SURVIVOR ACCOUNT

Nowy Sacz, September 1939

CHARLES STEVENS

The testimony that follows is one chapter of a wider unpublished autobiography by

Charles Stevens. The author was born Chaim Solomon Sieradzki (his pet name was
'Chamulek') in Nowy Sacz, southern Poland, in 1922, the ninth child in a Jewish
family of ten. Nowy Sacz is a market town southeast of Krakow with a population
then of around 36,000, a third of them Jewish. Charles's father, Kalman Sieradzki,
was a manufacturer of sweets, pastries and cakes; Charles describes the family as
upper middle class, observant but not Orthodox.
The chapter reproduced covers just one month - September 1939 - in
Charles's wartime experience as he remembers it as a young 17 year old. It is
included here as a text because of its unusual focus, compared with other survivor
accounts; readers may find it of particular interest for four reasons. Firstly, for the
historical record, it provides a vivid picture of the very first days of the German
occupation of a south Polish town, a period that is often omitted or glossed over
in testimonies that have as their main focus experiences later in the war. Secondly,
it details crimes committed by soldiers of the German armed forces, the
Wehrmacht, as well as those of the SS. Thirdly, read critically, it is an unmistakably
gendered account written in a distinctive, one might even say sensationalist,
narrative style which challenges our notions of the witness genre. Although situated
as a post-war memoir - it is a text clearly written with hindsight - nevertheless, it
attempts to convey some of the exhilaration and anticipation that the newly
declared war brought for a young man with no expectations of the horror that was
to come. Finally, and shockingly, it describes a rape witnessed by the author. The
inclusion of this episode, keeping the account intact, is recognised as problematic
given the 'unspeakability' attached to the issue of rape in wartime and, specifically,
given the silence from the women's perspective on this issue that surrounds
memory of the Second World War. Yet those scholars exploring the role of gender
and the Holocaust may find this account significant. The text is reproduced here
with minimal editing, though names have been changed.
Charles's memoir describes his wartime experience in detail; he spent time in
Polish and Siberian labour camps before reaching Palestine at the end of the war.
There he joined British Army intelligence and changed his name. He arrived in
Britain hoping to study medicine but without sufficient funds he turned to
tailoring, pursuing a career as an award-winning tailor on Saville Row, London.
He and his wife live in London and are parents and grandparents.

The Journal of Holocaust Education, Vol.9, No.1, Summer 2000, pp.Sl-64

PUBLISHED BY FRANK CASS, LONDON
52 THE JOURNAL OF HOLOCAUST EDUCATION

In my sleep I dreamt I was back home in Nowy Sacz with all those 1
knew and loved - my parents, brothers and sisters, friends, and the
people who worked in our factory. The Germans had invaded Poland
in September 1939 and people were in a terrible panic with many
rumours circulating. There were thousands of people in the streets,
running in all directions, and doroshkas [horse-drawn carriages], cars,
buggies and bicycles cluttered the roads. Lost children wandered
about crying, clutching onto their pathetic bundles of possessions.
People in the town considered my father to be a wise man and
would frequently seek his guidance on matters of importance. He had
decided that running was pointless, as the Germans would overtake
us wherever we went, but I believe he lived on memories of the Great
War of 1914, when Nowy Sacz and surrounding Galicia was
occupied by the Austrians.
In those days the German-speaking officers were gentlemen in
every respect, and some were even Jewish. There was no Hitler or SS
killing squads. My father was under the illusion that the friendship
and business transactions he experienced in 1914-18 would be
repeated. He disregarded the rumours of barbaric acts reaching us as
highly exaggerated; he did not believe that such a dramatic change
could possibly occur in a civilised nation. He had no objection to my
brother and myself going away on our bicycles if we so desired and
was convinced we would soon return home.
The local authorities made hasty and inadequate preparations
against bombing and gas attacks. I was involved in a group that was
given intensive instructions, tested by examination, on what to do in
the event of an attack in the locality. Being young I was stupidly
elated in anticipation of something excitingly different; my spirit
craved for danger and new adventures, but I was ashamed to mention
those feelings to anyone.
The Polish infantry, retreating in disgrace, offered only sporadic
resistance- as effective as a child with a pea shooter against the tanks.
From my recollections and observations, discipline in the Polish army
was maintained by not so much a 'pecking' order, more a bullying
order; each level of rank would torment and give absolute hell to the
one below. I personally witnessed an off-duty lance corporal vilify
and degrade a private passing with his girlfriend. Whether it was to
impress his fellow NCOs or for his own ego I never discovered.
 NO WY SAC Z 53

