Clara's War (7 page)

‘Clara, everybody's disappearing. Everybody's going some place. We're being murdered at every corner. We know what happens at the camps! We know what's happened in other places!'

Mania was honest, blunt and direct as always. If we wanted to go to the nuns, I know my parents would allow it. The decision was now mine to make. We lay awake a long time that night, but we didn't say much more. Mania's proposition was a weight on my chest and it crushed all the air out of my lungs so it was hard to breathe. Whatever happened, it would happen to us as a family.

 

Shortly after that argument, the summer ended and the Nazis ordered us out of our house. We moved into Uchka's tiny house, where she lived with Hersch Leib's aunt, who raised him after his parents died. We didn't talk about it; just like we hadn't said
anything to Josek about Rela having a baby. It was simply too painful to talk about. We didn't sleep at Uchka's, however. We started sleeping at the Melmans' and going back to Uchka's during the day. The Patrontasches slept there as well. We wanted to be prudent since we knew the Nazis preferred to come early in the morning, hoping to catch their prey disoriented and vulnerable.

Papa spent all of September and October still trying to find someone to take us in. Even with all the families we had helped over the years, all the families we had employed, all the farmers we had given credit to and whose grain we had milled for nothing in hard times, we couldn't find one person to help us. We understood their reasons and didn't think any less of them. Josek and Rela were in the same situation as us. We built a bunker under the factory in case they would be forced to hide there. At least Uchka had managed to find a Polish family named Skibicki willing to take her and the children in. It was a relief to know that they would be safe.

There were rumours of an
akcja
–a mass deportation or a slaughter. I don't know where the rumours started or how they got to us. The town was full of rumours. Mr Patrontasch was an insomniac and seemed never to sleep at all. One day, 22 November, when we were still at the Melmans', I woke up to Mr Patrontasch screaming, ‘Get ready! I just saw two trucks and the Gestapo and the Jewish Police! From Lvov! They're heading into town.'

While we scrambled to wake up and put on our shoes, he ran out again and came back just a moment later. ‘It's an
akcja
! They're driving us up the street!'

I heard gunshots and the Gestapo running and yelling. Mr Melman ran out to warn his friends, the Britwitzes next door. They were sitting at their table, eating breakfast. They also had
a bunker, but the Gestapo was already banging on the front door. Mr Britwitz held his front door closed with his body until the family had time to hide. Then he let go and started running down the street away from the house. The Gestapo shot him, but his family was safe. Mr Melman was lucky to get out and safely slip back into his own house undetected.

We didn't have time to run to the hiding place in the factory. Instead we all crawled through the bedroom trapdoor to the tomb under the Melmans' house. The darkness was suffocating. We couldn't burn the candles we had stored; there wasn't enough oxygen to keep them lit. I had never sat in the bunker even for a minute while digging. I wasn't prepared for the closeness, the terrifying darkness and the smell of damp earth I inhaled with the thick air. As the bunker heated up with the warmth of ten bodies, my pores opened and sweat soaked my clothes until they clung to me, like a second skin.

We stayed there for two days, with no pail for our refuse, a few pieces of bread and a little water. There wasn't room enough to move. When things seemed calm upstairs, Mr Melman and Mr Patrontasch crawled outside to see what was happening. They scrambled back after just a few minutes. The
akcja
was still on. They had killed Mr Lockman, a neighbour who tried to escape. We sat another night in the bunker. At dawn, Mr Patrontasch's younger brother Laibek walked by the house. He knew we were in here and whispered that it was over and that the train had left already. We sat for another hour to be sure before going out.

 

Our city was in desperate mourning. Carriages loaded with dead bodies were taken to the cemetery. Everyone was in shock as they described family members who had been killed while trying to run. Or else they had been shot trying to get up when they
were told to kneel in the centre of the town. Or they had been shot while jumping off the trains. Or else they had been shot when betrayed by the Poles whom they had begged to hide them.

