and eventually became thoroughly dependent on Belorussians. German historian Bernard Chiari writes: In Belarus, regulations banned Poles from participating in public administration, but official approaches to the solution of practical problems varied. In those cities and villages where many Poles had initially regarded the German invasion as liberation from Soviet rule, the Wehrmacht used Polish functionaries in the administration. The arrival of the German civil administration heralded their replacement by Belorussian personnel. The district representation (Rayonvertretungen) constituted the top level of indigenuous self-administration. The local administration was integrated into the German system of levies-in-kind, and its representatives were threatened with draconian punishment in case of insufficient performance. Largely for this reason the administration was particularly brutal in enforcing German demands. Indigenous mayors shielded their villages from the outside world. Citizens’ militias [so-called village “self-defence” units comprised mostly of Belorussians—M.P.] sought to protect farms against plunderers.433 Poles were initially accepted into the local administration in some areas, but not into the district representation. Soon, however, most of the Poles were purged from their positions in favour of Belorussians. The same held true for the local police, from which Poles were largely eliminated.434 Working for the police in particular was a very risky job. Increasingly, police personnel (Schutzleute) who contributed to the escalation of violence became highly exposed to retaliation by the Soviet or Polish underground.435 The Holocaust in the Borderlands was in no way dependent on alleged Polish collaboration or complicity. German field reports from northeastern Poland make it clear that, by and large, neither the Polish nor the Belorussian population participated in the harassment, ghettoization and mass executions of the Jewish population.436 Those tasks were left largely to Lithuanian and Belorussian auxiliaries. Occasionally Poles who served in the local police or militia units, known as the Miliz, Ordnungdienst, or Hilfspolizei, and later called the Schutzmannschaft-Einzeldienst, were employed in operations directed against partisans and Jews, though mostly in peripheral functions. The role of the Judenrats (Jewish councils) and the Jewish ghetto police, which for the most part carried out German orders dutifully, was incomparably more significant and, on the whole, quite negative.437 German historian Bernhard Chiari states: A local police force was intended to compensate for the shortage of German police in the occupied territories. … various indigenous police forces were set up in Belarus. Their initial designation as Ordnungsdienst was later changed to that of a Schutzmannschaft. Apart from these, the Belorussian SS and police chiefs had a number of mixed or pure Ukrainian, Latvian and Lithuanian police battalions at their disposal. These battalions were continually reinforced during the war and for the most part carried out combat missions against partisans. They were also employed during extermination operations or in “ghetto clearance” operations.438
Contrary to what is often contended, the Jewish population was not victimized in these transactions. In the view of one Jewish scholar, On balance, however, most contacts between the Jewish and Christian neighbors were beneficial. This was particularly true for the exchange of goods. And so, local peasants supplied the Jews with farm products, while the Jews offered the peasants used clothes, furniture, and all kinds of other personal belongings. Both partners to these exchanges were poor. Both were eager to receive the goods the other had. These transactions continued. Even though they reduced starvation among the Jews, they could not eliminate hunger.443 As the liquidations of the ghettos proceeded, thousands of Jews escaped and made their way to the forests. On occasion, they received warnings from the local population of impending German actions as was the case in Woronów. The shtetl on the border of Lithuania and Byelorussia was a labor camp until recently. The Jews lived there without a ghetto. … On the eighth of this month [May 1942], a rumor suddenly circulated that the town was surrounded by German gendarmes and the Jewish inhabitants were seriously threatened. On Saturday night the Poles advised the Jews to save themselves. The woman who tells us the story, her husband and three children, and a group of more than 100 persons bribed the Polish policeman and set off for wherever their eyes took them. They walked at night and hid in the forest by day.444 Jews who escaped from the ghettos had to turn to the local population for assistance. Leon Salomon, who escaped from Konstantynów in the spring of 1943, described the peasants as poor and frightened, but not hostile. I took to the woods. … took me about a week till I finally made contact with partisans. … After being five days in the woods, sleeping in the woods, it was still cold … I was living there, local population gave me bread to eat, yes they were friendly, but they were afraid … to keep me there. And one night I walked into an isolated farmhouse. … I begged her she should let me sleep just to warm up that night and she says I am scared to death, either from the partisans, because partisans were already come around, or from the Germans. But after a while she says okay, and I was sleeping on … the table, in the kitchen. The kitchen was also the living room, you know very primitive.445 As illustrated by a collective memoir from the small town of Jody (with fewer than 1,000 people), virtually every Jew who made it to the forests was the beneficiary of Christian aid along the way. Although we lived in constant fear of betrayal, I must emphasize that most of the 100 Jews of Jody still alive on New Year’s Day 1942 owed their lives to righteous Gentiles who risked their property, their lives and the lives of their families to help Jews survive. Captured Jews were tortured and shot. Gentiles discovered hiding Jews were burned alive with their families and homes. … Every Jew from Jody alive today owes his life to at least one, if not many Gentile families. Every Jew from Jody that survived the Holocaust in the forest and with the partisans was at one time or another hidden in the attic or barn, bunker or basement of some courageous Gentile.446 No luck in the world would have saved us if it were not for the help we received from righteous Gentiles. Some of them [Poles], the Siedziukiewiczs, Lahuns, Konochowiczs [Konachowicz] and Szklianowiczs [Szklaniewicz], let us stay on their farms for weeks and months. They took terrible risks. Their lives and the lives of their families were at stake. Others allowed us to stay during the day; some gave us food or warned us of danger.447 A group of Jews who escaped from the ghetto in Nowogródek also relied on the help of numerous Christians before they reached the Bielski partisans. We stayed alive [in the police station in Nowogródek] thanks to the head of the Polish police. My husband treated his teeth and made a bridge for him. Later we found out that the policeman was in contact with the partisans. We don’t know what happened to him. … At that stage we heard nothing about the partisans. I contacted a Christian woman by the name of Pargowicka. She lived 2 km. From the courthouse, in the village of Selco (Selec) [Sielec]. She was an honest and God fearing woman. I trusted her. I told her everything and asked for help. I was not mistaken; she did help me. She had relatives in the village of Khrapenevo [Chrapieniewo] near Iv’e [Iwie]. She heard that there were Russia soldiers in that area, who had not managed to escape and where hiding in the foresrt. Her readiness to help us was great. She believed that if she saved us, God would bring back her husband, who was taken prisoner by the Germans. She was left with 4 small children. … We decided to escape from the Ghetto on the 19 of August 1942. Our group consisted of 5 people … We stayed till dark in the barn of Benzlavski, a postman. We had to pass by the Ghetto, there was no other way … We arrived safely to Mrs. Pargowicka’s