The Nizkor Project: Remembering the Holocaust (Shoah)

Shofar FTP Archive File: places/poland/ostrow/ostrow.04

Newsgroups: alt.revisionism
Subject: Ostrow-Lubelski: Living Through Two World Wars        
Summary: from the Yizkor book of Ostrow-Lubelski
Followup-To: alt.revisionism
Organization: The Nizkor Project,   
Keywords: Ostrow-Lubelski

Archive/File: places/poland Ostrow.04
Last-modified: 1993/03/27

                  Memorial-Book Ostrow-Lubelski
                    Editor: DAVID SHTOCKFISH
          Cociety-Committee: A. Falershtein, President;
            A. Aichenbaum, I. Goldstein, J. Llebhaber,
                     Dr. I. Last, M. Fishman
           Publisher: Ostrow-Lubelski Society -- Israel

           Mechi (Mischa) Eckhaus, Melbourne, Australia 

   I was born in 1915, when almost all of Europe was in the midst of a
   conflagration so widespread that it even reached our little town of
   Ostrow-Lubelsk.  I think that the first memory of my town and home
   that I can recall was the Friday evening when we knew that like all
   the other Jews in the town we too had to flee our home.  The
   Bolsheviks were retreating and the Polish and Balachov soldiers were
   soon to arrive.  On the way, my father went to tell Mendel Krentzer,
   a shoemaker, to leave also, but he did not want to leave his home.

   Our journey, like that of so many Jews at the time, was long and
   hard, With our first stop in the village of Yedlanki, and our first bed
   for the night in a barn.  In the morning we woke to find that we were
   surrounded by Polish soldiers who didn't ask too many questions, but
   drove us into the nearby woods.  All the men were made to stand in a
   row, my father first in line.  The soldiers' rifles were drawn, and
   the rumour was that they were going to kill all the men.  As they
   waited for the order, the women and children wept and cried, making a
   sound so pitiful that it is forever etched in my memory.  The
   soldiers began to search everyone, taking everything of value that
   they found.  Amongst Shaya Azshis' belongings they did not recognize
   the "green papers" until an officer told them that they were American
   dollars.  The soldiers confiscated the money.  Suddenly another
   officer appeared, ordering the soldiers to move on...  We were saved.
   (Shaya, who had spent half his life in America and managed to save a
   few dollars, had returned to Ostrow-Lubelsk before the outbreak of
   the first World War.  Nuw he had lost all his savings, but he
   survived the war and later became a caretaker in a bath-house).

   On the following Sunday, we returned to Ostrow-Lubelsk and my father
   and I went to call upon Mendel Krentzer.  We found the cellar door
   open and the shoemaker lying dead in a pool of blood.  Many Jewish
   homes had been burnt and in some cases the fires were still burning.
   We all joined the priest and the other inhabitants who were carrying
   water and attempting to put out the fires.  This same priest had
   hidden the Jew, Leibish Boger, but the Poles showed the Balachov
   soldiers where he was hiding.  When he was discovered, Leibish jumped
   through the window and escaped, but the priest was not so lucky.  The
   murderers took their revenge on him and he was tied to a tree and
   severely beaten.  These were my first memories of my town.  

   memories are those of my family, and we were a large family of eight
   children: four daughters and four sons.  They were called
   Dvora-Hinde, Malka-Leah, Shaya-Yidl, Getzel, Mechel (myself), Golde,
   Chavele and Men Del.  My father of blessed memory came from
   Tshemanik, and although his correct surname was Eckhaus, he was
   always known as Yossel Reuven Mechels, after my maternal grandfather.
   My mother, Ester-Miriam, had been born and always lived in Ostrow-
   Lubelsk.  She was known as Reuven Mechels' daughter, or the
   "feltsherke", which was the name given to those who attended the ill
   and decided whether or not a doctor should be called.  My parents
   kept a shop in which they sold leather, shoes and dry goods.  The
   Poles called the store "to tzarnich", which meant "to the black
   pcople" as the storekeeper and all the children had black hair.  

   We had our business on the Rinek and lived on Partshever street.
   Whilst my brothers and I studied in cheder and school, my sisters
   went to school.  Our home was a religious one, my father was a well-
   known Gerer Hassid, and until the age of 14 I had long earlocks, a
   Jewish hat and a capote.  