Aunt Rela lost her mother, brother and sister-in-law. Mr Patrontasch lost his youngest sister Pepka (the girl Josek had flirted with before marrying Rela) and her child. She had been running to the house of a Polish friend who had promised to hide her, but the friend didn't let her in when she got there. Papa's friend, Mr Taube, saw her lying in a puddle of blood. They went for her body, but couldn't find her again. My friend Klara Letzer and her family were taken, but she and her mother had managed to jump off the train and make it back. Her father was shot and killed as he tried to escape.

We were thankful that all of us had survived, but didn't know what to do next. It was only a matter of time before they returned to get those they had missed. Mania looked at Papa. Even she didn't have a word to say. The nuns were just up the street. We could see the steeple of the convent from where we were. But we didn't talk about the nuns any more. Our only hope was to find a Polish family willing to take us. But my father had already exhausted that avenue again and again.

We went back to Uchka's. She was in the same bad straits as we were. After the
akcja
, the family that was going to hide her had got cold feet. But she told us that one of her Polish clients from another town had offered to take Zosia, thinking that she could pass for a Polish child without any trouble at all. The woman loved Zosia because she was such a delightful little girl. Uchka gave Zosia to the woman at the train station, and was going to spend the night in Lvov before travelling to her home town. Zosia cried and cried as she was separated from her mother. Uchka felt as if her heart was ripped out, but she was grateful to know her daughter would be safe.

The next morning the woman brought Zosia back to Uchka. Zosia had sobbed all night and couldn't be consoled, she said. She wanted her mother.

While my father looked in vain for a place for us, the Nazis announced they had taken Stalingrad, the city Stalin named in his own honour and the very symbol of the Soviet empire. Papa knew the Soviets had to defend this city with all their might. If Stalingrad fell, there would be no hope for us.

A new decree followed shortly thereafter. All the Jews in Zolkiew were ordered to be in the ghetto by the first of December, only a week away. We knew the ghetto would be the end of us. There was nowhere to hide there. Two days after the decree, there was a knock on Uchka's door in the evening. Papa opened it to find Pavluk standing on the step. He was a strong man whose giant hands were curled around his hat. His pants were shabby and he wore a soiled homespun linen shirt. He had one of those big moustaches that so many of the Ukrainian peasants had. Pavluk was a murderer. After being released from jail he had come to the factory looking for a job. Papa had gone to my grandfather to ask his advice. Dzadzio hadn't hesitated for a second. He said, ‘Hire the man. I promise you, you will have a grateful man your entire life.'

Pavluk told Papa he wanted to hide us. Papa didn't say a word. He just took Pavluk's hand and invited him into the house.

‘Thank you. You don't know what this means to us. But we can't.'

I didn't understand why Papa was refusing the offer. Mama, Mania and me all looked at each other and at him. I could see the protest forming on my sister's lips. Her dark eyes expressed the most profound disappointment. Papa went on in a kind voice: ‘You have six children, Pavluk. And your house. Two
rooms with no place for us to hide.' As much as we wanted him to say yes, we knew Papa was right. We couldn't put six children at risk. Out of all the Poles and Ukrainians that my family knew and had helped for generations, Pavluk was the only one who had come forward to help us.

Pavluk was upset that he hadn't properly thought through his plan for our survival. He muttered, ‘I want to do something, anything to help.' Mama was moved by his sadness. Even though we had already put everything of value we had left behind the stuccoed false wall in the basement of our spinster neighbours, Mama gave him two down pillows and a featherbed to keep for us.

Our down bedding would survive the Nazis.

End November to the beginning of December 1942

T
here was nothing more to do. There were just a few days left. We would have to find a place in the ghetto. My father's brother David had found a studio, but he had six children and there would be no room for another four.

Aunt Giza had got married to a man named Meyer. They had left Zolkiew for the tiny little farming town of Mosty Wielke. There was a work camp there that was considered safe. The German commandant Krupp protected the Jews. He made sure they had enough to eat and that they lived as normal a life as possible.