The Germans were approaching fast, the Polish army retreating

again t their better-equipped foes. Supported by tanks and armoured
cars, the Nazi infantry advanced in armoured buses with several
mechanical doors on each side for a quick exit. The German air force
was very active and kept in constant liaison with the ground forces.
The Polish fascists and the large number of Polish-speaking settlers
from Germany (known to us Poles as Shwabs) bubbled over with
excitement, sharpening their knives. Asserting their authority they
walked about boasting of their German blood.
My father used to buy large quantities of flour from one of those
Polish Germans, whose name was Jenkner. They had been good
friends since the Great War and our families had spent many an
afternoon together exchanging stories, playing cards, eating and
drinking. I frequently had the task of visiting Jenkner's mill with an
order for several sacks of flour and an envelope full of money. His
wife and three lovely daughters always greeted me warmly when I
collected the flour, and I would always depart thinking how pleasant
those people were.
The retreating Polish soldiers passed our house. One of the
officers (they were on horseback) had a rope around one of Jenkner's
daughters and was pulling her along behind the horse, while she
proudly held her head up expressing defiance. They had confiscated
all Jenkner's flour and I believe that she had answered a question
directed at her with, 'I am German, I was German and I will always
be German.' The officer was on the point of plunging his sword into
her, but changed his mind, and decided to use her as an example to
others who might defy 'our glorious army'.
As the German war machine approached closer the Polish students
patrolling the streets armed with old-fashioned rifles were ordered to
shoot at anyone they considered suspicious, especially after the 7pm
curfew. On one evening two of the armed students, one of whom I
knew, were on the point of shooting me at two minutes after seven
on the doorstep of my own home. I had just returned after seeing a
girlfriend named Reina, a blue-eyed blond with a lovely figure. The
students were itching to pull the trigger and gave me quite a scare. I
addressed myself to the one I knew and pleaded, 'But you know me.
I only talked to you last week in the library, where we discussed a
book.' He hesitated and lowered his rifle, 'We have our orders,
 54 THE JOURNAL OF HOLOCAUST EDUCATION