house. A guide was waiting to take us to Khrapnevo. … (Khrapnevo lays some 25 km north of Novogrudok [Nowogródek] and about 4 km south of the river Neman [Niemen]. It is desolate country, full of swamps and isolated villages.) … It was a swamp and we had to sit there all day. Only at night were we allowed to sleep at the granary, which was at a distance of 200 meters. A new life started there. The guide’s sister, and her kind mother, supplied us with food. We did not hear about the partisans yet.448 It is understandable that partisans and Jews hiding in the forests had to acquire provisions, especially food, to survive and that they had to turn to the local population—comprised mostly of Poles and Belorussians—for assistance. But, as we shall see, assisting undisciplined and often violent groups subordinated to a powerful underground (i.e., the Soviets), whose ultimate aim was not simply the defeat of Nazi Germany but also the subjugation of Poland, had its limits. Initially, the peasants weren’t generally hostile toward those who sought casual assistance, even though they were very poor themselves and did not have much left over once they met the burdensome food delivery quotas imposed by the Germans. This was so notwithstanding the threat of death that was meted out to anyone who extended a helping hand to Jews. As the German terror intensified, however, most of the population was simply afraid to provide assistance for extended periods of timed. Shalom Yoran (then Selim Sznycer) was employed as an interpreter for the SS. He provides a rather unsympathetic and skewed description of the villagers near Kurzeniec on whom a food gathering expedition descended. In an instant I was in the truck with the SS soldiers, moving toward the next village. I sat there silently looking at the murderers—well-fed, jolly, rosy-cheeked, each armed with a machine gun, a pistol on his belt, and whip in hand. Suddenly the truck stopped and I was told to get down and sit by the driver to direct the way. I didn’t know my way around the villages. But I knew I had better do something quickly or else I would arouse suspicion. I picked up the map by the driver’s seat, found my bearings, and began to direct the driver. After a few wrong turns we arrived at the village. I went from house to house with the SS. They demanded horses and carts, butter, cream, eggs, lard, and other provisions. With my limited knowledge of the German language, I translated what I thought was being said. Every peasant who wasn’t quick enough in obeying orders was lashed with a whip. I had never seen the Belorussian or Polish farmers so subdued and submissive, terrified of angering the Nazis, I didn’t pity them a bit. These were the kind of villagers who continuously terrorized and robbed the Jews. Now it was their turn to see this side of the Germans, with whom they had been cooperating. … During the conversation at the table, one officer described the intense pleasure he got from beating people until they bled.449 The “cooperation” of ordinary people with the Germans and the villagers’ terrorization of the Jews is by and large a myth. Yoran soon had occasion to turn to the very farmers he disparaged when he fled to the forest with his brother to join the partisans. We began to look for farmhouses near the woods. We knocked on the door of the first one and begged for food. We were given some bread and water. … Making our way between the trees we came upon a path … We chanced upon a small hut, well camouflaged, and a Jewish family hiding within. … They had escaped from one of the surrounding villages and, being very familiar with the area, subsisted by begging for food from kindly neighboring farmers. … We followed a path for about a mile and came upon a camp—some huts made of twigs, a couple of bonfires, potatoes baking, and several Jewish families trying to keep warn and dry by the flames. These were people from Kurzeniec and the vicinity. … At night those men who had some money went to the villagers they knew and bought food. Those who had no money simply begged or scrounged. … At a nearby village we stopped to beg for food, and a kind woman gave us some hot potato pancakes. … At the first hutor [i.e., an isolated farm, sometimes spelled chutor] we knocked on the door and asked for bread, which the farmer kindly gave us.450
A number of Poles helped Kahn and his father before they eventually joined up with a Jewish group in the forest. He mentions the Żołudzewicz family near Ejszyszki, who provided us with “every possible thing to help us in our forest life and gave us money to buy rifles”; a farmer by the name of Buczko on the edge of Nacza forest; and a kindly family of farmers on the outskirts of Linica, who bundled them into their house, fed them and dried their clothes, and sheltered them overnight. Another acquaintance of the family, named Rukowicz, gave them a warm welcome, but seemed somehow uneasy. “We were poised ready to flee when the reason for his uneasiness became evident: another Jewish family—Sholem Levo, his wife, two sons and a niece!” While Rukowicz invited the Kahns to share the Levo family’s quarters (an unfinished wing of the house), the Levos were not too enthusiastic about the arrangement and asked Kahn’s father to look for some other place to hide.453 After establishing themselves in the forest, a food gathering group was “sent out … each evening to beg in the neighbouring villages where most of the people felt kindly toward us.” In particular, the villagers of Powiłańce “helped us again most willingly for they sympathized with our plight.”454 Numerous Jewish testimonies confirm the widespread assistance provided to the Jews. This help was often short term, however, because of the enormous risks involved and the fear of German retaliation. Hardly any of these Christians, however, have ever been recognized by Yad Vashem for their efforts.
… I wanted to leave the reach of the activities of the Lithuanian sentries, as I was advised to do by the Poles whose hospitality I had partaken of along the way. From the lips of peasants I heard about the mass murders perpetrated on Jews in an analogous fashion to the execution I had endured. … It is important to stress that I encountered exceptionally sincere warm-heartednesss from Catholic peasants and Polish landlords. I was comforted and helped with money, food, and a place to sleep. My wound was dressed in manor houses. … The area I now entered had Polish police who tended to accommodate the Jews. In one of the Belorussian towns [i.e., in a Polish-speaking area incorporated in the so-called Ostland, formerly Soviet Belorussia], not far from the Lithuanian border, through the efforts of the mayor, priest and head of the Jewish Council, I was placed in the hospital and provided with papers [i.e., an identity document] and money for my further journey. 455
Another great blessing was to find an old friend again. Ludmila and I had known each other since early childhood; we grew up in the same street … … Looking round I saw two young Poles I knew far too well. Before the war I had had many clashes with them on the sports field and they had been anti-Semites even then. Palecki and Wolosiewicz [Wołosiewicz] were inseparable … and had seemed to find Jew-baiting amusing. … These days incredible things happened all the time and most of them bad, but to find myself, a short time later, sitting in a comfortable chair in Palecki’s home and eating a generous ham sandwich and enjoying a cup of tea, was so pleasantly incredible I could hardly believe it … ‘Things are pretty bad for you, aren’t they? Well they’re going to get worse. When we saw you walking by we thought we ought to warn you. There are rumours that the Einsatzgruppe is on its way to Baranovichi [Baranowicze], and they’re probably more than rumours. The Germans have the peasants digging up the ground behind the railway.’ I knew it would have to come sometime. ‘Any idea when?’ ‘No. Can we do anything to help you?’ ‘What do you need the most?’ They were surprising me all the time. ‘A pistol.’ I said. Palecki gave a bark of a laugh. ‘We want one ourselves, every Pole wants one! They’re hellish difficult to come by. All I can say is that if we have any luck we won’t forget you.’ Anyone seeing us sitting talking together would have thought we were old friends; they showed no sign of their former animosity and seemed only to remember the games we had enjoyed against each other and not the resentment that frequently turned into violence. Walking home with a sausage concealed beneath my coat, I pondered the unpredictability of human behaviour. A few days later I ran into a man I greatly admired. Mr Slivak [Śliwak] was a Pole and had been one of our teachers at high school. Always calm, imposing, well-dressed and well-mannered, he had made no distinction between his pupils. Now, although he knew it was dangerous for him to be seen having a conversation with a Jew, he stopped me and with genuine interest, asked how things were going. … I knew he genuinely wished to console me … I had no option now but to attempt to make a break for it. When it was dark and the ghetto was quiet, I dug a hole under the wire with my bare hands and managed to ease myself through. I was dripping blood as I knocked softly at Olga [Berezin]’s door. That wonderful girl, careless of her own safety, gave me shelter yet again. But there was a limit to the danger to which I could expose her; a few days later I sneaked back again behind the wire of the ghetto. … That day, when I had made my furtive return to the ghetto, I was confronted by the anger and reproof of a number of my co-habitants. ‘You have to stop this,’ they said. ‘You put us all at risk, and you know it. How can you? They won’t punish only you if you’re caught, they’ll punish us too. This is the last time, Leon; if you try it again we’ll have no choice but to denounce you. Don’t you know the ‘Collective Responsibility’ order? They were right of course. I had no choice. I gave them my word that I would not leave the ghetto again. … [The author managed to leave the ghetto on one occasion because of a ruse concocted by Olga, a nurse at the hospital where he used to work, who convinced the Germans that he was needed to perform an operation.] ‘Oh God, how did you dare?’ Only last week a young couple had been shot and the bodies left dangling in the square as a warning to anyone else who might be contemplating the crime of helping a Jew. … ‘The Einsatzgruppe is in the town,’ she said. ‘They murdered all the Jews in Lachovichi [Lachowicze] yesterday. A peasant who saw it came into the hospital and he told me. He was nearly out of his mind. You know they’ve been digging ravines behind the town for months—now it’s Baranovichi’s turn and they’re going to begin to liquidate the ghetto today.’ Her arms tightened around me. … She was a wonderful girl. She had thought of everything. She had persuaded her little friend Natasha, the telephonist, to tell anyone who might make enquiries about me to say that ‘Dr Berkowicz was assisting at an operation and could not be disturbed’. For herself , she had feigned illness and had been granted exemption from duty. … ‘No!’ I said, putting my finger to her lips. ‘No, please Olga, don’t make it any harder than it is. I have to go back to the ghetto and you must go back to work. Remember that there is only one thing you can do for me now. Don’t let me have you on my conscience. A few hours later I stole away and by scrambling over fences and using private gardens and gates I reached the small side street where I joined the workers returning to the ghetto. When we neared the ghetto gates I saw Olga standing waiting to see us pass. We dared not smile at each other or raise a hand in farewell. A few months later she was shot by a German firing squad for giving help to the Jews. … In the summer of 1942 my father was still allowed to work outside the ghetto. … ‘I think I know how you can join the partisans,’ he said. … ‘Today I met a [Belorussian] peasant named Pashka who used to work for me before the war. He asked after you. … He says he can take you to them. … Tomorrow morning he will wait for you with his horse and cart at the end of the street where Olga lives. You will have to leave when I do.’ … I reached Olga’s house … There was no answer to my sharp rat-at-tat. … While I was hesitating a woman came to the door of the next house and I remembered that Olga had often spoken of ‘her friend’ next-door. I smiled at her. ‘You’ve only just missed her, she said with commiseration. … You look as though you could do with a cup of tea. Come and have one with me. I don’t mind you waiting here for a while.’ … In the distance I could see a horse and cart with a man trotting beside it. … I was gradually lessening the distance between us when I saw a Pole I knew walking towards me. He already had seen me. He would know I had no right to be on the street alone. All he had to do was to call out ‘Jude!’ and I was lost. He stared at me as we passed each other … I had nearly reached Pashka. … I called his name as loudly as I dared and was overjoyed to see him stop walking and halt his horse. ‘You’re late,’ he said, as I came up to him. ‘Get on the cart and take that damn coat off.’ … I looked back. The Pole was still watching me. … Fate was on my side … he did not betray me but just quietly walked away. ‘So you want to join the partisans?” Pashka said, shaking the reins, ‘well let’s hope you know what you’re doing.’ It was still only early morning on the first day of the rest of my life. I am happy to say that after the war the Pole and I met again and we talked of that day as we shared a friendly drink. I have never forgotten that I probably owed my life to him. [Pashka kept Dr. Berkowicz hidden in his barn until he hooked up with the Soviet partisans in the winter.] He [Pashka] turned and lifted a heavy finger at the children. ‘He isn’t here,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s here. Understand?’ … The sudden opening of the door was a welcome diversion. Pashka’s wife eased her way into the barn and stood over me, offering a bowl of kasha, or porridge. … ‘I am very grateful to you …” She made a dismissive gesture. She would not look at me. I felt truly sorry for her. She was frightened out of her mind, and who could blame her? Everybody knew the penalty for harbouring a Jew. Not that many people did so as the punishment was too prompt and savage. And yet here we were, on the main road, under the noses of police and Germans and she had young children. She was forced to put a family of seven at risk for the sake of a young man she had never seen before. Her animosity towards me was wholly understandable. Her anguish and fear justifiable.456 … there is testimony about Belorussians who sent food and money to the ghetto [in Baranowicze]. [Dr. Zelig] Lewinbok tells of pious Catholics—Poles … who hid Jews without demanding payment. … The decency of Eduard [Edward] Chacza, a Polish Catholic who worked in the municipal sanitation department and was responsible for the Catholic cemetery, stands out. … Survivors’ accounts focus on two prominent incidents. In the first Chacza saved a woman and a girl and later Shmuel (Mulia) Jankielewicz, the chairman of the second Judenrat; and the second in which he saved two women who at first were afraid he would hand them over to the Germans. In fact, Chacza saved many more Jews. Many testimonies recount that his house was open to fugitives and that he frequently hid them in the mortuary of the Catholic cemetery. He fed them and gave them time to recover their strength before helping them reach the forests. He is said to have had three or four non-Jewish colleagues who helped in his rescue work. In early 1943, he was able to save a group of thirty-five of the last Jewish workers in the SD camp. After all the Jews had been murdered, Chacza served as an intelligence source for the partisans in the district and was arrested twice. The first time the Germans let him go. He was arrested again in November 1943—whether for his assistance to Jews or assistance to the partisans is not known. He was brutally tortured and incarcerated in a series of camps (we do not know which) until the liberation. Chacza alone saved between sixty and 150 persons.457 The mayor of the town at that time was a Polish man named Matorose. Some years earlier at the time of the Polish rule he was the head master of the elementary school