Wartime Rescue of Jews by the Polish Catholic Clergy

I was born July 7^th, 1940, in Wierzbnik, Poland. My parents, Zion and Sala Baranek.

In 1942 just before Hitler liquidated all Jews from Wierzbnik, my parents gave me away to a Polish couple in Warsaw and I took the identity of Zosha Murofska [Zosia Murawska]. I was two years of age and spoke perfect Polish.

Two days after my parents gave me away, they were taken to a labour camp in Wierzbnik, called Tartak. From Tartak, my parents communicated with the Pole who kept their child. He was to keep them informed about her health and they in turn would pay him at regular intervals—as agreed upon. After a few months, my parents were transferred from Tartak to Myufka [Majówka] and they had no choice but to ask somebody in Tartak to communicate with the Pole on their behalf. My parents gave this person all the information and money to pay for me. When the Pole came, this person paid him and at that time asked him to take the son of Mortry Maslowicz¹⁸²—a little boy who was hidden in the Tartak Camp with him. The Pole agreed and took the little boy to his home. This, I believe, was a very important step in my life—an actual turning point. The only recollection of this part of my childhood, was a little boy walking back and forth, back and forth, and me sitting crossed-legged like an Indian, for days on end. The pole [sic] was arrested by the Germans and his wife, being in fear for her life, especially since she was hiding a Jewish boy, had no alternative and found us and took us to our new home—beside Warsaw. The Nuns were very good to us and tried to keep us alive with what little they had. I can remember the hours we spent on my knees in prayer, the Virgin Mary was taught to be our one and only Mother. I do not know the date, but I remember when again, I had to leave my home. The Germans made the Nuns evacuate their Home and we all had to get out within hours. Those who were healthy, had to walk the long journey to Zakopany [Zakopane]. Babies and the sick rode in buggies. It was winter and those who had no shoes had to walk barefoot in the snow. When we arrived in Zakopany it was Christmas and I will always remember the warmth and light of that very beautiful Christmas tree. My new home consisted of tables for beds, bread and milky soup once a day, and devoted prayers.

When the war ended, we were taken away from Zakopany, by a Jewish lady. There were five of us—three girls and two boys. It was a rainy night and I can remember being carried out to the horse and buggy that would take us to a new home. From the horse and buggy we went into trucks that had been waiting for us and it was here that I got my first taste of sugar—in cubes. I recall being very sick for quite a long time, and at this point, we arrived at our new home—a Jewish orphanage in Bellevue, in the outskirts of Paris, France.

My father died in Motthousen [sic, Mauthausen]. My mother survived and in 1944 she began her long journey in search of her child.
During the Warsaw Uprising of August 1944, Berta Weissberger’s protector, a Pole named Stefan Broda, persuaded her to enter into a Catholic marriage in order to better her chances of not being detected during the evacuation of Warsaw. Rev. Stanisław Olszewski performed the ceremony in the church of the Holy Redeemer, well aware that it was a fictitious marriage involving a Jewish woman and a Catholic Pole. (Betty Lauer, Hiding in Plain Sight: The Incredible True Story of a German-Jewish Teenager’s Struggle to Survive in Nazi-Occupied Poland [Hanover, New Hampshire: Smith and Kraus, 2004], pp.306–9.)
Mother and Stefan agreed that she and I would be better off in a large crowd, rather than among a relatively small group of people. In 1944, when the Nazis one again required all Poles to have their identification papers revalidated, neither Mother nor I had submitted our Kennkartes. …

A young couple passed us on the street. Stefan knew the woman, and we stopped to speak with them. They told us that although there was no explicit ruling, there were rumors about that if neither husbands nor wives had taken part in the insurrection, being married would give the couple a better chance of remaining together. They were on their way to be married in Kosciol Swietego Zbawiciela [Kościół Najświętszego Zbawiciela]—Church of the Holy Savior [Redeemer]—and they asked us if we would be their witnesses at the ceremony. The woman told Stefan that the priest of the church on nearby Plac Swietego Zbawiciela was coming to the rescue of distraught unmarried Polish couples. On numerous occasions, when suddenly in need of a hiding place, this church had provided me with a refuge. The priest was issuing marriage certificates to couples whose plans to be married had been thwarted by the outbreak of the insurrection. …

We readily agreed, and as we accompanied them, Stefan and I exchanged some thoughts. “As a married couple,” Stefan said, “they might send us to a labor camp rather than a concentration camp. We might be able to remain together. Without this type of document, neither of us stands a good chance. If we stay together, I may be able to help your mother. So what do you say, Krysia, should we try?”

