Since the procedure of catching and delivering the required numbers of people that were demanded by the German authorities proved to be too lengthy and tedious, a new method for delivering the 20,000 or so ghetto inhabitants for deportation was devised — an eight day curfew, known as the Sperre or Gassen Sperre. Through the duration of the Sperre, all the factories, ghetto groceries, bakeries, clothing stores, soup kitchens and all other public places were closed.
Only persons with special passes were allowed in the streets —which were now basically deserted of pedestrians and unusually quiet. The rare sidewalk passers-by were generally policemen, firemen, and other privileged few with special armbands. Much more frequently one could hear the monotonous galloping of horses and the frightening sounds of the rolling wagon wheels, and one could see the large wagons filled with people (mostly children), regularly going toward the Umschlagplatz and rushing back in the opposite direction empty.
Every day a given section of the ghetto was sealed off. The inhabitants of that area were ordered to line up in the backyards of their buildings, and to pass through a selection by a Gerrnan doctor and his aides. Though they at first claimed that only young children, the elderly and sick were to be selected for deportation, it was later apparent that people were chosen indiscriminately. Whoever the German doctor’s finger was pointed at was pulled out of line. The selected were gathered in a designated restricted area of the yard, watched by policemen, and were later loaded onto high-walled wagons and taken away to the Umschlagplatz. Those dragged out of hiding places were put with the people who were selected by the doctor. The others — those who had safely passed the selection and were not stopped — were later allowed to return to their homes, which had been ransacked in their absence by the authorities that were searching for hidden inhabitants.
As soon as rumors of the Sperre had spread, the shelves of the ghetto grocery stores, bakeries and soup kitchens had been emptied. The only item available for purchase (at the onset of the Sperre) was Ersatz Coffee (imitation coffee). During the Sperre, food stores were closed. Since we did not work during that period, we were deprived of our soups — the major daily reward for our work. So, the only food and drink for the majority of the inhabitants of the ghetto during that period, was indeed, Ersatz Coffee. It is not surprising that during that hot, late summer period — a time of great fear, extreme starvation and stench from the unburied dead — there was a lot of togetherness, a time of great concern for one another.
But sometimes, fights erupted — particularly about food and one could hear allegations: “You stole my last slice of bread!” Starved decent, concerned and loving family members, suddenly turned against each other during that tragic period of unprecedented panic and hunger in the ghetto.
Several times, I could hear through the walls that separated our living quarters from that of our neighbors, the three-year-old twins, Milus and Lubka, pleading with their parents: “Remember, you promised not to allow the bad Germans to take us away!”
The parents reassured their beloved children, but I was under the impression that the certainty of their answers and their voices had faded.
These young children, only three years old, though hungry, full of fear and deprived of necessities — like the other ghetto children, never cried, never complained, never demanded. They must have recognized and understood the horror that permeated the atmosphere of the ghetto at these times. One personal recollection regarding these toddlers (as well as about most of the other very young ghetto children), is the fact that though they had learned so early in their lives about horror and human cruelty, they had never even got to know what an egg looked like.
Most of the time deadly silence reigned among the ghetto dwellers during the eight days of the Sperre (September 5-12). It seemed like an eternity.
In the early morning of the fifth day of the Sperre, my mother suddenly woke me from my sleep and hurriedly said: “They are surrounding our street and I heard many neighbors run away. Get dressed as fast as you can, help me tighten my orthopedic shoe, and let’s run!” Her voice was decisive, unlike her weak and apathetic voice since my two brothers’ deaths. Seemingly, mama had regained her courage, strength and determination. About three minutes later, we were ready to leave. Though trembling with fear and shaking like leaves during a great storm, we left the blocked off area and soon reached my Aunt Surtshe’s home where the Cwern family had returned earlier that week. To our great disappointment, Uncle Avrom and my mother’s sister didn’t welcome us with open arms as we had welcomed them — as we expected they would. Uncle said that he couldn’t risk his family’s lives for us. My mother took my hand in hers and turned toward her brother-in-law: “We are going back, but if we are sent to our death, may it be on your conscience for the rest of your life!”
We were about to return to our home when a policeman stopped us: “Are you meshuge (crazy), an invalid with a child going right into the arms of the killer?” He chased us back, away from the danger zone.
“Where can we go,” my mother murmured. “If we couldn’t find shelter in my sister’s home, then I don’t know where to go!” We just walked aimlessly through the empty ghetto streets until my mother turned onto the familiar doorsteps of her niece Hendl’s home.
“Mume (Aunt) Rukhtsche, I am so happy that you and Feygele came out alive! When I heard that your street was blocked off, I thought that you were taken away! Sit down, Mume Rukhtsche, and put up your feet to rest on the chair; your ankles are so swollen. Eat a piece of bread, and you too Feygele. I wish I had more to offer, but unfortunately, that’s all we have left of the meager rations that we managed to take out before the Sperre began. Please, Mume Rukhtshe, don’t worry about anything. Just relax and be assured that you are not in our way. Wherever I will hide my own three little children, I’ll hide you and your child! Just let me look at you, and hold you tight, my beloved aunt, so that you will not disappear.” Hendl kept my mother in a tight embrace, continually kissing and caressing her face, her hair, her shoulders, and wouldn’t let go of her. Her husband sat on his cobbler stool, pretending to be repairing a pair of shoes and that he was unaware of what was going on around him. The three little children — two girls with blond hair and bluish-gray eyes, aged six and seven, and their five year old brother with sky blue eyes and crooked legs (he may have had rickets) that were hardly able to support his little body as he was holding on to a chair — were standing around in silence, looking on with great fear and concern in their eyes.
I was still agitated, hungry and weak, but felt relieved that my cousin Hendl was going to hide my mother. After all, I was still a child, and the burden of not knowing how to protect my mother from deportation was overwhelming. I was unable to perceive that my life was also in danger. After all, I was already over thirteen years old, very tall, had rosy cheeks, and although I was physically underdeveloped for my age (as were most of the ghetto children), I looked as strong, healthy and capable of working as anyone in the ghetto. And, I had a worker’s identification card, showing that I was a “productive” inhabitant of the Litzmannzstadt ghetto. My mother — 42-years-old but rapidly aging had a pronounced limp, large black bags under her eyes, a skinny, sick-looking, colorless face, and swollen all over. It could not escape anyone’s notice that she was all skin and bones — throughout her body. I was certain that she had absolutely no chance to pass a selection process and this remained my major concern. This experience with my cousins served as a poignant reminder that despite the misery, some people were still good at heart and expressed love and concern for others.
When the evening came and our street was no longer surrounded, we kissed them good-bye, wished one another “good luck,” and returned to our home. We never saw Hendl, her husband or their three children again.
to be continued…
©2001 Fela Infeld Glaser and Marty Capsuto
©2009 First Look Marketing All Rights Reserved
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