Underground. Away from Kovel.

For us, coming from Czestochowa, it seemed natural to get to Kowel {Ko} as we tried to stay out of the Nazi orbit. But the meeting with the Grochow kibbutz looked like a strange coincidence. It now turns out (from the Zuckerman book) that all had been coming toward Kowel (as it was spelled while still a Polish town); the various Zionist outfits, but also the leadership of the Bund. Although they were no less anti-Zionist than the Communists, the Bundists also were illegal in the Soviet Union [there is a long history behind this. This Jewish outfit had been the first socialist party in tsarist Russia before the Social Democratic party there was founded, then (1903) split into a Menshevik (minority) faction and a Bolshevik one under Lenin; who strongly opposed the Bund's attempt to constitute a separate Jewish unit within the Social Democratic party. The Bund eventually supported the Mensheviks and later, in revived independent Poland, the Polish Socialist party (PPS)]. In 1941, the two main leaders of the Bund in Poland, Henryk Erlich and Victor Alter (who had been in Kovel at the time), were executed in the Soviet Union. So it was surely a good idea for the Zionist groups to scatter. For some time, that was my last contact with anyone of the Czestochowa kibbutz, as I left with my brother and Yoine (Jonah) of the Grochow kibbutz toward the latter's home in what had been the Polish town of Lanowce, a few km from the old Polish-Soviet border.



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There isn't much that I recall of that walk, probably because not very much happened. The road was no longer clogged with people streaming east, and there were no more bombardments. The Soviet secret bureaucracies surely had more urgent targets than some youngsters hiking on the main road. The soles of my boots finally wore out all the way, so I walked partly on my socks. As we passed within a few km of Lutsk, another town with much Jewish history attached, it began to rain a little; noteworthy only for being the first rain during that whole September march from the western border of Poland to the eastern one. In Kremenets {Kr} Yoine was no stranger, and he got a horse and wagon; so the very last stage was the most luxurious. But in Lanovitz -as it was pronounced in Yiddish, or Lanovtsy as now rendered from Cyrillic Ukrainian- we had to hide well. During the couple of times we were out on the street, it was with care not to attract attention, notably of Jewish Communists (now released from the jails where the Polish government had kept them). While my brother stayed at Yoine's place, I had been moved to what must have been one of the wealthier homes in the little town. By the time we left after two weeks to try to find our parents, I had probably regained all the weight I must have lost in the preceding three weeks. I hope to be able to tell more about what followed, e.g. at Dubno (also elaborate on the second map; below, where places that have been mentioned, or are to be, have been marked); but in order to get this far, I have had to neglect major current developments I ought to write about. I have in any case now at least written a version of what I promised myself long ago too do: to write what I recall of the amazing retreat of the Czestochowa kibbutz at the beginning of World War II. Only one got lost; and of the four who had to be left behind, two made it anyway, I and my companion from Lublin through Chelm {Kh} (on this pre-WWI map called Kholm as rendered from Cyrillic Russian) to Kowel.



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Lublin to Kowel, Beyond the Bug.

Lublin had been one of the most important centers of Jewish life in Poland for centuries, and I was somewhat aware of that as I approached. The view / skyline was memorable; as I found out when decades later I encountered a passage in Sholem Asch's book "Kidush Hashem" about the Cossak massacres of 1648 (the worst in Jewish history until what was about to follow now) where he describes the view as the wagon of the protagonists coming to the famous Lublin fair arrived. It must have been on the same road.

After the three months at the Czestochowa kibbutz, where conversations with the members from Poland had to be almost always in Yiddish, I had no problem making myself understood by an evidently Jewish man, that I was looking for the people of that kibbutz. It may be an indication of the significance of the Hashomer Hatzair then (hard to imagine these days) that in less than an hour I was with the only one left in Lublin, all the others having continued on toward Kowel, of which I had never heard. He had been unable to walk any further and was in bed at what must have been an emergency shelter maintained by the Jewish community.

When I indicated that I'll continue to Kowel, he wanted to come along and indicated that he shouldn't need much help. When he started to get out of bed, his feet turned out to be bloody all over; clearly from walking all that distance in ill fitting shoes, a problem I was completely free of due to my dad's parting present of made to measure boots when I left Zbaszyn. So instead of putting on his shoes, he just wound rags around his feet. Before he got done, all had to go to the ground floor during an air raid. It was one of the worst, largely because of children (and others) howling, and probably because there also was much anti aircraft fire which cannot be distinguished easily by novices from exploding bombs.

We tried to get a train ride, many tried. Indeed a freight train full of people started going east almost as soon as we got there. It also stopped again almost as soon as it got started. After a while it continued , then stopped again. Other trains obviously had preference. When a stop seemed to be endless, we got off and continued on foot. At first my buddy (I forgot his name but believe not that of he town he came from [Luniniec ?]) barely had to lean on me a little. After some distance, he got worse; so when we saw another train like the earlier, we got on, and it started to move after a while, then stopped, continued, stopped, until my companion suggested walking again, now to Chelm.