in Kurenets [Kurzeniec]. Nyomka Shulman was then his favorite student. Nyomka approached him and asked him to get a job as an official delivery man and assistant to the mayor. Matorose gave Nyomka the keys to the storage areas where there was supply [sic] of salt, gasoline and other goods. Nachoom got a job as a janitor and they both got official papers showing they were allowed to be around the restricted areas. … Farmers … started coming to town and Nyomka that had forged the signature of Matorose gave them bags of salt. In exchange we got rifles.458 Motoros [sic], the head of the town committee, was a Polish gentile that was very good to the Jews. He gave us permission on Rosh Hashanah to go to the synagogue. Prior to the Russian invasion he was the principal of the school. … On that day, Motoros, the head of the town committee, sent us a message warning us that we must not go to synagogue on the second day of the holiday because the police were planning to interrupt the prayers and cause havoc. … We had no connection to the outside world: no newspaper or radio. We weren’t allowed to talk to the Christians. There was a strict law forbidding Christians from getting in touch with any Jews. Once in a while, a Christian would come to us and whisper something, but we never knew if what they told us had any substance. … We knew something was going to happen, and decided to go to our hiding place. We were once told by a Christian woman who cleaned the Polish school, that there was a huge basement under the school, and she suggested it as a good hiding place when trouble arose. She also told us that Nachum Alperovich and Nyomka Shulman had stayed there many times. I took my children and hurried to the Christian woman’s home. … After we stayed there for a short time, we had to leave. One of the policemen that knew us came by and although he was not outwardly hostile, the woman was very worried. The policeman told us to not concern ourselves needlessly, that the Gestapo came to Kurenitz [Kurzeniec] but they were just mugging the Jews not killing them. But from his expression I thought it better not to go back home. … A Christian villager from Lipnivitz … On his return he took us in his sled and all the time hurried his horse. … we reached Ratzka, a little village nearby safely. We stayed there for a short time and then returned. … One day a Christian woman came to [my two sisters] and said that she had heard from official sources that two weeks before Passover of 1942 they were going to slaughter the Jews of Kurenitz. She suggested running away.459 Without hesitation they immediately went to Mataroz [sic], the Polish teacher, to ask for his help. … Rohaleh and Doba [the author’s mother and sister] spoke to Mataroz, who liked me very much from when I was a student and who was now the mayor of the town [of Kurzeniec] appointed by the Germans, and they told him about my imprisonment. As son as they left Mataroz, they were taken away by the police, as were my mother and Rashkaleh, and it was Mataroz who decided to save us all from our death. Two days later I went to Mataroz to thank him for what he had done. … I asked him to take our cow, since our lives seemed pretty much over, with or without a cow. He answered that he agreed to take the cow, since we had so much trouble even trying to take it to the meadow, but he had one condition. He would accept it if we would take half of the milk from the cow each time he milked it. I said to him that this could cause him great troubles as the mayor of a town, sending milk to a Jewish family. … Secretly, in all sorts of ways, he was able to transfer milk to us. … Once again, I visited Mataroz. Mataroz, in his true nature, was liberal. As far as the Jews, he tried to help; this was not unknown by the Belarussian [sic] population, and they greatly disliked him. … I came to Mataroz after he asked me to come to him. He immediately told me that murder was facing me everywhere I went and that he would try to help me. Further, he said, “You must know that between wishes and ability there is a big distance. I truly wish that all my students will survive, but what can I really do? As far as you are concerned, I suggest you come to the school as a laborer doing cleaning and cutting wood for the fire, as well as operating the furnaces.” At that point he was no longer head of the school, but since he was mayor he was able to do it. He was also in cahoots with one of the teachers. … I later found out that the person he was in touch with was the wife of Skrentani, who was a teacher in the school. [Mr. Skrentani, a Pole, had been the author’s mathematics teacher and maintained friendly relations with the author’s parents. M.P.] Skrentani himself worked for Mataroz in the municipal building, as head of the food distribution department. … In the school worked a Polish woman who explained my duties to me. She was generally kind to me but she was very fearful … She begged me to be very careful and to make sure that no one would suspect that she was hiding a Jew at the school. Every time she had a hint of danger, she would quickly tell me to go hide in the basement. … About six months later, in the summer of 1942, the Germans killed Mataroz and his family.460
Iche [Fiedler, a Jew from Kurzeniec] opened the large canvas bag he had with him to show us what he had collected that night. There were about eight or nine pieces of bread weighing more or less a kilo each, a bottle of milk, and a few pieces of hard cheese. He usually walked all night, he said, going through several villages, knocking on doors and asking for food. Once in a while he would get lucky and be given a piece of butter or some cereals and beans for a soup. It was quite rare to get a piece of meat. Not every house he stopped at had enough food to give any away and others didn’t feel like giving. Usually, though, such a night of collecting would bring in enough food to last a family several days. Then the process was repeated, this time selecting different villages in order not to overburden the same households too often. Close to 200 people lived in the forest, he said, and they all gathered food the same way. On any given night, it was not unusual to find thirty to forty men and women in small groups of two or three busily collecting food in villages inside the forest and up to ten kilometers from it. Since the enterprise was spontaneous and uncoordinated, some villages or individual houses were approached too often and this unquestionably caused resentment among the villagers.461
After we were in the cellar for two months, the Polish orphans told us they were scared to let us stay any longer. We headed for the fields right away and hid in a peasant’s hayloft. He never found out we were there. … I later found a small group of Jewish partisans in the woods. I wanted them to take us, but they couldn’t because their unit commander, a Jew from Słuck named Epshteyn, warned them that any strangers they harbored would be shot. We found out later that this Soviet-Jewish unit commander gave this order because there was fear German spies were infiltrating the partisans. … While we were hiding out in the woods, I met two Polish peasants. One of them was from Polesnya—he was called Adam Trus. I didn’t know them before the war, had never even seen them. The peasants helped us a lot—they brought us food, water, and other things. … My wife and I, along with other Jews, returned to our hometown, Stołpce. The town was burned to the ground, and only a handful of Jews survived. We met only one cousin of mine there—Ezriel Tunik and his daughter—and the three Kaplan sisters. They were three little girls who were hidden in a Polish woman’s home for two years.462 [Abraham Viner from Naliboki, who was taken by the Germans to a work camp in Dworzec, recounts his experiences]: People were supposed to come to save us. There was a lot of talk about this, but nothing happened. In December 1942, our Polish Catholic supervisor warned us that there was going to be a liquidation of the camp. He advised us to run away on our way to work. There were a few hundred people at the camp. When the guards realized that we were escaping, they started shooting. We scattered in different