Josek and Rela had found a place to live in the ghetto, but they were afraid for their little Moshele. Thankfully, because of his fair skin and blond curls, they were able to find a Polish peasant named Sluka who was prepared to take Moshele in exchange for money. Josek had secured a job as a Jewish policeman, which would allow him to leave the ghetto and check on their son. Uchka and the children were going to live with Hersch's aunt, who had found a place on Turiniecka Street, which marked the border of the ghetto. One side of the street was the ghetto. The other side belonged to the Poles and Ukrainians. We were all packing, and Papa did all he could, searching everywhere for somewhere we could hide.

It was late November, Uchka's yard was barren and the house exposed. Through the window I could see Bolek, a boy from school, coming down the lane with his horse and cart made from scavenged wooden planks. Bolek was a year ahead of me and his sister, Anka, was in my class. They were both small for their age, a couple of pixies with reddish hair, green eyes and noses covered with freckles. I was surprised when he stopped the old horse in front of Uchka's house. He jumped down and with the expression of a little man walked into the house. Bolek didn't say ‘Hello, Clara' or even acknowledge with his eyes that I was there when he stopped right in front of me. He simply picked up a wicker trunk that held our belongings and carried it out as if he were retrieving something that belonged to him. He loaded it on to his cart, which was already filled with dressers, trunks, lamps, chests, rugs, beds and bedding.

We watched with resignation. There was nothing we could do. Bolek could have done whatever he liked with us. This child, no bigger than a Bar Mitzvah boy and with skin as smooth as a girl's, could have just as easily come in and beaten or shot us. Nobody would have lifted a finger. Without thinking, I followed
him outside. I surprised myself when I heard my voice asking, ‘Please, Bolek, there's a wooden box with pictures in it. Can we keep it?' He hesitated, then opened the trunk and took out the box. He still hadn't said a word, but he finally looked me in the eye. The box was hand-carved from Russian birch and inlaid with an intricate pattern. He could tell how valuable it was. I didn't care about the box's value; I just wanted to keep the photos that proved that our family had once existed in an almost divine state of happiness and love. Our life was all there. The weddings, the
brises
, vacations in the Carpathians, trips to Rosa's in the country. And even the picture of the four of us on our way to Paradise Hill. There were dozens and dozens of photos.

Bolek stared at the box as if it had been in his family for years, and then handed it down to me. He left with his carriage, stopping at another house down the street. This theft was just one more humiliation in the chain that started with the armbands and there seemed like there would be no end to it.

Only a few days after Bolek we had another Polish visitor, while Papa was out again. We were surprised to see Basia, one of Uchka's Polish friends, at the door. It was dangerous to be outside on the silent streets by oneself. Nobody went out now unless they had to. Uchka was so happy to see a friend that she insisted on making her tea…Of course the conversation quickly turned to matters of life and death. The house was so small that we could hear every word. Basia seemed to be mourning the death of so many Jewish friends. She said that she would be inconsolable if anything should happen to Uchka or the children. ‘If something were to happen, I would be so grateful to have something to remember you by. The bedroom set maybe…'

I could hear Uchka exhale. It seemed as though she couldn't speak. Basia went on: ‘The Nazis would just take it.'

Mama and I saw Uchka drag Basia by her neck to the door and throw her down the steps.

Mama cried out, shaking her sister by the shoulders: ‘What have you done! Why did you do that?'

Uchka said in Yiddish, ‘I have to take it from the Nazis, but I don't have to take it from that piece of shit!'

I had never seen my mother this frightened. Nobody dared talk about what had just happened. Mama went back to the kitchen to continue making her soup in silence.