consider yourself a lucky boy.' I was lucky, their faces reflected regret
at missing the chance of a kill to report to their superiors.
These groups with rifles also had orders to shoot at enemy
aircraft, should they see any. I believe they did bring one down,
which was a rare feat, but unfortunately it was one of ours! One day
a German fighter plane ran out of fuel and had to make a forced
landing in a large corn-field near the Nowy Sacz railway station. A
group of students surrounded the plane. The German pilot, dressed
to kill with a revolver in his hand, came out of the plane stiff and
arrogant and demanded to know if anyone spoke German. Several
men did. 'I have to inform you that the army will be here very soon.
I ask you to surrender peacefully - it will be to your advantage.' The
students looked at each other in confusion and eventually decided to
take the pilot's gun and detain him at the railway station.
On the day the German army reached our town the students
placed a machine-gun above the escarpment of the River Dunajec on
the walls of the ancient Jagielonski castle. Below them was the
beautiful iron bow-bridge called 'Helena'. When the first German
armoured car approached the bridge the machine-gun opened fire. It
was a feeble show of resistance; the bridge could easily have been
blown up. That would have stopped the Germans crossing for at least
two days, maybe even longer with an organised defence. In fact,
within ten minutes a German plane was on the scene and smashed the
machine-gun nest, killing six students.
My whole family sat out the German attack in the vast cellars
extending the width and breadth of our large house. Three days
before I had suspended a circular steel plate from the spiral iron
staircase in our yard to act as a gong in the event of a gas attack. This
was suggested at the course I had hurriedly attended; but no gas
masks were available. We busied ourselves in the cellar selecting an
inconspicuous place to hide our valuables, like jewellery and gold,
and eventually agreed on a place of my choice. Carefully removing a
few bricks from the wall, we dug out a hollow space. Small items -
rings, watches, and gold coins - were wrapped in a linen cloth and
put inside condoms, while the larger pieces, such as silver goblets and
cutlery, antique scent boxes and religious paraphernalia, were
wrapped in the inner-tubes of tyres, paper, and linen cloth. The
bricks were carefully cemented back and then dust from the earthen
 NOWY SACZ 55
floor was rubbed over the whole area. We were all pleased and agreed
that it was a job well done. My father told us to imprint the exact
location of the hiding-place in our minds and very subtly said, 'We do
not know what will be, my dear ones. We may all survive but some
of us may not. This treasure will remain for the survivors. Let us all
be fair, kind, helpful, and understanding at all times.' Then, in
Hebrew he added, 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, may His
will be done.'
The moment my father spoke the last word there was a
tremendous explosion, with such a great concussion that the
foundations shook and dust fogged the cellar. In the excitement and
overcome with stupidity I ran upstairs through the corridor into the
yard, grabbed a wooden mallet and started banging the gong
fervently. This signal was to be used for gas only, but I was so
overcome I banged anyway. A German plane had flown very low and
dropped a bomb on the main street of Nowy Sacz, Jagielonska Street,
about 100 metres from our house. The effect was to terrify the
population prior to the arrival of the troops. German tactics certainly
worked; they had made a psychological study in their preparation for
the war and as a result used clever deception, horror, atrocities,
public hanging and shooting to subdue the local citizens, who became
frightened, submissive, and even resorted to grovelling.
Later, in the cellar, we heard the rumbling of heavy motorised
vehicles above us. Inside I felt a mixture of fear and excitement, and
my father had to restrain me from going upstairs to watch the
frightening modern army on wheels. The Polish army that I could
remember consisted of marching infantry with only horses to pull
the heavy guns and provision wagons. I could not hold back any
longer so, under the pretext of a call of nature, I climbed upstairs
and secretly observed the passage of the mighty columns, protected
in the air by roaring, low-flying fighter planes. Only then did I
understand the hopelessness of any army to withstand this new
disciplined and very methodical colossus. Loudspeakers issued
orders that any resistance or disobedience would be answered by
immediate execution. Shops and businesses were told to open
as usual.
As soon as we re-opened our shops, German soldiers started to
come in to buy pastries, cakes and chocolates. They were polite and
56 THE JOURNAL OF HOLOCAUST EDUCATION