   One episode from my cheder is engraved in my memory.  I studied with
   the hot-tempered rabbi, Moshe Noah Album.  One day I talked his son
   Abraham into going to the river to bathe, and we set off.  This event
   however, happened to coincide with the middle of our studies and the
   rabbi noticed that we were missing from the long table.  He also knew
   where he would find us, so he went down to the river, took all our
   clothes and returned home.  A miracle occurred, the rebbitzin (the
   rabbi's wife) saw what the rabbi had done and argued with him, taking
   our clothes back to the river where we were standlng, naked, very
   frightened and crying.  

                                Chapter 2

   The last two years of the first World War, and also the first years
   of Polish independence, were very hard years for the Jewish
   population.  The housing conditions were poor, there was not always
   enough food to eat, and people were frequently ill.  Our situation
   would have been much worse were it not for the assistance we received
   from the American Jews.  I can remember the Kettles of soup placed in
   the streets with everybody crowding around them to obtain a little of
   the soup and dry food which was being distributed.  Life became more
   normal after a time and shopkeepers once again opened their shops and
   sold whatever goods that had been saved from the war's tribulations.

   Before World War I, Ostrow-Lubelsk had been one of the major
   leather-producing and beer-manufacturing towns and my maternal
   grandfather, Reuven Mechels Winograd, a native of Ostrow-Lubelsk, was
   both a successful merchant and a respected householder of the town.
   After the war, my grandfather once again began to buy up leather and
   carry it to the Polish cities, just as he had done before 1914.  The
   towns' shoemakers, tailors, furriers, harness-makers, hat makers and
   other craftsmen resumed work, finding it a bitter struggle simply to
   exist and feed their large families.  Not everyone could manage even
   such a meagre existence as this, and many were compelled to leave
   their town and seek their livelihood in Parczew, Lublin, Warsaw,
   Lodz.  Some left for other European countries such as France or
   Belgium, others went overseas to Brazil, Norlh America or Argentina.
   It is self evident that because of all this emigration the population
   of Ostrow-Lubelsk was diminished.  

   In addition to the burden of eking out a living, the young people of
   Ostrow-Lubelsk assumed another, perhaps greater task.  This was to
   improve the world in general, and that of Jews in particular, notably
   that of their fellow Jews in Ostrow-Lubelsk.  Consequently, various
   parties, organizations and groups began to appear in the public
   arena: Zionists of all trends; Bundists, who considered themselves to
   be the strongest protectors of the working class; and Communists,
   inspired by the October Revolution in Russia.  Religious parties
   became active, cultural societies embraced most of the town's Jewish
   youth and a professional society was formed for workers to meet and
   discuss the problems of the work-place, which included such topics as
   the need for social achievements and improved wages.  

   Understandably, the police kept their eye on the workers'
   organizations and often carried out searches of the various meeting
   places and culture clubs.  None of these activities dissuaded the
   youth from their ideals or their battles for a better future.  

                               Chapter 3 

   A year of two after my bar-mitzvah I decided to become independent.
   Even though I considered myself a child of a "better home", where the
   problems of living were not so great, I found the differences between
   rich and poor and the constant injustices that surrounded me to be so
   great that I no longer wished to be dependent upon my family.  I
   apprenticed myself to Yankel the carpenter, knowing that work would
   change my view of life.  I felt the need to belong to a collective,
   to be a member of some society.  Consequently, I joined Betar, the
   youth organization of the Zionist-Revisionists which was led at that
   time by Wartzman and Leibl Shafran.  My membership of this
   organization did not, however, last very long as, influenced by Moshe
   Liebhaber and Esterke Abarbanel, I joined the then illegal Communist
   organization.  It was easy at that time to become convinced that one
   had to begin fighting for improvement as working conditions,
   especially for the Jewish youth, were very difficult.  We had to work
   from dawn to sunset without any definite hours.  We were also
   required to participate in housework; cleaning, washing and minding
   the younger children, often spendmg more time on this than on
   learning a trade.  These factors generated conflicts and strikes
   against the employers.  The members of my "cell" made efforts to
   penetrate inlo the professional societies as well as the library and
   the Cultural oryanizations in order to influence others in the style
   of the "Communist spirit".

   Some of the men in the town, called "the strong men", were moved by
   opposition and even hatred of the leftists.  More than once they
   attacked them, which resulted in many injuries for both political
   groups, which required Dr. Last's care.  