directions, both men and women. Probably more than a hundred succeeded in escaping.463 The forest we were in was at Lipiczanska [Lipiczańska] Puszcza. We stayed together as a family group. … There were fifty people in our families unit, including five children. We would get fod from peasants we knew.464 In the middle of the night a peasant who was a good acquaintance of mine, stole through the board of the fence which surrounded the market [in Ejszyszki] and told me, Aitka Kanichovsky and Shoshanna Yuraknesky: “If you want to live escape immediately before the light of day.” We decided to escape. My two sons and myself … along with Aitka and her two sons, Shoshanna and her son and another girl, moved a board in the fence, escaped through the opening and were on our way: The police guards were far away from us. The good peasant led us to the village of Duchishok [Dowgieliszki] to the house of another peasant who was also a good acquaintance of ours. He fed us and we sent him to Aishishok [Ejszyszki] to find out what was happening there. He returned and told us that there were no more Jews in the village. I decided to go to Benyakoni [Bieniakonie] since the peasant was afraid to keep us in his house. There I found my two sons. … When the Germans ordered all Jews in the vicinity to assemble at Vorovna [Werenowo], to the ghetto about to be set up, I decided not to go. … Despite my family’s objections I decided to disguise myself as a peasant, return to the Aishishok vicinity and find refuge at one of our peasant acquaintances with who we had ties of friendship and business for years … I reached the Aishishok vicinity and in a field there, I met a goy who was a good acquaintance of ours. I told him of my intention. He too advised me against entering the ghetto. He told me to fetch my sons while he would think of some plan and place to hide us. I returned to Benyakoni and succeeded in transferring my children disguised as peasants. This peasant was a “sultis” [“sołtys” or village reeve] and on authority of his servant, the Germans and Lithuanians came and went freely in his house. His house therefore was not a possible refuge for us. A few days later [he] came and told us that the “Bagmina” [“gmina”] (the village committee) suspected him of hiding Jews. He was very sorry but he could accommodate us no longer, his life was in danger! According to the “law” a peasant caught hiding Jews was sentenced to death. It was the beginning of November [1941]. The earth was already frozen and snow had already begun falling … Where should we go? I remembered that we had some acquaintances in the village of Yurtzishky [Juraciszki]. I begged the peasant to lead us to this village and point out to us, from a distance, the house of my peasant friend. … He agreed. On sabbath morning we left and made our way through forests and fields until we reached the outskirts of the village. From there the peasant pointed out the house we were looking for. I knocked on the door and the peasant came out. When he saw me he shouted in amazement: “Good God! They told me you too were killed!” He took us in his house, fed us and hid us in his pantry for a few days. But since his house stood on the road he suggested transferring us to his sister who lived in an isolated house in a big forest far from the highway. We accepted his generous suggestion gladly and thankfully. At night we set out for his sister’s house, located about two kilometers away from the village … She welcomed us warmly. She was a wise and good-hearted woman but poor. The monetary question did not disturb me. Before the war we had hidden a large amount of merchandise from our store in the homes of many peasants. Many debts owed to us were also outstanding. In exchange for the merchandise, paid for by honest peasants, I was able to obtain enough food and also pay the peasant woman for our food expenses. To my request that we be allowed to spend at least two weeks in her house, the woman responded: “You can stay as long as you like, the war will not end so soon …” We stayed for six months at her house. During the day we all remained in one room, and hardly emerged.465 After walking for two hours [from Wasiliszki], I came to the village of Artzeshi [Arcisze]. I knocked at the door of strangers, a Christian house and asked for some water and a piece of bread. The Christian gave me both. Daybreak came when I approached a nearby forest. I hid in the forest for two weeks. During the night, I would go to various Christian homes to get something to eat. Most of the time, they gave me a piece of bread, something cooked and sometimes even a good word.466 In the night, we slipped away from our hideout [in Raduń], and reached a factory building. We stopped to rest a little, and a farmer passed by who took pity on us, and invited us to hide in the yard of his house. He even brought us bread and milk. From here we began to wander. We were warned not to try and return to Vilna [Wilno]. Again, we were fortunate with a farmer …, who dug a pit behind his house and “settled” us in it. Even though he did not have many means, his wife and daughter cared for us and fed us, and when the snows came and covered the pit, the daughter walked through the snow in order to offer us assistance. … The farmer’s family, whose name was Adamovitz [Adamowicz], lived very frugally, yet it shared with us whatever it had.467 The Grodno group was intending to return to the Nacza Forest [in the vicinity of Raduń], with its many Russian partisans and Jewish units. This forest bordered on the Russka [Ruska] Forest … The farmers in the villages of the area openly showed their support for the partisans and extended to them all the help they could. They even helped Jews who had escaped the massacres, hiding the survivors in their homes.468 [After escaping from the ghetto in Lida, Jashke Mazowi] roamed the countryside. … “I saw a hutor. I knocked at the door, trying to decide what language to use, Russian or Polish. … A man opened the door. I spoke Polish and told him I was a Jew and that I ran away from the ghetto. What should I do? He obviously knew Polish and looked at me, then turned around. I thought that this will be the end. … He moved to a cupboard, took out vodka, gave me half a glass, a cutlet, and said, ‘Here, eat and drink.’ This was the first vodka I ever had.” He spoke, “You are young. … Move around. Don’t go to the ghetto and you will survive, you have a chance.” “Where should I go?” “I will tell you which hutor to go to. They will give you food. Make yourself a place in the forest, a bunker … at night people will give you food and you will live.” “He gave me courage, food for the road, and I left. During the day I stayed in a small forest. The day seemed to last forever. How will I make it? At night I went into the hutor he told me to go ro. They gave me food. The next day it was easier. It did not seem so long. The day after even easier. … “This was how it was, a week or two, I don’t remember. … Still I was afraid. It was cold. I knew already where to go. I had special places where they would give me food. “Once on a very dark night I walked and walked. I lost the way. The hutors and all. I saw only unknown places. In the dark I came upon a small poor-looking hut. The man gave me cold potatoes, no doubt the only thing he had …” When Mazowi told his hosts he wanted to meet the Russians the son agreed to take him there in his horse-drawn wagon.469
