To Survive and to Bear Witness
To Survive and to Bear Witness
Moshe Frank
On April 11th 1942 at 12.30 the Jewish area was surrounded and closed off by armed Germans. It was the first massive expulsion. The Germans prevented the Jews from leaving the ghetto, but permitted them to enter it.
What should I do? Return home or stay outside?
I entered the ghetto and hurried home. The Germans were running about, accompanied by members of the Judenrat and Jewish policemen, and went from house to house. They ordered all the people to pack a small bundle with their belongings and go immediately to the square on the northern side of Lwowska Street. They threatened that whoever stayed at home would be shot on the spot.
A commotion ensued. No one knew where we would be going and for how long. We packed and took with us a few small bundles, a little food and some clothes, and we left. When we reached the square, rows of families with their parcels were already standing there. The S.S. made us stand in rows and sorted us repeatedly. Anyone who moved or did anything they disapproved of was instantly brutally beaten until the blows drew blood. All the people trembled in fear. My mother tried to prevent me from seeing the dogs, the whips and the weapons, by shielding my eyes with her body. We stood there for a long time; it felt like years.
At dusk the order was given to move on. Under the threat of blows and to the sound of firing, the human mass started to move west along Lwowska Street. Tired out, exhausted people carrying their bundles; old people and children led under heavy guard, carrying rifles with bayonets, cudgels and whips. Anyone out of line or turning his head was killed on the spot. My mother squeezed my hand as with pincers. We started to run wildly on and on. By the ramp (the station for freight trains) we were made to turn to the right.
They pushed us into the freight car, smelling with feces, urine and sweat. Aunt Rosa shouted to us that her son Mendel had escaped from the column - I’ll do so too! Instead of pushing into the carriage, I slipped down through the little space by one of the wheels, between the carriage and the ramp. To this day I can’t bear the thought of what my mother must have gone through when I disappeared. This dull pain has been with me all my life. I loved my mother with my heart and soul.
When darkness began to fall and the screaming died down, I peered up the ramp. On the platform I discerned large pipes, waiting to be installed. Within seconds I jumped up and rolled up inside one of them. I waited there until the Germans finished locking the carriages. When there were fewer guards, I jumped onto the ramp, crossed the railway lines and ran on towards the New Town. I felt as though all the lamps and all eyes were focused on me. All the weapons were pointing only at me - a boy running for his life with the last remnants of his strength.
I ran on in the direction of the New Town, to the ghetto. I crossed fields and broke through hedges and fences. I passed through a small part of Lwowska Street. I saw corpses and bundles scattered along the road, and pools of blood. Lots of blood; blood in the street, on the sidewalks, and even on the walls of the buildings. I reached the entrance to our house on the run. The entrance door was broken in. When I entered the apartment, I saw my mother’s sewing machine turned over, the beds were in a mess, and all our things were strewn all over the floor. I ran into the yard through the gate that had been ripped out, and there I found the bodies of a woman and a child. Next to the woman lay a basket and potatoes, spilt all around it. Above it all, the moon shed its silver light.
I ran in a state of total confusion, jumping over bundles and dead bodies. My mind was empty. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by fear. What am I to do? Where am I to go? What’s happened? My body was contorted by cold and trembling. I heard dogs wailing, I saw cats running about aimlessly. A spark of hope crossed my mind: Maybe there is someone from my family left at the aunt’s house? I ran to Polna Street 12. The streets were empty, wrapped in a kind of ghostly silence. I reached the house. It all looked dark. Suddenly I saw a small light through the window that resembled the window of my aunt’s apartment. Inhuman forces swept me up there. I knocked on the door and shouted: “Open the door! It’s me, Mojszale! It’s me!”
When they saw me, they all burst into tears. The tension, accumulated within me during the seconds, minutes, hours, and throughout that long day, suddenly surged out like a powerful electrical current. Deep strangled sounds erupted from my throat. A flood of tears gushed from my eyes, I started to cry aloud vehemently. I was very depressed, in despair. I sat down on the bed and looked at a photograph of my mother and father. That was the last time. I went on crying, on and on. Late that night we heard the whistle of the train. Someone remarked: “That’s the engine pulling the freight cars with our loved ones.”