When Papa rushed in the door later that afternoon, he was talking way too fast for us to understand. He stopped to catch his breath and slowed down to tell us that Julia Beck and her husband had agreed to hide us, the Melmans and the Patrontasches. We couldn't believe what we were hearing. The Becks of all people. We hadn't even considered approaching them because Mr Beck had such a bad reputation. My parents discussed the implications of going under their protection. I had never met Beck. Everything I knew about him I had picked up from whispered conversations. He was a drunk. A philanderer. Couldn't hold on to a job. Owed money to everyone and never paid back a zloty. He was also reputed to be an anti-Semite. Could we risk putting our lives in the hands of a man who was known for a vicious tongue, his anti-Semitism, for his affection for drink and his failed businesses?

The decision was made to accept their offer. We knew that hiding only meant a reprieve. But we didn't have any other alternative, and we trusted Julia Beck. She had been our housekeeper, and her mother had been my grandmother's before that. Once to twice a month she would come to our home and stay for as long as three days, or however long it took to get the laundry washed and the rugs beat. She was a tiny woman but a tireless worker. Together with Mama, she
would boil the kilos of sheets and laundry in huge pots and then crank them through the wringer by hand. It was hard work, and it had taken its toll on Julia, whose hands had been worn raw and were now also tortured by arthritis. Mama didn't see Julia as a maid; she was a helping hand whom we could gratefully afford for many years. She and Mama would chat for hours as they worked, but I was spared, and would usually sneak off to read a book by myself. I had probably never said more than five words to her in my entire life, but now, as we embraced, I wished Julia were with us so I could embrace her too. We hadn't seen her since we had to let her go after the Russians came. And now this Polish woman and her
Volksdeutscher
husband were saving our lives. It might be an hour, a day or a month. But in that hour, day or month, something else might happen. The war might end. Papa might find papers. Something. Some miracle I couldn't even imagine.

 

But our good fortune would be ours alone. The invitation hadn't been extended to Uchka and the kids. Up until that moment our good fortune was their good fortune. If we would be saved, they would be saved. Dear God, how we could make such decisions…I looked at my little cousins and my heart broke with love for them. They didn't understand. How could they? In all our hearts, we knew there was no other choice. It wasn't our decision to make. Very young children couldn't be counted on to be quiet and would put the Becks and the others in danger. There was no argument or discussion. Uchka and the children would have to go to the ghetto. There was nothing we could do.

We were quiet now while Papa explained the details of what had been decided. We would expand the partially built bunker under the Melmans' house. Since Beck was ethnic German he could choose any house he wanted. Beck had gone to the
German housing authority and said he wanted the Melmans' house. Without a word of discussion, he was given the house. It was that simple.

Papa was suddenly confident again. Papa suggested that the Becks start a rumour that we went to the Janowska camp in Lvov because we heard there was work there. We hoped the authorities would not get suspicious because it would be easy for them to check if this rumour was the truth or a ruse.

Not having to go to the ghetto filled us all with more energy than we had had in the last 18 months. My father, Mr Melman and Mr Patrontasch were very smart men and watching them applying their intellects to our survival allowed me to feel like a girl and a daughter again. I could once more look into the dark eyes of my father and feel the warmth of his protection. Feeling that our survival was back in our own hands restored a sense of dignity to us all.

It was only a few days before everyone had to report to the ghetto. Uchka's tiny lane was busy with families, moving what was left of their belongings on pushcarts past us in a slow migration. Their lives had been reduced to what could be carried in their suitcases. Their faces were blank. They dared not look at the uniformed soldiers with the death's head on their collars who seemed to be everywhere.

Throughout Zolkiew, almost as if by edict, old people went to the ghetto and allowed the young to hide. Parents said what they knew might be their final goodbyes to their children and grandchildren as they entered the ghetto and their children entered whatever hiding places they might find. Parents' final gift and their legacy to their children was to take away the burden of their care and the threat to their survival. Honoured, beloved parents would not allow themselves to enter the promised land of the bunkers or to eat a precious crust of bread that
might mean life or death for their children. If their children had to run, they wouldn't be slowed down by parents who might be too weak even to walk. Poor Dzadzio was dead, but Babcia was alive in Kazahkstan and our family was spared the awful decision the Patrontasches were forced to make. While the Nazis and the SS revelled in their courage behind their machine guns, which they pointed at the unarmed and the defenceless, they had no idea of the real courage all around them as family after family said their silent farewells. As we had to live with the shadow of Uchka and her children, the Patrontasches had to live with the shadows of their parents, and Mr Melman with those of his half-brothers Hermann and Gedalo.