   In my eighteenth year, on a Thursday evening, I was arrested.  I was
   sitting at home reading "forbidden" literature--proclamations,
   pamphlets and a book from the district committee in Parczew--when a
   umformed policeman appeared at my door.  He searched my room
   thoroughly and I was taken to the police station in December 1932.  I
   was badly tortured during the examination; they poured water into my
   nose whilst gagging my mouth, until I lost consciousness.  After a
   week of sadistic examinations I was sent to Lublin for yet another
   examination.  It was six months later, in May, 1933, that the Lublin
   District Court sentenced me to four years imprisonment.  The sentence
   was ratified by the Appeals Court, but as the Polish government
   declared an amnesty in December, 1935, I had to spend only three
   years in prison.

   There were all kinds of Poles and Jews from different cities and
   towns in the prison; Yankel Duman from Ostrow-Lubelsk was there.  In
   particular, I became very friendly with Feivel Fruchtengarten from
   Opole and we maintained our friendship even when he was living in
   Argentina.  In my prison cell I also met the future General Vitold
   Frantciszek Jozwiak, Janek Youngman and Leibel Zilberstein, all
   hardened Communists with whom we carried out a hunger strike against
   the terrible conditions.

   My arrest signalled the first time that a Jewish man in Ostrow-
   Lubelsk had been charged with Communism, an event that caused a
   tumult in the town.  Even after my liberation I felt that the policc
   were keeping a watchful eye on me and I considered that the town was
   now too small for me.  I decided to go to Warsaw, but after staying a
   year without managing to find any work, I once again returned to my
   hometown.  Once again I continued organizing and educating the youth
   of the town in spite of the ceaseless police persecutions.

   In 1937 I had to leave Ostrow once again, but I returned to the town
   in 1939, at the outbreak of World War 2.  The intervening years were
   spent travelling between Warsaw and Ostrow-Lubelsk, looking for work
   in the former and avoiding the police in the latter.  

                             Chapter 4 

   Early in the morning of Friday, September 1, 1939, the Germans
   attacked Poland.  After only weak resistance from the Polish army the
   Germans and the Soviets divided the conquered country so that the Bug
   River became the border between the Third Reich and the Soviet Union.
   Suddenly, my family and I found ourselves in German-occupied Ostrow,
   and it was especially dangerous for me as I was known for my
   socialist views.  The young people of our town decided to move to the
   other side of the river, to the Soviets.  

   One day in that September, I said goodbye to my family; to my mother,
   father, brothers and sisters.  We were all nervous.  but nobody
   realized the real extent of our mutual anxiety, that some of us would
   be parting forever.  I was accompanied by my future wife, Bronia
   Wasserman from Lublin.  Our parents walked with us a little of the
   way, all of us werc weeping, and I remember how hard in was to say
   goodbye.  I had originally met Bronya in Warsaw in 1937, and we
   renewed our acquaintance in 1939 when Bronya, also a political
   activist, had fled Warsaw for Ostrow-Lubelsk. 

   The roads and highways were choked with refugees and some soldiers, a
   few on small wagons.  but most travelling on foot.  After several
   days of wandering we came to the city of Kowel, a large railroad
   centre with a population of some thirty-three thousand persons
   consisting of Poles, Ukrainians and some eighteen thousand Jews. In
   Kowel we were allowed to stay at the home of a former Polish
   political prisoner where we found many men and women comrades and
   workers for the socialist movement, as well as political prisoners.
   We were in dire need since we had left Ostrow-Lubelsk without
   anything; we had no winter clothing, and no money with which to buy
   any.  The only solution to our problems appeared to be that I should
   return home.

   In December I started back to Ostrow-Lubclsk, travelling by railroad
   to Brest Litowsk.  After crossing the Station I met a countryman,
   deaf Shaya (Avraham Rimmer's son), who related his experiences in
   Russia.  As he had not been able to find any work in his trade of
   harness-maker, he had decided to return to Ostrow-Lubelsk.  I met
   Yankel Shachnes Wasserstrumm, also from Ostrow-Lubelski, who had had
   to leave his wife and two beautiful daughters, whom I had known very
   well in the West Ukraine.  We all hired a man who brought us at night
   to the river, and very frightened, we crossed the almost frozen
   water.  It was only after considerable pain and suffering that I
   managed to make the journey on foot back to Ostrow-Lubelsk.

   The town looked very different from that which I had left.  It was
   desolate, the shops were empty, and broken doors, windows and pieces
   of glass were strewn about the streets.  Two days before my arrival
   home, the local Poles, armed with pitchforks and axes, had attacked
   the Jewish shops, destroying them and looting whatever they could.
   In order to remain alive, all the Jews had fled the city, and my
   parents told me that they had never seen such ferocity.  I knew then
   that I had made a big mistake, that I should have listened to my
   Bronya who had tried to dissuade me from making this trip.  