If you are a Jew, you surely have heard of Chelm; if a goy, ask a Jew about Chelm and observe him /her smile. It works every time (due to the wondrous tales of the wisdom of the Assemly of Chelmer, who never repeated a mistake, always finding new ones). But there wasn't much to smile about at that time. We passed a Jewish bakery with a long line of people evidently expecting serious events. My buddy led to the head of the line and used me to get some compassion / bread from the owners (the Zbaszyn affair was well known all over Poland, especially to Jews). I felt uncomfortable about it and would have preferred going longer without, having almost got used to it. In retrospect it was fine; and I only had to endure a squeeze of my cheek for good, free, still warm bread; with which we continued toward Kowel at once. I assume we had got some sleep during a train ride and stop; of which we got one more later. The road probably ran close to the railway.

When we got off this time, it was not just because the halt had been too long, which had made us discuss walking. Then we heard the planes, got off and away from the train which got bombed. We were beyond the river Bug,which was about to become the new border, but it still must have been quite a distance from Kowel. We were about to reach it, when we were stopped by Polish soldiers recruiting arrivals to dig trenches in expectation of the German attack. That came almost two years later when Kovel was part of the Ukrainian Soviet Republic.

To Lublin, Alone

As I continued toward Lublin, on foot again (as indicated by the again continuous cyan line on the map) there was once more a sign toward Rudnik, which meant not only some good food at my grandmother's immediately, but also the near certainty of coming under German Nazi rule a little later. It should be understood that I did not decide against that because I did not want to end up in the gas chamber of a death camp like Auschwitz. Things like that were inconceivable at the time, not only to me. I had lived almost six years under Nazi rule in Germany, about half the lifetime of the thousand year "Third Reich", and experienced a few pretty ugly things, notably the "Polenaktion" leading to Zbaszyn; and was well aware of the Kristallnacht about a week later, the worst prewar action. That could hardly have enabled prediction of what was to follow now under cover of war.

A more likely motivation was that, sensing that the war now seemed likely to last quite some time, I wanted to be on the right side; specifically to be able to get to Palestine. What is most vivid in my memory of this stage is my singing our Zionist songs, as the road widened approaching Lublin from Krasnik. Although I abandoned Zionist ideology a few years later, I ought to emphasize that it was my fervent Zionist commitment that gave me the strength I needed at this time. I was in high spirits, daydreaming of my future ideal life in a kibbutz with a beautiful shomeret (the Hebrew name of our girls in the Ha-shomer Ha-tzair). The dysentery was over, for good. I don't recall any awareness of hunger, or danger of getting detained again with worse consequence. Maybe any real commitment can have such effect on a youngster. Then Lublin came into view.

Another Zbaszyn Kid Detained

The Zuckerman description of the German spy scare east of Warsaw may be valid for Poland as a whole during the invasion; although we, certainly I, was unaware of it. The people at the landing of the little San ferry as I got off may have been looking out for potential spies, and suspecting any stranger who was not a regular passenger. Even though I was not aware of a special anxiety, I could understand that someone who speaks German rather than Polish could be worth examining. So I went along to one of the nearby houses of the village. I got a slice of bread with lard on it, which I had never had before, and I may not even have known what it is. It was delicious at least in my state of nourishment, so I gladly agreed when asked if I wanted another. That it may be suspect to Poles who know that Jewish religious law forbids pork didn't occur to me. As I recall, all were quite relaxed, and it may already have been settled with the aid of the gymnasium student who also had learned some French that I'll come along to the nearby town, Radomysl (nad Sanem); which was done on his bicycle. On the way, when this Polish Army officer came riding by on a horse, the student yelled something to him; just a sentence or two, but the officer made a grand stop of his horse with its forelegs raised, making him present a profile Like Napoleon's in the well known Ingres painting. Without a word, he pulled his gun and started aiming at me; at which my companion quickly turned the bike around, so he would have to shoot him first and said something. The officer rode off, and we got to the Radomysl townhall.

I assume it was the town council plus an interpreter to German that assembled. It turned out that we were pretty near to Ulanow, where my mother had been born and lived until age 4 or 5, when my grandparents moved with their kids to Cologne; and only a little further from Rudnik, where her mother had been born and now lived since being allowed to leave Zbaszyn after her expulsion from Germany. I was told that an army unit going that way would take me and check there whether I was telling the truth about my family; if so, to release me and to shoot me if not.

I believe there were three privates and a corporal in charge, with one horse pulling their wagon. The corporal tried to communicate a little in a friendly sort of way.The others disregarded me. We passed through little towns of which I had heard the names in Zbaszyn; where we had lived in a house along with quite a few families from Cologne, who had interacted there because they had originated in the same area. Specifically that included Rozwadow and Nisko (The latter is on the map, but partly obscured by my cyan line, here broken to indicate parts not covered on foot). In one of these two, an air raid started as we pulled up at the market square (Rynek). The soldiers went for cover, but I was given to understand that I stay on the wagon within view or they'll shoot. At Ulanow, I was left at the town entrance sign while they confirmed that my mother had been born there, and the date I had said she had.

I was now free to continue to my parents in Dynow, but I believe I was given to understand that the German army has already taken it, that they themselves were going back. When I indicated I wanted to go to Lublin (where the kibbutz had gone), I was offered a ride on the wagon as far as they went in that direction. At an intersection with a sign pointing to Rudnik 7 km, I had a last chance to go to my grandmother and have a decent meal that day, but I stayed on the wagon, albeit for only another few km. Let me add that in the detention stage, the corporal had divided the (unimpressive) food ration into equal parts for all soldiers, then gave me half of his.