Eleven of us would be living under the floor: the four of us; the Melmans and their son Igo; the Patrontasches and their daughter Klarunia, and Mr Patrontasch's widowed sister Klara. Klara and Julia were best friends and Mama thought that it had been she who had convinced Beck to take us in.

I was happy and grateful that Klara was coming. Klara was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, but her beauty was tinged with sadness since she had lost both her husband and daughter. Her husband had died a year after Luncia was born. Luncia had been the only child in the house and there was nothing that money or love could buy in Zolkiew and even Lvov that wasn't bestowed on her. She was the good, sweet child that every parent wanted. We had been best friends until she died in the diphtheria epidemic of 1938 that swept through Eastern Europe. Klara had had to watch her child slowly suffocate to death.

Mama had felt the burial of one of my best friends would be too distressing for me and so she left me in bed that day. But the procession passed in front of our house and woke me up. Mama reluctantly said I could go as far as the synagogue. Klara walked next to her daughter's coffin. Because of the epidemic and the
fact that so much time had passed between her death and the funeral, Mr Patrontasch had had to put Luncia in a wooden coffin, which was then placed inside another coffin made of zinc. Klara was afraid that Luncia's soul would not ascend to Heaven. She was surrounded by her family, Mama and Julia Beck, who were there to catch her should she collapse. I held Mama's hand; I could barely see where I was walking through all my tears. I had known people who had died, but Luncia's death brought me grief, mourning, heartbreak and loss for the first time. Everybody said a part of Klara died when her husband died and now the rest of her was gone too.

Klara was also one of Mama's best friends and after Luncia died Mama wouldn't walk down the block, go to a store or visit a friend without running across the street to take Klara with her. For a long time after Luncia's death, when I saw Klara across the street, Mama told me to hide, to keep out of sight, because Mama didn't want her to be reminded of Luncia.

 

There was much to do for us to make the bunker inhabitable for eleven people. The men sent Mania, me, Igo and little Klarunia back underground, where we started digging now with even more fury to open up the crawl space between the trapdoor hatch and the original bunker. The air was cold and damp and my fingers were numb but after only minutes we would be sweating again.

Mr Patrontasch was concerned that the floor above would collapse and bury us alive. Papa and the other men cut down a tree in the Melmans' backyard, which they fashioned into columns to support the ceiling. He told us how to dig shelves into the walls. Mr Melman cut planks to fit the shelf space. Every family had identical shelf space. We brought down old enamel, tin plates, two pots and a frying pan. Nobody wanted to
bring anything of value to a hole in the ground, except Mrs Melman who brought with her a lovely earthenware pitcher and a few other reminders of her life upstairs. Through a small hole drilled into the floor behind the Becks' bed, Papa drew a wire into the basement. We would have light and a spiral clay hotplate. When there was a search, he would be able to pull the plug down through the hole. He also calculated the exact amount of electricity the Melmans' house would use in all seasons. He knew how to rig the meter so the authorities wouldn't be aware this house was burning more electricity than normal. Mania, I and the other children stuffed straw into mattresses. Mr Patrontasch took precise measurements of the bunker and worked out where we would all sleep.

We were frightened of lice and typhus and knew that our survival depended on keeping as clean as we could, despite the dirt we would be living in. Mama said Mania and I had to cut our hair to avoid catching lice. We both had hair that went almost to our waists, which each morning was put into a long braid and each night was brushed till our arms hurt. We all wept as Mama took a pair of scissors and cut the braids off. There was no need for beautiful hair; it was a threat to our survival. My mother placed our braids in shoeboxes lined with tissue paper, corpses in tiny coffins, like a child might bury a pet kitten or a bird.