The Righteous: The Unsung Heroes of the Holocaust (3 page)

When the Einsatzgruppen entered the small Volhynian town of Zofiowka (Sofiyevka), all two thousand Jewish inhabitants were forced into an open, unfenced ghetto, and strictly guarded. During a three-day ‘Action’—the word used both by the SS and by the Jews to describe the moment of the destruction of a whole Jewish community—starting on 25 August 1942, all the Jews in Zofiowka were taken in small groups to a nearby forest to be murdered: shot down mercilessly in cold blood. Only thirty-six managed to elude their captors. Making their way with difficulty to the village of Cholopiny, the survivors sought out Alojzy Ludwikowski, a Polish farmer whom they had known before the war. He agreed to try to shelter all of them. Digging a number of pits in the dense forest, in which they could hide, and covering the pits with undergrowth, he provided them with clothing, food and even weapons. In February 1943 the Germans discovered one of the pits. The sixteen Jews hiding there opened fire in self-defence; all of them were killed in the ensuing battle. The other twenty remained in hiding until liberation.
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When the SS turned their attention to Lutsk, two thousand of the twenty thousand Jews in the ghetto managed to escape the round-ups. The historian of the fate of Volhynian Jewry, Shmuel Spector—who himself escaped from Volhynia to the Urals before the German occupation—has recorded that, with the help of Witold Fomenko, a Ukrainian, many of them hid first in the houses of Poles inside the city or in its outskirts, and then, under cover of darkness, made their way to the woods.
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In the Volhynian village of Strumowka, near Lutsk, Fomenko had a hairdressing shop opposite the synagogue. David Prital, who had been a youngster in the ghetto, later recalled that it was said he ‘would come to the ghetto with bags full of bread in order to distribute the bread to the women whose husbands were deported or shot during the first “Actions”. This man tried to encourage Jews who were depressed by regaling them with cheerful stories and jokes about the Germans.’
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David Prital himself was saved by a Ukrainian couple in the same village, Sawko and Okseniya Mironiuk. In 1992 he wrote to the Claims Conference in New York to obtain financial support for Mrs Mironiuk, then a widow, eighty-five years old and blind: ‘To my knowledge she and her family saved a second Jew, Ignnetz Shetz, who after the liberation joined the Russian army and died subsequently fighting the Germans. I remember when Ignnetz was hiding in Mironiuk’s house. The Germans were conducting house-to-house searches and Ignnetz wished to leave but the family refused to let him go. For no reason the Germans passed their house and all were saved.’
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However, the local Ukrainian population could also be terrifyingly hostile to those who sought refuge; it had, after all, carried out murderous pogroms of its own against the Jews in the first weeks of the war. A Jew who had fled from the ghetto of Dabrowica later recalled that, when he asked a Ukrainian peasant friend for help, the ‘friend’ told him: ‘You’ve left all your property with the others in the town and you come to me asking me to help and save you. I thought you were smart but now I see that you’re very dumb. Hitler has conquered almost the whole world and he is going to slaughter all the Jews because they crucified our Jesus. You think you can get away from this fate? You shouldn’t have run away from the ghetto; at least you would have rested in the same grave with your family. Now who knows where you’re going to die. My advice for you is to return to the ghetto. Take a loaf of bread and get out of my sight, for the devil remains the devil and the Yid remains a Yid.’
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Such an attitude, widespread as it was, throws into even starker contrast the goodwill of those who were willing to risk their lives to try to help Jews.

In his testimony to Yad Vashem, David Prital recalled how the first Pole to whom he turned for sanctuary in Lutsk had demanded more money than Prital could even contemplate. He then decided to seek out the Bron family, whom he knew, and who lived in the village of Ozhenitsa. ‘I had developed a friendly relationship with this family all year long, but they never promised to help me in a time of crisis. I arrived at their home in the evening and asked them to let me sleep for only one night. When Mr Bron saw the state I was in, he agreed to let me in. I felt the tension in the house caused by such a dangerous guest who could bring death upon the entire family. During that night I was thinking about my friends who remained in the ghetto. Early in the morning I got up with the same big frightening question. Where shall I go now? I decided that I must do something and went to the kitchen. I lit the fire in the oven and started to peel potatoes for breakfast. My hosts were surprised when they saw me doing the household chores when they woke up, but at the same time they were pleased to see that some housework had been done. “Not so bad,” said Mr Bron, “you see, the night has passed and not a single German has come. Let’s hope that no one will come, after all, how can they keep an eye on each house?” I felt that the tension eased a little.’