After resting for about an hour in the Hicles’ house, we went on through the fields to Boinski’s farm. Boinski [Boiński] was a rich Polish farmer who raised and sold pigs. He had many friends among the Jews of Novogrodek, and he helped many Jews during the Holocaust. At midnight we knocked on Boinski’s door. He came out, frightened, and told us that he lived in constant fear of the Germans, who paid him frequent visits. He agreed to hide us for one day. He led us into the barn and covered us with hay. At noon, the good man brought us some bread, potatoes and water, and when night fell we left the farm and made our way to the nearby road. Twelve kilometres down the road, and several hundred metres away from it, we reached the home of a Belorussian farmer named Kostik [Konstantin] Kozlovsky, who used to bring messages and letters from the Bielski partisans to the ghetto Jews. We arrived at dawn exhausted. Koslovsky said that no partisans had been there for several days, but that they might very well come that night. He suggested that we should wait for them in a nearby grove. We spent the whole day in that grove, lying in a trench from which we could watch the road, bustling with German military vehicles. At nightfall, several young Jews from Bielski’s partisans arrived at Kozlovsky’s farm.471 Franek [Bobrowski], the dogcatcher, was a brave man who hid Jewish people. He was found out and shot, together with some of them, shortly after. … Boyinski [Boiński] fed us and put us on the big Russian komin—a stove in the front with enough space in the back for two or three people. The first day, the farmer, his wife and children were hospitable. The second day everybody was uneasy and Boyinski was afraid someone had spotted us and would send the Germans. On the third day he urged us to leave, describing which roads to take and which peasants could be trusted. … He brought me to the farm of a former priest by the name of [Piotr] Kolenda, I think. There we found Ania Alter’s cousins, uncle and aunt, and Aliosha’s brother, Rubin, who was visiting. … At night we would move somewhere else. Sometimes the boys would decide to stay two days. They knew all the farmers … From the farms I was able to write Papa, Mama and Rita [in Nowogródek].472 [Tuvia Bielski and his family received extensive help from Christians in the vicinity of Stankiewicze, his native village near Wsielub, north of Nowogródek]: From gentile contacts he obtained false papers, one identifying him as a Belorussian, another as a former Polish Army officer named Andzoi [Andrzej]. … … he moved from place to place, relying on a constellation of gentile acquaintances he had known from his years of living in Subotnik [Sobotniki], Lida and Stankevich [Stankiewicze]. … … Asael and Zus [Bielski] … searched for safe homes for the Dziencielski relatives … There was no problem finding spots for the aged members. It was tougher locating a place for a baby, whose cries would easily attract the neighbors’ attention. The brothers were turned down a few times before finding a Polish couple receptive to the idea. … … [Tuvia] visited a wealthy Pole he was acquainted with, named Wilmont, who welcomed the couple into his home and agreed to shelter them. Sonia took on a position as his household seamstress … He gave Tuvia a pistol, a Belgian Browning, and four bullets. … … Things weren’t helped when a selfless Polish farmer named Kot, a man who was housing a few Bielski relatives, looked out his window one morning and noticed a group of local [Belorussian] police surrounding his house. … During a search of the house, the officers discovered the Jewish fugitives—including the elderly Dziencielski parents—whom Kot quickly identified as his relatives. … Claiming ignorance, Mr. Kot was arrested and taken to the local police station. Viciously beaten and tortured, he died from his injuries.473 When Tuvia [Bielski] and his people came close to the river Niemen [after leaving Naliboki forest], a farmer warned them that the German police were on the way. … After the crossing, two families, the Dworeckis and the Taubs, told Tuvia that they would like to remain in the area, in the homes of Christian friends. The Dworecki sisters [Cila and Luba] explained that “We were in a terrible condition. We had wounds, lice, we were filthy, exhausted. My father felt that maybe we should stay a while with my father’s Polish friend, G. Filipowicz. … We indeed went to the Pole. We were there for the winter. They helped us build a ziemlanka in a nearby forest. … We went back to Bielski.” A part of Chaja’s [Bielski] family, including her old parents, also made arrangements to stay in the home of Christian friends.474
… In the early afternoon of January 5, 1943, a troop of local [Belorussian] police and Germans … marched to the houses. … The enemy soldiers lobbed a grenade through a window … and opened fire on everyone who tried to escape. Everyone in the house was killed. … At least nine Jews were killed in the tragedy near Chrapinyevo … Three Poles who owned the houses, and who risked so much to harbor the Bielskis, were also killed.475
The proposition was followed by one from Mrs. Sargowicki, a Polish woman and Luba’s friend. The woman was ready to save Luba and her husband. … Luba again refused. … after the second big Aktion in Nowogródek, August 7, 1942. Mrs. Sargowicki was still there, willing to aid. Her husband was a prisoner of war in Germany … This time the plan included Luba’s brother-in-law [Meir Rudnicki] and two more ghetto inmates, Dr. Tamara Zyskind and her lover Dr. [Mark] Berkman. … Luba and her companions were now to stay with Mrs. Sargowicki’s niece, Zosia, next to the village of Chrapiniewo [Chrapieniewo] and near the small town of Iwje [Iwie]. … When they came to Zosia’s farm they moved into the barn … Zosia decided that her charges should spend their days in the forest and return to the barn only at night. … One day, Luba and her friends woke up to shooting sounds. From their Russian contacts they heard that the Germans had attacked the Bielski group. These men did not know how many had died, only that Zosia’s mother was among those killed and that her farm had been burned down. The Bielski brothers had stayed at her farm. Immediately after Zosia disappeared and was never heard from again. [The survivors of this group joined the Bielski group after a treacherous attack by Russian partisans who murdered Dr. Berkman and Meir Rudnicki.]477 Julian and Joanna Rostkowski, who were known as upright people, lived in the village of Chutory [Hutory] Delatyckie, near Nowogrodek [Nowogródek], and were friendly with Luba Mejerson, a Jewish pharmacist from nearby Nowogrodek. Mejerson and her husband decided to escape to the forests and join the partisans. Not knowing what to do with Fruma, their six-year-old daughter, Luba asked Julian rostkowski, her friend, to hide her daughter. In early 1942, Rostkowski traveled to Nowogrodek with his 13-year-old daughter, Michalina, smuggled little Fruma out of the ghetto, and brought her home to his farm. Rostkowski introduced the little girl to their neighbors and the village mayor as an orphaned relative and Joanna, his wife, looked after her as if she were her own daughter. Her parents, who were hiding in the Naliboki forest with the Bielski brothers’ partisan camp, used to visit the Rostkowski home occasionally to see how well their daughter was being cared for. In an operation launched by the Germans against partisans in the surrounding forests, the Rostkowskis’ farm was burned down and they became destitute. For two and a half years, the Rostkowskis were reduced to working for local farmers, but despite the change in their fortunes they took little Fruma with them and looked after her. After the liberation in July 1944, Frumas’s parents found her safe and sound with the Rostkowskis and took her back with them.478 Gershon and Gita Berkowski had a grocery store in Wsielub (Nowogrodek [Nowogródek] district). Most of their customers were farmers from nearby villages, including the Lawskis [Ławski] of the neighboring village of Slowcza [Słowcza]. The two families had been friendly for many years … In 1941, shortly after the Germans occupied the region, they began to move Jews from locations in the vicinity to the Nowogrodek ghetto. To accomplish this, they mobilized local peasants and ordered them to round up Jews from the villages and transport them in their carts to Nowogrodek. Jan, the Lawskis’ youngest son, was one of these [forced] recruits. He took advantage of his position to place Gita Berkowska, her daughter, Sonia, and her cousin Roiza Berkowska in his cart and conveyed them to a hideout in the forest nearby. Jan and his parents [Aleksander and Helena] protected the Jewish refugees and kept them fed and clothed. When winter approached, the Lawskis moved their wards to their farm, where they concealed them first in a cowshed and later in the granary. The Lawskis continued to protect Gita, Sonia, and Roiza until December 1942 … In December 1942, the three Jewish