It began on the 1st of September 1939, when the mighty German army attacked Poland. The whooping sounds of the sirens from the factories were frightening. The announcements from the speakers in the street warned: “Halo, Halo, uwaga, uwaga, nadchodzi!… Unharness your horses, people off the streets! Halo, halo, they’re coming!”
They came! At first the planes, the bombs, the shrapnel, and the panic. Then the Germans arrived — in neat, spotlessly clean, well-ironed uniforrns, in tanks, in airplanes, on horses, motorcycles and by foot — a seemingly endless, well-drilled procession. They were singing: “Deutschland, Deutschland, uber Alles” and “Wir Werden Fahren Nach (We’re driving to) England!”
The Polish front west of Lodz had been broken and the devastated army was retreating in chaos toward Warsaw, where they would mount the major battle against the enemy. Thousands of civilians ran along with the army. Some were hoping to run further inland, some thought to have the protection of the army or to carry arms; others were running toward the eastern border of Poland or toward the countryside. Most of these people did not actually know their ultimate destination. They merely wanted to escape from the rapidly approaching Germans.
My Aunt Laytshe and her husband Yosef Berlinski stopped in front of our house and invited us to join them in their escape to Pruzany — a little town in the northeastern part of Poland that was occupied by the Soviets. There their son Note (in Lodz pronounced Nute) and his wife Khane had settled down about eight years earlier.
My mother gladly accepted the offer and hurriedly packed essentials in six knapsacks, one for each member of our immediate family. She told me that I could take along two of my favorite lightweight items: toys, games or other personal belongings of my choice. I surely did! I was very happy to take along my autograph book that I had received for my tenth birthday six months earlier, and my new jacks. The whole idea of leaving our home was somewhat scary, yet it sounded exciting to travel to new places. I was overjoyed with the idea of again seeing my favorite and oldest cousin Note, his wife Khane, their charming child Esterke (who was only about two years younger than I); to see their milk farm, the beehives, the cheese factory, and their home. Before I had time to think and fantasize any more, our knapsacks, some bedding and a few other necessities or cherished items were loaded into uncle’s droshke which was standing in the backyard. Uncle was holding the strap of his brown horse, which was already harnessed and ready to leave. Buba and Aunt Leytshe were standing nearby watching out for our belongings on the droshke. My mother, my brothers and I were putting on the last layers of clothing that my mother hurriedly prepared for us to travel in. We too would be ready for the journey — as soon as father was ready to join us. We were just waiting for him to return, eat some food and change his clothes.
As soon as my father came home, my mother said to him that all our essential belongings that we could possibly bring with us were already on the droshke and implored him: “Hurry up, Berish, eat your meal, change your clothing for the journey and let’s go! Yosef, Laytshe and mother are already waiting for us outside.”
“What essential things? What droshke? What journey? Where do you want to go?”
“Yosef wants to take us to Pruzhene, now in the Soviet occupied territory,” she answered.
“Are you all crazy? You want to run from the cultured Germans to the backward ‘Asians’? Not me! I am not going!”
“Berish, what are you saying? We have to run away from the Nazi-Fascists! They want to destroy us!”
“Rukhtshe,” my father insisted, “Hitler is an idiot. Right now some German hoodlums are supporting him, but I know the Germans better — I lived among them, studied with them, had many friends amongst them! They are a fine and cultured people. They will not follow that maniac!”
“Berish,” mother shot back, “you are talking about Germans that you had known during World War I. Let me remind you that it’s now the year 1939, that we are at the onset of another war, and that a new generation is now ruling in Germany? It is a generation of crazy, blood-thirsty fascists who are following their leader, and they consider his trashy ‘Mein Kampf’ as their new holy bible!”
My father was unrelenting: “Anyway, Rukhtshe, if I have to die, I want to die in my own bed, in our home, among the things that I have worked for through my entire life; not on the road under shelling by the Luftwaffe! No, Rukhtshe, that’s a crazy idea and I am not going!”
“Tate,” my brother Elek interjected, “if you are ready to die, perhaps you have already had an interesting life! We have not! We have not yet begun to live! We want to live! We want to go!”
“We shall go! And if you don’t want to come, we are leaving without you!” Shimon stated.
My brothers were very determined to leave, even if father was to stay behind, but mama blocked their way with her arms and body, and cried out: “No,my children, during a war a family doesn’t separate! We will either all go together, or none of us will go!”
Aunt Leytshe, Uncle Yosef and Grandma were very disappointed but they also decided not to leave without us.
(to be continued…)
©2001 Fela Infeld Glaser and Marty Capsuto
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