   During the few days that I remained in Ostrow-Lubelsk I did not go
   out during the day for fear that some Pole might inform the police
   that the former socialist was in town.  My parents hurried to arrange
   things so that I could leave Ostrow-Lubelsk as soon as possible.  

   One Saturday morning, early, the Germans brought a carload of Jews
   from Poznan to Ostrow-Lubelsk.  They broke our hearts with the
   stories of their sufferings on the journey to Ostrow-Lubelsk.  As the
   trains did not reach our town, these Jews had been made to walk the
   remaining ten kilometers on foot.  The road was very rough and all
   those men, women and children who for some reason couldn't walk were
   shot by the Germans.  Those who had the privilege of reaching our
   town were worn-out from the beatings, hardly caring what happened to
   them.  When the Gestapo arrived, a few Poles pointed out the
   wealthier Jews and helped to "organize" a contribution of money,
   jewellery and other valuables.  

   They came to take my father as a hostage, but since he wasn't home,
   they took me instead.  Sitting on the bench in the corridor of the
   detention centre, I heard the cries of the persons whom the Gestapo
   were interrogating inside.  Suddenly, my father entered the building.
   He went straight up to the Germans and told them who he was, and that
   he wanted to take my place.  The Germans were so astonished that they
   agreed to his request.  My father saved me from being murdered.  In a
   daze, I left the building not knowing what would happen to my father.

                               Chapter 5

   Feeling that I could no longer remain in Ostrow-Lubelsk, I made
   arrangements to escape that night.  My sister Chavele begged me to
   take her wilh me, but my parents, who had been reunited after the
   Gestapo incidcnt, did not agree.  I left my parents, four sisters and
   two brothers in Ostrow-Lubelsk.  My other brother, Getzel, had
   already gone to Kowel with his wife.  My mother wept bitter tears,
   sensing that she was seeing me for the last time, and that was the
   way it was.  An Ostrow-Lubelsk Jew who survived Maidenak told me that
   he had seen my two brothers in the camp, both had had fever.  Whilst
   working in the crematorium, he, with his own hands, burnt my brother
   Shaya-Yidel in the oven.  He knew nothing, however, of the fate of my
   parents, sisters, or my other brother Mendel.  

   At the beginning of 1940, I managed, after many troubles, to return
   to Kowel.  Bronya and I were very excited, when, towards the last
   days of October 1939, my sister-in-law arrived with her husband
   Getzel.  Luckily, they succeeded in obtaining a so-alled "dwelling"
   place with a Polish railroad worker, but this did not last long.
   They soon had to move to an old wooden barrack not far from Koleyava
   street, which was very rudimentary, lacking the most elementary
   installations of the normal apartment.  

   Unfortunately, the Kowel Jews did not display much understanding or
   sympathy for the refugees.  Later, when the German army came to
   Kowel, few of the Jews there fled, and so we all ended up sharing the
   same bitter fate.  

   My future wife, Bronya, and I lived in the house of former political
   prisoners, together with other socialist workers.  We had no
   employment, and, with the help of acquaintances, looked for work.
   One day, as part of a group of twelve, we were sent to the Zakosiel
   in Polesie.  There we found an abandoned house and a neglected farm
   that had belonged to Poles who had been arrested, leaving the
   servants to flee.  However, there was no work for us there, and we
   found ourselves in a wasteland with no one who could help us.  After
   some time, even though we did have food to eat, we decided to leave
   this place.  It was Febtuary 1940 and the cold and the frost was
   eating into our bones.  

   We returned to Kowel and went to live in the wooden barrack with my
   sister-in-law.  This was uncomfortable for all of us, but there was
   no alternative.  After considerable effort, Bronya managed to find
   work at the railway station.  Finally, I found work and our little
   family managed to survive the hard winter, but we all did so hoping
   that the spring and summer would bring not only warmth, but also a
   better life.  

                                Chapter 6 

   One day in the month of June, 1940 we heard rumours in Kowel,
   especially from the refugees.  It appealed that all those who had
   registered to go back to Poland in the belief that they were to
   rejoin their families, were being rounded up and taken from their
   homes.  They were led to a railway station and loaded on to boxcars
   and were carried deep into Russia instead of occupied Poland.  It is
   easy to imagine the confusion and fear that these rumours aroused in
   everyone.  My brother and two sisters-in-law had been arrested by the
   Soviet police.  I had returned to Kowel from Lemberg in time to say
   goodbye and provide them with some food and clothing whilst they were
   held at the railway station.  Who then could imagine that it was
   those who were being deported, those that had been fooled by the fake
   registrations, who were the ones that actually had a better chance of
   remaining alive than we who remained in the Western Ukraine ?  