appreciative and paid in German marks. The troublemakers were the

Shwabs, who wore swastika arm-bands and were demanding and
arrogant. One of them threatened me when I refused to give him a
parcel of goodies without payment. 'You will see, you cursed ] ew, you
will pay for this!' A few hours later he came back with a German
officer and pointing to me he said, 'This is the Jew who insulted the
German flag.' The officer pulled out a Luger pistol, pointed it at me
and ordered me to walk to the storeroom, whilst my family looked
on terrified. He ordered me to face him and aimed at my forehead.
'Please, this is wrong,' I pleaded. 'I only refused to give the man
goods without payment.'
He fired the gun but deliberately aimed to miss. There was a
thunderous noise and my family must have thought I had been killed,
from the crying and sobbing I heard. While I stood there petrified,
the officer returned the gun to its holster and put on his leather
gloves. He pulled the right one on tightly, buttoned the clasp and
then aimed a powerful blow to my head. Instinctively I raised my
head and the blow landed on my throat knocking me hard to the
floor. 'I suggest, Jew, you obey your masters at all times,' he said as
he walked out. When my family rushed in, anticipating the worst,
they found me gasping for breath. I was choking and my windpipe
hurt, but I was able to stay on my feet and with a smile pretended that
nothing had happened.
Because raw materials essential for the manufacture of goods were
scarce, there was a very active black market. My father mixed sacks
of sugar with water and filled large barrels with the syrup. On
receiving information, it was my task to walk to various places in
order to negotiate for the materials we required, and then return with
the purchased goods, which were sometimes very heavy. People
hoarded everything and anything they could buy, clearing the shelves
of the shops in town which were previously always full of goods. No
replacements were available. Anything we produced sold quickly
causing us to accumulate thousands of German marks. I used to stock
them up every night on a large shelf with a very deep recess close to
the high ceiling.
My father spent many hours listening to other people's problems
and would guide and advise them. He was often very generous. My
mother encouraged him to give help- she herself was a loveable and
-
NOWY SACZ 57

good-hearted soul, stoical and cool when faced with difficult

situations. She never panicked or showed fear. Father was hard
working himself and impatient with slow workers.
The Germans recruited unscrupulous, shady Jews and used them
as informers, to find food stocks and valuables. After they had served
their purpose they were shot. Every day large groups of Jews with
brooms and shovels were marched through town to complete non-
existent degrading tasks and became a laughing stock to the
amusement of the Poles who watched them.
My girlfriend Reina lived near an enormous church where a large
contingent of Germans was billeted, opposite the cinema. Reina's
father and two brothers had left the town before the Germans
arrived. I was with Reina one day when somebody knocked loudly on
the front door. I hid under a bed. Two German officers demanded
beds with clean linen and a meal, saying that they would be back
within an hour. One of them turned to Reina's mother and said, 'By
the way will you please place all your valuables on a blanket. And I
mean all! Do not forget the silver Sabbath candlesticks! I advise you
for your own good not to hide a single item.' Reina's mother,
swallowing hard, kept silent. The officer walked out of the door and
turned round again, placing his hand on his gun. Looking at her he
said, 'Did you understand the order? Answer!' 'Yes, I understand.'
'Good. I will be back soon.'
The Germans did as they pleased, confiscated what they fancied and
shot and hung whoever they wished. This was the army. The real killers,
a special detachment of SS stormtroopers, followed the conquering
army about 18 days later and were a law unto themselves. To me they
looked like devils in uniform; sadistic, specially released convicts who
enjoyed and thrived on bloody tortures, torment and killing.
The first public announcement from the SS regarding the Jews was
that all must register immediately and wear an armband decorated with
a star of David. The Jews were instructed to appoint a leader who
would receive orders from the SS, to be obeyed without question. Two
days after the SS stormtroopers arrived they started rounding up Jews.
One of them walked into our shop with a gun in his hand and
addressing me said, 'Jude? Out!' When my brother Mayer was asked
the same question, he answered, 'I am an Israelite!' The German kicked
him hard in the stomach with his jackboot. Doubling over in agony
 TilE JOURNAL 0 1 J I()LO ~ AU ST I DU CATI N