Should we try? Stefan had asked. I was overwhelmed by gratitude. I could not speak. I smiled and nodded my head in happy acquiescence. Ever since the A.K. [Armia Krajowa—Home Army] capitulated to the Nazis, I had not been able to shake the feeling that our efforts to survive, to outwit the Nazis, were doomed. Every other order to the defeated Poles included some reference to the Jews in their midst, who had been the instigators of this Polish calamity. Much of my energy was spent in combating my fears. It was churning up my insides and pulling me down. All of a sudden there was a glimpse of light.

I knew the priest, Father Stanisław [Olszewski]. On several occasions I had heard him celebrate mass. I was astounded by his humanity. In black garb without the elaborate vestments, addressing him as Father somehow seemed natural. He addressed us as “my children,” and he questioned Stefan with regard to some of the events he knew about but had not witnessed. At first, upon hearing that neither of us had been a member of his parish and that at no tome had there been a posting of the banns at any church, I feared that our request would be denied. Stefan was doing most of the talking, but while he did so, the priest’s eyes, so it seemed to me, never left my face. He was a man in his sixties, tall and gaunt and slightly stooped. His eyes were gray, tired looking, and wise. He asked each of us a number of questions. I told him that I was Jewish and that my mother was alive.

“So your mother knows that you are here. I am so glad that you have a mother, my child. There has been too much suffering. So much killing. I must not deny you. The Lord is full of compassion.”

“I am so grateful,” I whispered.

“I cannot enter your marriage in the registry, but I will issue a document of marriage. I pray that it will help you. But you must promise me,” he put his hand on my head, “you must promise me, both of you, that when the war is over, and if you are sure that this is what you want to do, you will come back to this church with the certificate I will give you, and that you will enter into a marriage as prescribed by the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Yes, I will, Father,” I said.

“Thank you, Father,” Stefan said. “The Lord willing, we will be back.”

On a piece of paper we wrote down our respective names, places and dates of birth, and he names of our parents. The priest understood that all the information I gave him was false, but when I wanted to explain, he just waved his hand and said, “No, not now. Once the war is over, and you come back. It is better for me not to know.”

We watched as he carefully filled in the blank spaces on an official-looking form. He signed the document and affixed the seal of the parish. “As far as the Nazis are concerned, and whatever German authority you will have to face, this document is legal. I know, you know, and the Lord knows that it is not. I will pray that it may save your lives.