   Bronya and I decided to get married officially in 1940, and the
   ceremony was both private and short, taking place in the presence of
   a few close friends.  We adopted Soviet citizenship, left the
   barracks and settled in a small room which contained a table, a
   closet, a bed and two chairs.  We shared a kitchen.  Later, the owner
   of the barracks sued us for the rent that our deported family had
   failed to pay and we were compelled by law to repay this debt.  At
   this time we both had jobs, and I was employed as a carpenter.  

   Our parents were located on the other side of the Bug river and we
   communicated through mail, although the links were weak and
   irregular.  We received letters from far-off Sibena, from my brother
   and sister-in-law.  These letters carried messages of doubt, sadness
   and bitterness, as their needs were many.  They were cold, hungry and
   forced to perform hard labour.  We dried fruits, accumulated fats,
   bought sugar, rice and other groceries and every two weeks we sent
   them a food package.  We shared what we had with them, and received
   moving letters of thanks.  

   In October 1940 Bronya became pregnant and was transferred to an
   easier jub in the bookkeeping depal tment at the railway station.
   There she came to know many Polish workers, goud people, as well as
   Basha, another Jewish woman with whom she became firm friends.  

   At this time the political and military situation was very bad, and
   although we read constantly of Germany's military successes in
   Western Europe, we still believed in a miracle.  But, then we were
   young and even enthusiastic.  At the end of March, 1941, I was called
   for a few months of military exercises.  Since Bronya was already in
   her last months of pregnancy she could have had me released from
   military service, but our principles would not allow this.  It was
   our duty to fight against Hitler's Cermany.

   My parting from Bronya was very sad and I was too ashamed to weep
   openly, but Bronya encouraged me to do so.  After our parting I was
   taken to the reserve base beyond Kolomei where an airfiela was being

                               Chapter 7

   Sunday, June 22, 1941, heavy bombardments woke us from our sleep.
   The fall of the dead and the wounded began immediately, and a few
   hours later we learned from an official Soviet radio communique that
   the two countries, Russia and Germany, were in a state of war.  Our
   military unit received an order to evacuate, but as we had no means
   of transportation we took to the road on foot.  When we reached the
   bridge over the Donetz River we found that it had been blown up by
   the air attack.  We had to cross the river and many soldiers drowned
   because they did not know how to swim.  

   In reality, the evacuation march was a frightened flight of several
   days and nights of painful marching until we reached Kiev, the
   Ukrainian capitol.  Here, we received orders to continue on to Rostov
   where new military units were to be formed.  On this journey I here
   were many cases of desertion, and any deserters that were recaptured
   were shot.  Consequently, the developments at the front were
   considered to be in the Germans' favour as they were advancing whilst
   we continued to retreat.  My unit was part of the 3rd Ukrainian
   Front, and I came with them all the way to Stalingrad.  

   The heroic epic of Stalingrad has, by now, already been written, sung
   and analyzed from all possible perspectives.  However, as one who
   tools part in that battle, it is still hard, even today, for me to
   grasp the scope and meaning of those heroic-tragic days.  I lived
   through the time when battles were waged for every inch of land.  I
   was wounded in one such battle and spent several weeks in hospital,
   where I was awarded a medal for participating in the battle of

   On departing from the hospital, I was reassigned to a reserve unit
   which was soon to be sent to the front.  I knew that if I returned to
   the Red Army my hopes of returning to Poland and of being reunited
   with my wife and family would be almost nil.  At this stage I did not
   know if even one of them was still alive, nor did I think, even for a
   minute, that I might be a father.  I learned, however, that a Polish
   army, headed by General Berling, was being formed in Soviet Russia,
   which included a contingent of Polish patriots headed by the writer
   Wanda Wasizlewska.  Joining this Polish army gave me some hope of
   returning to my old home and those closest and dearest to me.  With
   such fervent hopes I sent a spirited application to the proper
   authorities, but inslead of receiving an affirmation of my request,
   in May, 1944 I was taken from the reserve base along with criminals,
   deserters and political prisoners, and sent to a working camp in

   As soon as I received permission, I wrote a letter to Marshal Stalin
   requesting to serve in the Polish army, which was now fighting on
   Polish soil against the Germans.  I was greatly suprised and excited
   when I received an answer from Stalin's office freeing me from the
   camp and sending me to Lublin, where I would be able to enlist in the
   Polish army.  My joy and happiness were indescribable and I was
   determined to stop off at Kowel on the way to Lublin to discover what
   had happened to my wife and family.  