May •r had tu a11sw ·r, 'Yc f am a .Jew.' Jundrcd of u were rounded

up ~ll1d ma ch ·d to th . town prison. As the large tecl gates were shut
b ·hinu us I f-·lt a strange sensation of disbelief that I, hamulek, was
a 'tually in prison. 'Wirh a friend called Zisek Engelhard, I had
fr "qu -·ntly in th • past lis cncd to the prisoners' evening singing from a
high point in the town, fant~tsi ·in , about fictional prisoners from the
many films I had seen anJ books J had read.
A':j more and more of us were crowded in we were herded closer
to '·rh T, producing sorrowful cries and painful sighs that echoed
thn>U ' h the b~trrcd windows of our cells. Occasional piercing screams
from tortured prisoners made my blood curdle, and, not knowing
what mi rht come next, fear built up in me. From the prison corridor
we could hear gunshots and the sounds of people being beaten.
Prisoners were constantly carrying out the dead, tossing the bodies on
n nearby heap, ne on top of another. The SS troops, some with
whips, others holding heavy wooden mallets or guns, were enjoying
themselves vying with one another for who could kill with one blow.
As they concentrated on the group that had arrived before us it
seemed as if we were meekly waiting our turn.
I looked around, searching for a chance to escape. Moving
inconspicuously slowly along the wall, I reached an open office door.
Inside, I saw many elderly Jews standing facing the walls with a
Shwab overseeing them, viciously hammering at their heads with the
butt of his rifle as he insisted that they press their noses against the
wall hard enough to make them bleed. Blood poured profusely from
many heads and noses. Four troopers with automatic rifles were
guarding and three officers behind the desk were taking notes.
Suddenly I saw my father, and next to him was Motel Gelassen, one
of our employees who had been with us since before I was born, a
nice jovial character. They both had their hands up and were pressing
their noses into the wall. My father was bleeding. I could not believe
such a loved and respected man could be treated so degradingly and
felt I had to do something. I took a step forward, but the Shwab
immediately noticed me and lashed out with his rifle. I swayed to the
side in an attempt to avoid the blow coming at me, but was hit
between my shoulder and back, and knocked to the floor. The pain
brought tears to my eyes. I called out, pointing, 'That's my father,
Kalman Sieradzki.' The Shwab seemed on the point of smashing my
NOWY SACZ 59
head in, then half way down with the blow he stopped. 'Did you say
Sieradzki? From the condittorie?' 'Yes,' I replied.
The Shwab whispered something to the SS officer who waved his
hand. They then asked my father, who was standing with blood all
over him, for a 100 kilogram sack of flour in return for his freedom.
He asked for Motel and myself to be released with him. The officer
agreed for Motel to be released, but not myself, and dismissed the
case. I was brutally kicked and pushed out. Luck was on my side. The
SS killers had probably tired of disposing of the first unfortunate
group. I found myself next to my brother Mayer and whispered to
him about what had happened to my father and Motel. Tears welled
up in his eyes. 'You could have been killed. I didn't know where you
had disappeared to.'
The SS stormtroopers must have decided that before the day was
over they were going to have some more fun. We were ordered to
line up, and as we walked past a table, to empty all our pockets of
any valuables, money and watches. One of the Shwabs standing by
the table kept repeating, 'We will search every one of you later. If
anything valuable is found, you will be shot.'
Soon after, all of us were ordered to crouch and waddle and quack
like ducks. There were hundreds of us - boys, men of all ages, and
elderly rabbis. The SS and the Shwabs had a hilarious time,
mercilessly beating those not waddling or quacking to their
satisfaction. For the next 'game' we had to lay flat on the ground,
noses pressed into the gravel, and crawl. Those whose noses were not
rubbing into the gravel were beaten and whipped. Many stayed down
and did not move after being hit on the head from one particularly
vicious man who used a heavy pole and never missed. 'Crawl! Crawl!
You cursed leprous Jews! Up the wall, Up! Up!' As the games
continued with alternate jumping, crawling and waddling, more and
more dead and wounded stayed down.
One of them then thought up a new game with me as a victim: he
decided to give me a haircut. They sat me down on a chair and two
of them picked up a two handed saw, normally used for trees, and
tried to cut my hair, tearing and pulling. My dark hair had been long
and curly. Everyone stood watching, including my brother ~ayer,
while the saw inched nearer and nearer to my scull. The patn was
terrible, but I did not cry out, not one sound. Something inside kept
 'l'li ii. IUllHN I OII IJPI(' : ltd 11 1111( 11( 1

