Wartime Rescue of Jews by the Polish Catholic Clergy

Yours in Christ, Monsignor Witold Dzieciol [Dzięcioł], Victoria Park, Western Australia
Several unidentified priests in the vicinity of Włodawa, in the voivodship of Lublin, are mentioned in Jewish memoirs. Mirka Bram (later Erlich), a Jewish girl born in 1936, recalls (as recorded in Maria Hochberg-Mariańska and Noe Grüss, eds., The Children Accuse [London and Portland, Oregon: Vallentine Mitchell, 1996], pp.139–40):
Mrs Szusterowa [from Adampol] told me I should go and see the priest in Włodawa, and that he would certainly help me. We went to Włodawa across the gardens and fields so that no one would see us. She left me by the church and forbade me to go back to her house, because she was very much afraid. I went to the church and went looking for the priest … I saw the priest by the little house behind the church and I went up to him. I said: ‘Good morning, Mr. Priest. I’m an orphan, please can you help me?’

The priest [Rev. Józef Sobieszek, the local dean] smiled and said: ‘Go and see Mrs Orzechowska, the doctor’s wife, and tell her that I sent you.’ And he gave me Mrs Orzechowska’s address, even though I knew where she lived, but I did not say anything because I was pretending not to be from Włodawa. But Mrs Orzechowska and her husband recognised me straightaway and told me not to be afraid. I burst into tears and told them everything. Then Mrs Orzechowska sent me into the country to a priest she knew who knew that I was Jewish. The priest taught me how to talk so that no one would know that I was Jewish, how you must not say ‘Mr Priest’ but ‘father’, and many other things. I stayed there for several days.
Harold Werner, a Jewish partisan active in that area, recalls in his memoirs, Fighting Back: A Memoir of Jewish Resistance in World War II (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), at page 191:
In a small village not far from the Bug River, we went at night to the house of a friendly local priest and asked him to take us to the shallowest point of the river. He led us to a spot where the water was waist deep, and with our weapons over our heads we crossed, with the priest leading the way. When we got to the other side, we directed him to go back.
Diane Armstrong (née Baldinger), born in 1939 and known as Danusia, together with her parents Henek and Bronia, spent the war years in the small town of Piszczac near Biała Podlaska under the protective umbrella extended to them by Rev. Roman Soszyński, the parish priest. The remarkable story is told in Armstrong’s moving saga, Mosaic: A Chronicle of Five Generations (Milsons Point, N.S.W.: Random House, 1998), at pages 294–307, and 573–83. During a recent visit to Poland she visited the town where her family hid for three years under assumed identities and posing as Catholics—the Bogusławskis. There they were befriended by the priest who played chess with her father. The Gestapo was close by and they lived in fear of being denounced.
Ever since my father [Henek] had arrived in Piszczac, the problem of making friends had been on his mind. Being newcomers made him and Bronia too vulnerable, because all new arrivals were suspected of being Jews until proved otherwise. He’d noticed that all the other newcomers in the village, who were Catholics, soon found mutual friends or church connections which made them accepted, but neither he nor Bronia could claim such links. He’d already asked the church organist to enter his certificate of baptism into the parish records. Although it was a false certificate, once it was entered it would appear genuine and he’d be able to make copies if he ever needed proof of baptism.

It was vital to make friends and become part of village life as fast as possible. … A few weeks after the new priest [Rev. Roman Soszyński, then 32 years old] had arrived, Henek was heading towards the post office. … He was about to walk into the post office when he heard a cart rattle along from the direction of Chotylow [Chotyłów]. The driver tugged the reins, the cart stopped, and out stepped the new parish priest, brushing the sleet off his black soutane. His heart beating at his own audacity, Henek hastened towards him and apologised for accosting him in the street. ‘On the contrary, my dear Dr Boguslawski,’ replied Father Soszynski with a disarming smile. ‘I’m the one who should apologise for not having called on you, but I’ve been following the bishop’s orders [not to call on his parishioners, but let them seek him out]. What can we do, we live in such dangerous times!’

Heartened by the priest’s friendly manner, Henek pressed on. ‘This evening my wife and I have invited some friends over to our place. If Reverend Father would come and have a glass of tea with us, we’d be honoured.’

Roman Soszynski looked with interest at this greying man whose neatly trimmed moustache and slight limp added to his air of distinction. He’d already heard about the new dentist from the organist, who’d reported the conversation about the baptism certificate with a look which had implied some doubt. But he liked Dr Boguslawski’s sincerity and his direct gaze. ‘I’ll be delighted to come tonight and meet your good lady,’ he replied.