Bron and his daughters went to work, ‘and his old, ailing wife stayed at home. I understood that I had to be of real help in this house, and I performed all kinds of household chores that day. When the family returned home after work, they were pleased to see that the floor was clean, and that I had helped the old lady. But I saw doubt reflected in their eyes. There was a Jew in the house! Yesterday the Germans had murdered the remainder of the Lutsk Jewry by shooting them at the outskirts of the town. Despite any doubts or hesitations which were reflected in his eyes, Mr Bron was a noble man and he didn’t remind me that I had asked him to let me sleep in his house for only one night. Through the window I could see the first signs of the approaching Russian winter, cold and bitter, and my hosts’ kindness didn’t allow them to throw me out of the house. Therefore, I stayed in the house for another night, and on the next day I continued doing all the housework. Then I decided to talk seriously to Mr Bron about my plans, which were linked to the coming spring. I said: “Mr Bron, let me stay in your house only through the harsh winter months and in March or April I will try my luck in the Ukrainian woods.” Radiating optimism, my host and my rescuer agreed to let me stay in the house through the winter.’

There were times when danger came very close. On one occasion a Jewish road-building contractor was caught in the house of a Polish woman, who was executed for the help she had extended to him. But other Christian families in Lutsk were hiding Jews; and this, David Prital recalled, ‘undoubtedly encouraged the Bron family and raised their spirits considerably’. One problem for the young man was that one of the daughters ‘was usually full of prejudice against the Jews, and she never tried to hide it’. Mrs Bron was also anxious at the continual presence of a Jew in her devout Roman Catholic home. But one day, after she had asked a priest to visit her, she told David Prital, with tears in her eyes: ‘Now I am totally relaxed, as the priest, Bukovinsky, said I was doing a great act of kindness hiding a Jew in my house. Now I have regained my peace of mind.’

Spring came, the season when David Prital had promised to leave the house and try his luck elsewhere. ‘Jews were caught in the town more often than before,’ he recalled, ‘and this heightened the atmosphere of apprehension in my host family.’ His account continued: ‘I realised that I must find people who are humanitarian by nature and by convictions. Where were such people? Who were they? During long winter nights I recalled walking with my grandfather on his business trips and visiting some villages. I remembered visiting a peasant whom my grandfather called a righteous person. He belonged to one of the many religious sects in the Volyn region. I also remembered prayers and strange rituals performed by the members of the sect on the banks of the Styr river. When I was a kid, I liked to watch the ritual of baptism and listen to their peaceful songs. Those were small groups of Baptists. I also recalled the figure of a housemaid in our yard who also belonged to one of those sects. I recalled her peace of mind and her love for the Jews, and I firmly decided to find these people…

‘I left the Brons’ house on a bright spring morning. Due to a curfew, I couldn’t leave in the evening, and I had to take a risk of walking through the streets of the town in daylight in order to reach the village.’ David Prital was fortunate to meet a German coachman who had been friendly with at least one Jewish family in Lutsk. ‘I knew that the coachman was a friend of the Jews and when I saw him, my eyes filled with tears. I told him that I was looking for a hiding place after I had had to leave the house of a Polish family. He explained that he could not take me because he was already hiding a Jewish couple in his stable—even his wife was unaware that he was providing shelter to Jews. Nevertheless, he agreed that I should come to him if I could find no other place.’