When I looked around, I saw other people waiting to see the priest. He had given us a great deal of his time. I felt very grateful. I reached for his hand. I wanted to kiss it as was the custom, but he did not want that. “I am not a bishop,” he said. The document stated that on October 3, 1944, Stefan Broda and Krystyna Zolkos [Zołkos] had entered into the holy state of matrimony, in accordance with the laws prescribed by the Roman Catholic Church. It was not the third of October, but we were sure that the priest knew what he was doing. Both of us felt that we had been most fortunate to have met this wise and kind man.
Many residents of Warsaw who were displaced from their homes as a result of the failed Warsaw Uprising were forced to seek assistance from and refuge with Poles in other parts of Poland. Among them were many Jews. Among the helpers were priests and nuns. (United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Photo Archives, Internet: .)
Edward Karol Rechtszafen (now Haven) is the son of Ludwik Rechtszafen and Bronislawa [Bronisława] Rechtszafen nee Bart. He was born on October 28, 1933 in Warsaw, Poland where his father owned a leather factory and numerous real estate properties. They lived in an apartment located in a building belonging to Edward’s paternal grandparents, Ignacy Maksimilian Rechtszafen and Chana Rygier Rechtszafen. In addition the family owned a house in Konstancin near Warsaw. In September 1939 Edward’s father was mobilized into the Polish Army as an officer and subsequently fled Poland via Romania, Iraq and Egypt to the United States. Edward, his mother, his paternal grandparents and his paternal aunt with her husband and daughter tried to flee to the east, but were forced to return to Warsaw. Their house was destroyed in bombing of the city, and the family moved to Konstancin. Sometime in the fall of 1940 they were forced into the Warsaw ghetto. Edward’s grandparents subsequently perished in the ghetto. After one year Bronislawa Rechtszafen arranged for false papers for herself and her 8 years old son Edward. Bronislawa became Anna Luniewska [Łuniewska] and Edward became Edward Luniewski. They found a hiding place with Edward’s former nanny in the Okecie [Okęcie] area of Warsaw. In an effort to save her son, Bronislawa unsuccessfully tried to reverse Edward’s circumcision. In the summer of 1941, in an attempt to secure an American visa, she brought him with her to Berlin where they experienced an air raid. After their return to Warsaw Bronislawa took security measures not to endanger her small son during necessary trips into the city. She always walked on the opposite side of the street from Edward, who was accompanied by his former nanny or another adult protector. During one of these walks Bronislawa Rechtszafen was caught by the Gestapo, and Edward never saw her again. He stayed with his former nanny until the outbreak of the Warsaw uprising on August 1, 1944. Edward was separated from her and found himself alone, fighting alongside the AK Home Army scouts in Warsaw. After the Germans suppressed the uprising in September 1944, most of the population was deported out of Warsaw. Edward and a new friend found themselves in Pruszkow [Pruszków], where they made acquaintance with two Polish women, who claimed to be their respective mothers. This ploy enabled them to leave the transit camp in Pruszkow and travel to Krakow [Kraków]. A priest in Biezanow [Bieżanów] near Krakow found a family, which took Edward in. The Machaczek family lived in Biezanow, where they owned a bakery and Edward became a stepbrother to Jaska [Jaśka] and Jozek [Józek]. Edek, as he was known in Polish, attended the local school. Immediately after the liberation of Poland, Ludwik Rechtszafen, who had changed his name to Louis Rex Haven, initiated an intensive search for his son, and in the spring of 1946 representative of the Polish Red Cross located Edward in Biezanow. In the fall of 1946 Edward traveled to the United States via Stockholm and was finally reunited with his father. Louis Haven tried to compensate his only son for all the years of suffering and created a new reality for him, in which the past did not exist. Edward was sent to best schools but in the process many of his memories as well as his knowledge of the Polish language disappeared. In 1985 Edward renewed contact with the Machaczek family and took his children to visit Poland.
After leaving the Warsaw ghetto in the early part of 1943, Maria Kasman (1881–1971, née Brauner) was sheltered by several Polish families in Warsaw, among them, her son-in-law, Jerzy Kreczmar, a Catholic; Jan Kott, who was a convert of Jewish origin; and Adam and Wanda Henrych, who also sheltered several other Jews. While in hiding with the Henrychs, she met a Jewish woman by the name of Klajnman, who was being sheltered by their neighbours, Zygmunt Majewski and his wife. She was forced to leave Warsaw when the city was evacuated after the uprising of 1944. She eventually took refuge for a short period in Podkowa Leśna with the family of her son-in-law, who were also sheltering another Jewish woman, a pianist from Lwów. Afterwards, Rev. Franciszek Kawiecki, the pastor of Brwinów and a relative of her son-in-law, took Maria under his care and placed her in the home of his sister, Zofia Librowska, where she remained until the liberation. Maria’s grandson, Lolek, the son of her deceased son Salomon, was taken to an orphanage in Częstochowa by another priest. Both Maria Kasman and her grandson survived the war, as well as her daughter-in-law, Felicja, who was married to Jerzy Kreczmar.¹⁸³ According to another account, the Brwinów parish rectory was raided by the German police in 1943 on suspicion of harbouring Jews. Both Rev. Kawiecki and his vicar, Rev. Jan Górny, were detained, as was their housekeeper, Waleria Pokropek, who was severely beaten but did not reveal anything.¹⁸⁴
Two women—Maria Siwek and Jadwiga Urbańczyk—who are described as nuns, but likely were tertiaries who did not take formal religious vows but lived lives similar to nuns, are credited with the rescue of six Jews in the village of Brzączowice near Kraków. Maria Siwek and Jadwiga Urbańczyk were recognized by Yad Vashem as Righteous in 2002. (Gutman, The Encyclopedia of the Righteous Among the Nations: Rescuers of Jews during the Holocaust: Supplementary Volumes (2000–2005), volume II, p.627.)
In the fall of 1943, two Jewish families, the Freunds and the Najers, six people in all, fled from the town of Mysłowice (Katowice County, Upper Silesia District) and went to the home of the Freund’s [sic] housemaid in the hope of finding refuge with her, but she was not prepared to take them in because she said her neighbors were watching and it was too dangerous. They then turned to two nuns, Jadwiga Urbańczyk and Maria Siwek, who lived in Brzaczowice [Brzączowice] (Kraków District). Kurt Freund knew them, as they used to come to buy produce in his vegetable store. At first the nuns were hesitant to take six Jews into their home because they were aware of the risk that involved, especially since a German officer and his family lived above their apartment. Finally, they agreed and emptied out a small bedroom for them. The nuns shared their food with the Jews they were hiding and did not ask for any payment, not even for rent, and of course nothing could compensate them for the risk they were taking. The nuns remarked, “God led you to us and He will protect us too.” The Jews hid in the nuns’ apartment until the liberation early in 1945, and survived.
The Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul (known popularly as szarytki) provided assistance to Jews in various locations in and around Kraków. Two young men from Kraków, Lotek Spogel or Spiegel (later Eliezer Shafrir) and Yehiel Steiner took refuge at their convent after escaping from the Płaszów concentration camp. (Kaczorowska Family, The Righteous Database, Yad Vashem, Internet: .)
The two young men finally decided to escape in September 1943. As they snuck out of the camp in the dead of the night they heard dogs barking, and then gunshots; Lotek was hit in the arm. They managed to hide in a field, and then made their way to the home of Maria Płatek, who had worked as a maid for the Spiegel family. Maria took them in and sent her husband to fetch Andzia [i.e., Anna Kaczorowska, who used to work for the Steiner family before the war]. After a long discussion, they decided that Yehiel and Lotek cannot stay in Płatek’s house, as Maria was anxious about her two small children. It was decided that Yehiel and Lotek should be taken to house of Anna Madej, who had also worked as a maid for the Spigel family. Anna and her husband Piotr welcomed the two young men, and Piotr secured for them work and shelter at the monastery in Szarytki, where he himself worked.