   I found Kowel to be a city in ruins, with the effects of war to be
   seen at every step.  I learned for the first time of the horrors that
   the city's Jews had suffered.  Anxiously, I came closer to Kolcyova
   street where I had lived with my pregnant Bronya.  Suprisingly, our
   former home was still standing, so I waited outside until sunrise for
   someone to emerge from the house.  Finally, a Ukrainian woman stepped
   aut of the house.  She instantly recognized me and fainted.  Later,
   she told me that a few weeks previously she had gone to Rozyczeze to
   buy a goat and there she had met Bronya, the sole survivor of the
   ghetto at Kowel.  She said that she had informed Bronya that I had
   been killed and she also went on to tell me that my Bronya was
   accompanied by a three and half-year old boy.  My son! 

   It is easy to understand how deeply this news affected me.  Here I
   was in the uniform of a Red Army soldier and with papers which
   ordered me to go to Lublin to enlist in the Polish army.  How could I
   not ride to Rozyczeze to see my own family?  I didn't waste too much
   time thinking about this and found mysclf on a train to Rozyczeze.
   When I arrived, coincidence was again on my side as I found a boy at
   the station who could take me to where Bronya was living.  After all
   the years of separation, longing, dreams, hopes and disappointments,
   I felt privileged to have this most hoped-for moment of meeting, with
   all its embracing, crying and laughing, emotion and excitement.  And
   the best of all of was that the child, my own flesh and blood, had
   survived the Hitlerite hell with his mother.  

   It was December 1944, and Bronya was very ill from all her sufferings
   during the period when we were separated.  She was confined to
   hospital, so I remained with her for some two months.  My son,
   Richard, was sick in another hospital, in another town, and the sound
   of his crying when I had lo leave him to attend to Bronya still rings
   in my ears.  When Bronya could leave the hospital we all moved to
   Lodz, where for the first time I was to hear of the virtual
   destruction of the Jews of Europe.  In my travels, I was now
   surrounded by evidence of the destruction and loss of Jewish life as
   it was commonplace to find that all the Jews in the Polish towns had
   been murdered.  

   As of May 19, 1942, documents show that Ostrow-Lubelsk was a major
   depot for the transportation of the Jews.  Around three thousand and
   sixty-two Jews had been deported from Ostrow-Lubelsk, leaving behind
   only those that were strong and able to work.  Women, children and
   elderly persons were the first to be loaded into the transports.  To
   this day I do not know how they all died, whether in the camps, or
   simply shot and buried in the sand pits not far from town.
   Ostrow-Lubelsk, my former home, had the shameful fate of becoming the
   final station for Jews who had been deported from Poznan, Slovakia,
   Lobartow and Lublin.  

   From Lodz we later moved to Walbrzych, where we lived until
   1945, but our wanderer's road did not end there.  We travelled by
   foot and frequently under the most appalling conditions.  We were
   surrounded by sorrow and sickness.  I can recall one dreadful night
   when about 150 of us made camp for the night in the pouring rain.
   Everybody was complalning, everybody that is, except my brave six
   year old son who pointed out to all of us that by comparison, "It's
   no so bad". 

   Later, we went to Austria and settled temporarily in a D.P. camp,
   Enns, for nearly a year.  By 1947 we had made our way to Germany and
   werc already in the D.P.  camp in Rosenheim, Germany.  It was
   only in 1951 that we could finally leave that cursed German soil, and
   Bronya and I, and our ten year-old son, emigrated to Australia which
   to this day, we have made our home.

Home ·  Site Map ·  What's New? ·  Search Nizkor

© The Nizkor Project, 1991-2012

This site is intended for educational purposes to teach about the Holocaust and to combat hatred. Any statements or excerpts found on this site are for educational purposes only.

As part of these educational purposes, Nizkor may include on this website materials, such as excerpts from the writings of racists and antisemites. Far from approving these writings, Nizkor condemns them and provides them so that its readers can learn the nature and extent of hate and antisemitic discourse. Nizkor urges the readers of these pages to condemn racist and hate speech in all of its forms and manifestations.