Finding two Jews who were hiding in the granary of a Polish peasant who had taken them in, David Prital told them he hoped to get in touch with those peasants who belonged to the Baptist sect. One of the Jews, taking him to a small gap in the wall of the granary, pointed out a typical Ukrainian house and said to him, “‘In this house lives one of the Baptists, but you should be careful because in the adjacent house lives his brother who will kill you without any hesitation. Good luck!” In the evening, I left the granary and walked in the direction of the house that was covered with straw. I walked in the path between two fields, and my heart was full of anxiety and apprehension. Suddenly I saw a figure of a Ukrainian peasant walking peacefully in the fields. My instincts, which served me well in many dangerous situations, told me that I didn’t have to be afraid of this meeting. He approached me and immediately understood who I was. With tears in his eyes, he comforted me and he invited me to his house. Together we entered his house and I understood instantly that I had met a wonderful person. “God brought an important guest to our house,” he said to his wife. “We should thank God for this blessing.” They kneeled down and I heard a wonderful prayer coming out of their pure and simple hearts, not written in a single prayer book. I heard a song addressed to God, thanking God for the opportunity to meet a son of Israel in these crazy days. They asked God to help those who managed to stay alive hiding in the fields and in the woods. Was it a dream? Was it possible that such people still existed in this world? Why then didn’t I think about them while I was still in the ghetto? With their help and proper planning we could save many people!

‘They stopped praying and we sat down at the table for a meal, which was enjoyable. The peasant’s wife gave us milk and potatoes. Before the meal, the master of the house read a chapter from the Bible. Here it is, I thought, this is the big secret. It is this eternal book that raised their morality to such unbelievable heights. It is this very book that filled their hearts with love for the Jews.

‘After the meal, I started to talk to them. “Look, I, too, am a Jew,” he said. I was shocked. In what world were we? “I am a Jew in spirit,” he continued. “This encounter with you gives me more food for more thought and confirms the words of the prophets that the remnants of the Jews will be saved.”’

Late at night the Baptist brought David Prital to the granary so that he could sleep there. ‘As I have related, unfortunately for me, my hosts had a neighbour who was known for his hatred of the Jews. For the sake of caution, my host had to take me to sleep at another peasant’s home who was of the same faith and who also received me cordially, and who was ready to help me in every way. However, there were serious problems caused by the special status of the Baptist community. They represented a small minority in the village surrounded by Russian Orthodox neighbours who hated them. Therefore, I couldn’t stay for a long time at this other peasant’s home and I had to wander from one place to another…I remember the following episode. One of the peasants said to me: “Normally, we trust our people but a person’s real nature can only be tested in times of trouble. Tonight we ask you to go to a certain peasant and ask for refuge. He is not aware of your staying in the village and his attitude to you will be a real test for him. There is no personal danger for you. If he refuses to let you in, it will be a source of information about the depths of his devotion and his loyalty.” Having received instructions on how to get to this peasant’s house, I finally went there late at night, and after midnight I reached the house that corresponded to the description I was given—tin roof, a granary, a kennel, etc. I knocked on the door, and I heard the frightened voices of the family members. “Who is there?” I said: “A homeless person is asking for a shelter for a few days.” Inside, they started to argue. The wife implored her husband not to open the door. I realised that these good people were indeed subjected to a strenuous trial. In 1943, every night could turn into a night of killings and conflagrations. I heard a voice saying, “We don’t open the door at night.” I said, “What a time has come when a Jew asking for shelter does not receive it.” The master of the house turned to his wife: “This is a Jew, and how can we refuse him?” The door opened and the hearts of those good people opened, too, and I spent several days in this house.’

One night, when David Prital was sitting in the granary, his host came in and sat beside him. ‘I see that you are sad and frustrated,’ he said. ‘I will sing you a song that may help raise your spirits.’ The peasant then started to sing from the Psalms: ‘When God returned the Jews to Zion’—and sang, Prital noted, ‘in Hebrew!’
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FROM KOSTOPOL, ANOTHER
small Volhynian town, two brothers, Szmuel and Josef Liderman, managed to escape the massacre there in which six thousand Jews were murdered in a three-day orgy of killing that started on 26 August 1942. Fleeing to the village of Antonowka, the brothers found the thousand Jews there still alive—only to be rounded up with them and taken to a clearing, where they were made to dig a mass grave, and forced to undress. The shooting then began, but the two brothers somehow managed to run away a second time, although Szmuel was shot and injured in the hand. Naked and exhausted, they reached the isolated farm, deep in the forest, of Stanislaw Jasinski, a pre-war acquaintance of their father. Although the relationship between Jasinski, who was elderly and blind, and their father had not been good, he agreed to take them in, telling them, ‘The past is forgotten.’