m ·quiet. lhhtHtMh tlw 'Hou y w 1. gl' \ tt . I I w 1 lo d , ~ lrt ''" I" 111 h

rcmcmh ., tu · IS ' tnlJ' ty L Tlw two . totnHI UOi l'l I '\c Hill' I Ptt d w th
1

the snwinl{ - ir did not pt·<,duct· tht· hliHhH·t< uad " lm 1\ tl nn tlH
·xpcc.:r ·d ft·om rh •if ·onu· ,d ..·s. 'l'lw y p11llcd tlw h·11 It Cllll undtll IIH
und d ·sp ltch ·d m · with s'·v ~ t tl d sl!,t'\1111 h•d I + lc 11 nnt 111 tl lit
th ·it· gam · tnt.Jr nruu si n ~ .
Th • prison wns ov ·l'flowint·h ltHI .1s lh · h ,d hud 1 tu I lui dw
wi th all their m : timiu~, killin~. nnd robbi n~, tlw lie w \, op,• twd HHI,
one at n ti m -., w · wcr · nhl<: ro t·un <•ut , Thr SS on •adl ld"· ol tl w
gJte hi t, whipp "d and h ·nr thOI'lC with ·nou p.h S tl't: tl ~ lh 11HI '0 111 w,('
ro run the raund ·r. My broth 'I' nnd I mmngcd to w •n v · du oup.h
successfully - b ·in r lucky c nou ~ h nut ru hew· bctn hit h ud t· noiiHh
ro drop down on the growing pil · of hod its. hlUI' srt onp. men w~:r <'
kept hnck to remove the hodi ·s of th • d ' fHJ .lnd dying.
Once we were home my pnr nrs ri ·d wirh 1eli .f. My Lu h~r told
my mother rhat I had probably sa v •d his nnd Mot ·I'Nli fe. M 'Y'''' wns
proud of me, and relar ·d the sto ry of my hnir ·m. ' I didn 'r Cl y. I ft: lt
like a hero.' Ev ryone look ·d ar m wi th pt id · ond piry. My f tc · w 1s
bloody and filthy, li ttl tuft s of hair stuck out of my rn w ~l< ull ~md I
was covered with blood and du st. Deliv •ring th · ott/} d · r.:r'-' l', I
emptied my lar re fob pocket full of mon · y~ saying th:u I was nut
going to give it all to those fil thy Nazis. My hr·orh ·r Maycl' snid, 'You
silly fool, for the love of God, you could h:tv · h ·n sht)t,' I low ·v£·r,
there was love and pride in his eyes.
While our cook, gloorna, bathed my wounds wi th wnrrn wnr ·r nnd
iodine, she alternated between crying and pr~ising th Lord. Th • iodine
stung like hell. She kept !amen tin)" over my b nutiful hair, tha my lov ·ly
curls were gone, and thought they had pull d th · roo ~o u t nnd I would
be bald forever. l eventu::ally shu t her up, 'Stop munning and d prcssinf!
me. Surely I've had enough for one dny without you ndding <-)il to th"
fire.' "'rh·:tt made Bloomn burst out ..:rying loudet· thnn b ·for •,
1.he next day, when my adrenaline stopp d flowing and r.h ·
excitement subsided, the reaction to th · traum atic ven s hi t me h;1nL
I suddenly realised how lucky we were to b" nliv ·. ~ had to do
so met~ing - our previous day's experience wns just a b •ginning nud
next t1mc we may not be so lucky. l could sec that the sad istic mob of
SS in their. ~lack uni.forms was created for the sole purpos · of kill in ~
and tcrror1s1ng at will: there was no authority above th ·rn, they did
 SA Z 61
exactl as they pl ased. History repeats itself; wars are instigated
because of greed. Young people crave for danger, recognition, medals
and uniforms. Rape and robbing follows, and of course there must be
a convenient victim. The leaders must have someone to blame when
things go wrong. The soldier fights better when he has been
indoctrinated with hate, so the Lord has given the world the jews.
Opposite our house on Sobieski Street, large wood and iron
double gates opened into a huge cobbled yard. On the left side, past
the gates, jozef P., a widower, and his family lived. He had three
beautiful daughters, of which the eldest was married and the middle
one had a 15 year-old illegitimate daughter, Ruta. The youngest, 19
years old, lost both her legs attempting suicide by laying herself down
on a railway line in front of an oncoming train. She could not face
the shan1e and stigma when she found herself pregnant, especially
after. her sister had been through a terrible ordeal with the pregnancy
and birth of Ruta. At the time it had cast a horrible shame on the
family.
The girls were all very feminine and sexy, and jozef's
granddaughter was a joy to look at, slim with long light-brown hair
and a lovely smiling face. Jozef adored Ruta and became very
protective, taking great care to ensure that she never came to any
harm. Jozef was an old legionnaire who had fought in 1919 at the
Polish uprising against the Russian occupation, under the command
of Josef Pilsudski, later Marshall and President of free Poland. Jozef
still sported a moustache like that Josef Pilsudski was renowned for.
Although he was Polish born and bred, he was fond of our family, and
in turn my parents were always kind and helpful to him and his
family. jozef scraped a meagre living by owning a doroshka, which
my father would often use.
Encouraged by her grandfather, Ruta often helped out in our
household - especially when the grandchildren were around. Jozef
had told her, 'Stay there and learn how decent people live. Keep away
from the scum and louts that ruined our family. I'm determined that
your future will not be laced with shame.' Ruta was about the same
age as my youngest sister Lola and they confided in each other. Lola
once told me that Ruta was deeply in love with me and blushed when
I was near. My extreme shyness kept me away from this delicious
flower of youth.
62 THE JOURNAL OF HOLOCAUST EDUCATION