refugees were transferred to a family camp of Jewish partisans in the nearby forests; in the summer of 1944 they were liberated.479 In the autumn of 1943, after the bloody Aktion perpetrated by the Germans against the Lida ghetto in the Nowogrodek [Nowogródek] district, a group of six Jews—Rachela and Shmul Geler, Moshe and Pesia Golubek, Tuvia Bielak, and Chava Muksi—escaped from the ghetto intending to join the partisans in the surrounding forest. Meanwhile, they wandered through villages and fields for several days, helped by local residents who warned them of the whereabouts of the German police who were pursuing them. One day, Wladyslaw Malachowski [Władysław Małachowski], a farmer who lived in the remote village of Plesewicze [Pleszewicze], approached them and told them that he was already hiding a Jewish refugee named Hersh Nowoplanski from the Lida ghetto in his home. Wladyslaw told them to wait at the edge of the forest until he returned with Nowoplanski. Despite certain misgivings, the refugees did as they were told and were rewarded when Wladyslaw appeared after sunset accompanied by his brother, Franciszek, and Nowoplanski, laden with bread, food, and drink. After the refugees had eaten, the Malachowski brothers took them home and hid them together with Nowoplanski. A few days later, the Malachowski brothers persuaded a group of partisans to accept the refugees into their ranks and equipped them all with rifles. All seven refugees took part in partisan activity against the Germans until the summer of 1944, when the area was liberated by the Red Army …480 [Anatol Wertheim, who joined the Soviet partisans in Naliboki forest]: We gradually developed contacts with the peasants who lived in isolated chutors. We were not afraid that they would denounce us because the peasants only wanted the Germans and partisans to leave them in peace, and they therefore tried to avoid conflicts with us too even though they must have suspected that we did not belong to the regular partisan formations … After a few encounters several families even started to treat us like old friends and invited us on their own for a drink or to spend the night under their roof.481 Now we spread who and wherever, nearly all into the forests, single ones to gentiles. … I ran away with my son, on the 10th of August, to Jozef [Józef] Stelmaszyk, a peasant in Mir. The Stelmaszyk family, husband and wife, middle aged, have earned being mentioned here. In the ghetto, he used to be referred to as “the righteous gentile.” … During the last days of the Mir ghetto, Jews came to him, suggesting that he take their belongings as a gift. He refused, as he would not take advantage of their desperate situation. … We stayed with the Stelmaszyks from the 13th of August till the 23rd of December, 1942, when we went into the forest, because our presence robbed them of the last traces of peace, and those good, honest people did not deserve that. Their attitude towards us in those gruelling days was so tender, so cordial, as if towards two virtual children of theirs. … We arrive in the forest towards the end of 1942, where together with other Jews from Mir we start the epoch of the forest. … Amongst all the grown-ups there was one solitary child. That was my brother’s 3-year old little girl Miryam’l … The gentiles from the village used to send her food. … Every morning we go to the village, looking for food. The day commences with a silent prayer that there be no Germans, that the gentiles give something, and that all those going to the village come back in peace. Alas, this our last wish is not always granted. The gentiles are praiseworthy for keeping us supplied with everything, to an extent to which their facilities permitted. We were a hungry, poorly-clad camp, needy of everything, and daily we used to call on their doorsteps. … They are talking about a search. In actual fact we a group of Jews are sitting in the forest without any means of defence whatsoever. Should a few armed policemen happen to arrive, they can seize us all alive. Still, we have no alternative. The gentiles advise us to leave.482
We didn’t go up to the house, but we saw the Belorussian—his name, I remember, was Usik—working in the field. So we decided to approach him … He knew who we were … We told him we were hungry, we asked if he could give us something to eat. He told us that he didn’t have any food to spare—all he could give us was a couple of eggs from his chicken. … The second farmer gave us something to eat—our first food since the eggs two days before. … Later the next day we found another Belorussian farm. The farmer said, “I can’t keep you for long. But you can stay overnight in this barn.” … There was a farmhouse. We decided to knock on the door. … As it happened, the man who lived there was a Belorussian who worked as a forester and had once supplied lumber to my father’s factories. He said to me, “I know you. You’re Schleiff’s daughter. … Come in. I’ll give you some food.” So we went into the house, and he gave us some hot soup. … The forester cut some blankets in half for us to have as shawls. … There was a Belorussian farmer nearby named Petrovich. His family came from Russia, he was a friend of the Jewish partisans, and we were told that he would give Tanya shelter. Tanya agreed to this. … They told me that they had run into my uncle Oscar. He was living on a Polish farm, passing as a Pole. He had taken up with a Polish woman, and living there with them was the woman’s sister … and her brother and her brother’s wife. … There was a Polish family living in Mir—their last name was Talish. … Back in 1941, when the Germans were setting up the Mir ghetto … The Talishes would help to get us some extra food.483 I reached a Polish village [in the vicinity of Mir and Stołpce] where I was fed generously by a Polish farmer who even filled my bags with food for my friends in the forest.484 Oswald [Rufeisen] came to a large Catholic parish. … “They fed me, but made it clear that I could not stay with them.” … In Rubierzewicze [Rubieżewicze], the next town Oswald came to, he was more welcome. Here on the outskirts, in a modest hut, a Belorussian family offered him shelter. Next day these simple and kind peasants extended their hospitality for another night.485 However, we remained with the farmer for only a few days after that. … Wherever I came, the farmers gave me some food but didn’t let me stay. I lived in barns, sheds, and wherever I could even find partial shelter. … We moved on, farther and farther away from Glebokie [Głębokie]. We stopped at farmsteads for food and brief rests. None of the peasants was willing to shelter us for more than one night. We understood their feelings: Quite aside from their fears of being discovered by the Germans or denounced by the local [Belorussian] police as “Jew-lovers”, the peasants had neither the room nor the food to accommodate four travelers at one time. … I found a home on the farm of a family named Baranowski. … In return for my food and lodging, I worked for the Baranowskis as a farmhand. … I know of hundreds of peasants in the Polish and White Russian countryside who provided Jews—sometimes complete strangers—with a chance for survival, though they knew that if they were discovered by the Germans, their farms would be burned to the ground and they themselves would be gunned down together with their wives and children. I remember the Aniszkiewicz family … Before coming to the Aniszkiewicz farmstead, the Slavins had been among the eighteen Jews fed and sheltered at various periods by the Niescierewicz [Nieścierowicz] family … Karol and Maria Kazuro, neighbours of the Niescierewicz family, gave shelter to Wolf and Rachel Gordon and their two young children. … I know of heroism also among the village priests … The parish priest of Dunilowicze [Duniłowicze] and Wolkolaty [Wołkołata] were feeding and sheltering Jews along with escaped prisoners of war in their parsonages.486 I remembered a Christian woman [in Grodno] whom I happened to know, whom I had possibly seen only twice before … [This woman she scarcely knew agreed to take her baby and place it in an orphanage.] … There was another Christian woman in the city with whom I had once worked during