After a while, Yehiel and Lotek regained enough strength to be on their way. They decided to try to get to Slovakia, and from there—to Palestine. Their rescuers provided them with money and supplies for the journey, as well as false identity papers. After a long journey, Yehiel Steiner and Lotek Spigel (today Eloezer Shafrir) arrived in Palestine.
The Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul took in Jews at their old age home in Kraków, the Helcel Institution, which was evacuated to Szczawnica, in southern Poland. Sister Bronisława Wilemska, the superior, and their chaplain, Rev. Albin Małysiak, later auxiliary bishop of Kraków, were recognized by Yad Vashem as Righteous Gentiles. Rev. Małysiak recalled those events in an article he published in 1987 (“Zakład Helclów a ratowanie Żydów,” Tygodnik Powszechny, Kraków, March 15, 1987).
In the spring of 1944, the Germans transferred to Szczawnica the well-known Helcel Institute, a home for the aged in Kraków … I was the chaplain of that institute. Along with Sister Bronisława Wilemska, the superior, we sheltered among the residents of the institute two Jewish women and three Jewish men. Of course, it was necessary at the outset to obtain for them the so-called Kennkarte or identity documents. …

All of the charges of the institute as well as the personnel [nuns and lay staff] knew that there were Jews hidden among us. It was impossible to conceal that fact, even though it was known what danger faced those who were responsible for sheltering Jews.

After the passage of weeks and months many of the residents of Szczawnica learned of the Jewish retirees. No one betrayed this to the Germans who were stationed in the immediate vicinity …
The following account is found in Gutman and Bender, The Encyclopedia of the Righteous Among the Nations, volume 4: Poland, Part 1, at page 487.
During the occupation, Reverend Albin Malysiak [Małysiak] and Sister Bronislawa [Bronisława] Wilemska helped five Jews. At that time, Sister Bronislawa was the head of the Helcel Home for the Aged and Retarded in Cracow [Kraków], where Reverend Albin was chaplain. In 1943, five Jews came to the home and stayed there as wards: Katarzyna Styczen [Styczeń], 45; Helena Kachel, 50; Zbigniew Koszanowski [Kozanowski], who was in his forties; Henryk Juanski [Juański], who was in his thirties, and another man who was aged between 30 and 35. They were provided with forged papers meals, and clothing. [Zbigniew Kozanowski’s false birth certificate was provided by Rev. Jan Wolny of Nowy Targ.¹⁸⁵] “We helped them for humanitarian reasons. Jesus Christ told us to love everybody,” wrote Reverend Albin in his testimony to Yad Vashem. In the spring of 1944, all the tenants of the Home, including the sisters, nurses, and secular staff, were deported by the Germans to Szczawnica Zdroj [Zdrój], Nowy Soncz [Sącz] district. The five Jews also went along to Szczawnica as if they were regular residents of the home. “Nearly all those living in the Home knew that Sister Wilemska and I were hiding Jews,” wrote Reverend Albin. Many of the residents of Szczawnica knew it too, but no one informed the authorities, despite the fact that there was a German police post in the neighborhood. Helena Kachel died in the fall of 1944. Soon afterwards, Katarzyna Styczen also died. The men survived until the liberation in January 1945. Katarzyna’s daughter, Maria Rolicka, went to Szczawnica after receiving news of her mother’s death. “I talked to the sisters and the reverend father who helped my mother and the four other Jews,” she wrote. Reverend Albin told her that he and her mother had many “long talks and discussions. We used to walk in Gorny [Górny] Park in Szczawnica and discuss different problems of Jews, Poles, and humanity in general.”
One of the Jews rescued at the Helcel Institution was the mother of Mary Rolicka, who wrote about her family’s fate in “A Memoir of Survival in Poland,” Midstream, April 1988, at pages 26–27.
My first encounter with Holocaust documentation was watching a scene from the movie Shoah, which, by chance, I saw on television. The scene struck me as unfair to the Poles, and I decided that I had an obligation to tell my side of the story. …