About a week after I was released from the prison Jozef and his
doroshka were hired to drive to Krynica, the beautiful spa town, a
day's journey south. My married sister Rozia, her husband Abram,
their children and myself were to go. My parents thought it would be
safer there and I did need to recuperate. While we were preparing to
leave, Ruta sat next to jozef, wearing her white Sunday dress. She
cried on hearing of my ordeal with the Gestapo, then implored her
grandfather to take her along on the journey.
I loved driving through the countryside savouring the smells of
horses, cattle and farms. We were stopped several times by patrols
and cursed and spat on for being Jewish. Jozef and Ruta bowed their
heads shamefully avoiding our eyes. At about 1 pm we moved off the
road to rest the horse and have lunch.
Jozef had unharnessed the horse, who was grazing nearby, when
we heard motorcycle engines approaching. Two German NCOs
slowed down as they came near, passed by about 100 metres, then
decided to turn back. They carried no rifles but had revolvers in
their holsters. They were both very tall, one being about 24 years
old and the other about 30. They asked if we had any water left,
but were obviously staring at Ruta, who was rather well-endowed
for her age. Jozef nervously picked her up, put her on the horse and
called me to hold the reins. 'Will you both go down to the river and
water the horse please. Quickly!' The two Germans whispered
something between themselves and I am sure I heard the word
'virgin'.
I led the horse, with Ruta seated on it, through the forest towards
the river, and on looking back was relieved to see that the two
Germans were leaving. About 15 minutes later we reached the river
and the horse drank eagerly. Ruta called me to help her down - I
sensed she wanted contact with me. I held up my arms and brought
her down and her loveliness and softness made me giddy with
excitement. Clinging to me she kissed me, passionately whispering
that she loved me and always would.
We heard footsteps approaching and looked round to see that the
two German NCOs had returned, now with their guns drawn. My
first instinct was to jump into the river and hope for the best but I
could not leave Ruta alone. They leered at her with appreciation, then
one ran over to her, grabbed her lovely long hair and pulled her head
 NOWY SACZ 63
back, his eyes shining with lust. 'lch gehe zuerst.' (I am going first.) He
poked the gun towards his chest. Ruta paled, her lips pressed tightly
together. Her body had gone limp. I was backing away from the other
but he stretched his arm towards me cocking the gun. 'Take one more
step and you are dead.' Like lightning he pistol-whipped me on the
head, knocking n1e down. He rolled me over onto my face with a
sharp kick of his boot, lashed my hands with some wire, then dragged
me to the nearest tree and tied me to it. I was only semi-conscious; the
wire was so tight on my wrists that my hands went numb, blood was
trickling down the side of my face and my head hurt badly. Ruta cried
out in despair, looking at me sadly. A horrible nausea swept over me
- shame and frustration eating my guts.
The German who was holding on to Ruta holstered his gun. The
moment he let go of her hair Ruta hit out with both hands and kicked
out, scratching his face. He cursed and shrieked at her, calling her a
Jewish cat. 'I've got myself a wild young virgin. What a lovely war! Let
it last. Let it last! I've always dreamed of raping a virgin.' The other
German giggled hysterically, fiddling ·with his fly and getting impatient.
'Come on, hurry up,' he called out. Ruta was held round her throat and
pulled down to the ground, pleading and crying. One German pinned
her hands down to the ground while the other took off his tunic and
lowered his trousers. Tearing off her best Sunday dress and ripping
away her knickers, he lowered himself down.
'Please, no! No! No!' whimpered Ruta in agonising spasms. He
then tore off the top of her dress to expose her milk-white breasts.
'Please don't, I beg you, for the love of God!' 'Silence, you Jewish
whore.' He slapped her hard across the face, knocking her head
sideways, and spread-eagled her on the grass. The horse appeared to
sense that something was wrong, he kept stamping his foot, snorting
and looking around. I was overwhelmed with frustration and hatred
and wept tears of heartache.
After they had both raped her and re-adjusted their clothes, they
began laughing and boasting about deflowering a Jewish virgin. They
tried to guess Ruta's age. I suddenly blurted out, 'She is not Jewish.'
'Ha ha! Of course she is. Anyone who isn't German is Jewish if we
say so. Isn't that right! Heil Hitler!' After a few minutes they left.
I started screaming for help. Although it seemed like an eternity
the whole horrible rape could not have lasted more than 20 minutes.
64 THE JOURNAL OF HOLOCAUST EDUCATION