the time of the Soviets. I stepped into her house, and a girl friend of mine was hiding there. … I didn’t ask her for much—just to keep me overnight. She couldn’t help me for much longer … Everybody gave me something [in a village outside Grodno]. I did not look Jewish, but they knew—what else could be driving me in the snow through the woods? Everyone kept me for one night. … Everybody gave me warm water to wash myself. They gave me food, so that I should have strength to wander farther, And there was a priest, a Catholic. He hid me for eight days to regain my strength. But I felt compelled to go back to Grodno to find out what was going on. [With the help of some other Poles Anna K. returned to Grodno where she found her husband. Both of them decided to flee together.] … Again I went to the suburb to an acquaintance, a Christian woman. We washed and got ready to start out at night. We rested up, then wandered on. … If only we could reach the partisans … one had to go in the direction of Szczucyn [Szczuczyn]. One night in Niemce we went into a little house. There lived a widow, a Christian—I don’t know her name—with her son. It was dangerous for them, but they took us in and gave us a place to sleep and watched all night in case the Germans might come. … And in the morning they gave my husband shaving things, and they gave me plenty of food. At night we slept in an open shack, and in the morning we marched on.487 On 3 November 1942, a day after the ghetto [in Grodno] was sealed by the Gestapo, Izak [Kobrowski] woke up [his wife] Ada and nine-year-old [daughter] Aviva … With the help of a Jewish policeman who was their friend, they passed to the Aryan side through a secret passage in the ghetto wall. … Izak, Ada and Aviva walked away from the centre towards Grandzicka Street, where Izak had contact with a friendly Pole. Izak had a lot of friends among the Poles, dating back to his work at the trucking depot under the Soviets. He had warned many of impending arrests. … As they went through the centre of town, Aunt Ada was recognized by a number of passersby, who had known her before her marriage as the sister of Dr. Blumstein, or just simply Panienka [Miss]. Some crossed themselves, some whispered ‘szczesc Boze’ [szczęść Boże—may God help you]. Nobody denounced them. The Pole who accepted them into his apartment did not want them to stay fro more than 24 hours. They left the following day for the home of another Polish friend who lived three miles outside the city. … The people in the village were good to them and Aviva was able to play outside. The lady of the house, however, was very afraid; her hand shook pouring hot milk into the cups at breakfast. When our former [Belorussian] hose-cook Mitroshova, who happened to live in the same village, recognized Aviva, their situation became too dangerous and they moved at night to another nearby village where two poor peasants, Stakh [Stach] and Halka, agreed to hide them for money. … Stakh was a good-hearted man, good to Aviva and Ada, but his wife was very stupid. She prattled and blabbed to the neighbours … They decided to leave before it was too late. … Stakh accompanied the far out of the village on the side road to Pozecze [Porzecze]. He gave them food and milk for Aviva. … Along the road, peasants who knew Itchke greeted them with, ‘Kobrowski, kholera na tebye, ty yeshtcho zhivyesh?’ [Kobrowski, the devil take you, are you still alive?]. After spending the night in the forest, they arrived at the small town of Pozecze. Izak left Ada and Aviva in the forest and went off to visit some peasants he knew in the area. One of them directed them to a tiny house located at the very edge of a village called Piesciuki [Pieściuki]. … The household consisted of an elderly peasant named Michal [Michał], his wife Bozena [Bożena], their older son Michal and his wife Zosia, a younger son Lolek and his young wife Halina, who came from Warsaw, with their two small children … They were incredibly poor; they had a few acres of questionably fertile land, one horse, one emaciated cow which never gave any milk, and a few chickens. … They remained in the house through the winter, hiding during the day behind a big cupboard and sleeping on straw on the floor. … In May, a girl from the village herding cows to pasture came for Michal’s cow. … the girl stepped into the hut, surprising Ada and Aviva. Soon the whole village knew … There was nothing they could do but leave. … Izak decided to push further east into the dense Lithuanian forests near his native Marcinkance [Marcinkańce]. … They walked and walked for half the night until they finally reached a village where Izak new a number of peasants. It was a large village with a mixed population of Poles and Lithuanians—an explosive mixture. The peasant who gave them shelter was Polish and very poor. They were hidden in the stye, on the planks in the straw, above the pigs and the cow. … They decided not to go far. The dense forest, where Germans rarely ventured, offered protection. Another Jewish family from Druskieniki joined them and together they built their camp some three to four miles from the village. The villagers were glad to sell them potatoes, onions and peas.488
In early February 1943 [1944?] the Kovpak army marched through Hotsk and the Jewish partisans from Slonim met some of the 250 Jewish Kovpakites. … All the able-bodied men and women were taken into the army. The weaker and older Jews were put in the baggage wagons and taken to a safe place where they were hidden by trustworthy peasants—mostly Poles who had sought Kovpak’s protection against the Nazis and their Ukrainian helpers.489 The villagers of Yavishtza [?] were friendly to partisans and Jews. They would supply us with cooked food and foodstuffs.490 There are scores of additional accounts attesting to widespread assistance provided by Poles and Belorussians in the Wilno and Nowogródek regions.491 They did so at great personal risk, often paying with their lives. Before rushing to condemn Poles and Belorussians for not sacrificing more on behalf of the Jews, it is worth noting the reception that a Jewish family, the Kahns, received when they relocated to the ghetto in Grodno from October to December 1942, after witnessing the liquidation of the ghettos in Ejszyszki and Raduń. The large ghetto in Grodno, which held some 15,000 Jews, was cordoned off by a barbed fence with fortified guard towers. Although the ghetto dwellers only received about 200 calories per day, they appeared remarkably healthy because of a well-organized smuggling ring which managed to obtain huge quantities of food (eggs, milk and flour) from local farmers. The ring even sold “excess” provisions and bread to Christian residents of Grodno outside the ghetto. When these recent arrivals detected signs of the impending liquidation of the ghetto and warned their co-religionists, the reaction was disbelief and hostility. They were accused of spreading rumours to create panic and of being Communists who were deservedly punished by the Germans. Finally, they were ordered by the Judenrat to be silent or face being turned over to the Germans. Within the ghetto, they felt totally alienated. The Grodno Jews “were cold and inhospitable, and never even offered us a place to sleep, though many had extra room.” After the synagogue service one Friday evening, the shames announced that “there were strangers in the midst of the congregation who were homeless and had lost all their possessions. Would someone take these unfortunates home to share the Sabbath meal with them?” Kahn recalled their reaction: “We went to stand by the door so the congregation could see us easily as they filed out. Family by family left, carefully avoiding our eyes until at last our little group stood there alone.”492 A group of Jews who were given shelter at a Benedictine convent in Wilno had to be persuaded by the Mother Superior, Sister Maria Mikulska, to allow more Jews to come into their hideout. According to Samuel Bak,
Still there were further murmurs of disapproval. “We have lost our wives and our children and you want us to go into the ghetto to bring out strangers?” said one of the newcomers.494
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