I thought Ruta was dead. She was lying with her legs spread out and
bloody, her body badly bruised and her breasts bitten. I kept on
shouting and the horse joined in, neighing repeatedly. Abram arrived
with Jozef, who went berserk with grief, crying in agonising spasms.
He called on the heavens, screaming, 'Oh Lord, why do you punish
me so much, where are you?' His little adorable angel, his love, his
life, his protected granddaughter was half dead, raped and bleeding.
Abram turned his head away, shocked, in pity, with tears falling on
his cheeks. He was a scholar, well versed in the Talmud, a gentle giant
and humanitarian. He untied me and rubbed my bruised and bleeding
wrists. My scull, still raw and damaged from the saw haircut, had a
new gash welling up. Abram dipped his handkerchief in the river and
started cleaning me up.
Jozef, a broken man, gently washed Ruta's naked body then took
off his shirt and pulled it over her head. He was crying inconsolably.
Ruta was in a state of shock with a distant look in her eyes. She
moved mechanically - as if she were in oblivion - and was unable to
walk, so Jozef held her close on horseback as we made our way back.
Half way up the hill the horse stumbled on some undergrowth and
went down on his knees but managed to steady itself. The sudden jolt
caused Ruta to start screaming as if she were back under the rapist.
Her grandfather stroked her head soothingly and tried to pacify her.
Her screams triggered off in me an inner pain bursting to come out.
I began to sob spasmodically and progressively I sobbed louder and
louder uncontrollably.