Mr. Simcha Dobner – Part III

In 1940, the Nazis invaded your town of Rejowiec, in Poland,­ and you were sent to work with a labor unit. What happened to you and your family?

At the end of that summer my uncle and his family escaped from the ghetto and settled with us. Toward the end of the year, the ghetto in Lublin was liquidated and some of the deportees were brought to our town. The constant news of liquidated ghettos and deportations caused panic in Rejowiec.

Food trading with Polish smugglers became riskier than ever. The Polish police accepted our bribes but at the same time collaborated with the German gendarmes.

On April 7, 1942, Chol Hamoed Pesach, news reached us in Zawadowka, where I was working, that all Jews in Rejowiec were being rounded up and herded into the marketplace. We had a clear picture of what was happening.

Immediately my group split into two: those who ran back to the mill in Zawadowka and a larger group of men who, like me, were worried about their families and went back home. The scene when we got there was horrible. People, young and old, were herded into the marketplace with only their meager belongings on their backs. We were sorted into three groups. One group of able-bodied young men and women was seemingly destined for slave labor camps. A second group was made up of children, the elderly and the physically weak; the third group was formed of the “privileged” men and women who worked at the SS compound. They were selected by the army to return back to work. We, the Zawadowka group, were added to the first group.

I tried to find my family, but I didn’t see them. I heard gun shots from all directions. Babies were dumped into trucks like sacks of potatoes. Mothers who wouldn’t part from theirs were shot with their infants on the spot. After a few hours, the SS took our group to the beis medrash, where we were crowded like herring in a barrel. All the windows were nailed shut and guarded by the Polish police and volunteer hooligans.

In the dark beis medrash, I tried to find my loved ones. Suddenly, my father’s voice echoed, calling my name. His face was bloodied beyond recognition. He had been separated from my mother when she was sent to the second group. He had tried repeatedly to cross over to her group and each time he’d been beaten brutally. He told me that my sister Matel was somewhere among the women in the beis medrash. As for my brother Shlomeke, my father knew only that he hadn’t come home from his job at the railroad station, so my father was hopeful that Shlomeke was hiding.

Meanwhile, the heaven-splitting cries of the second group, the children, elderly and physically weak, who were still outside in the marketplace, were soon silenced by SS machine guns. The Judenrat was made to bury the victims in a mass grave. I know that my mother was spared from bullets. She was transported to an unknown destination — a journey of no return.

On the morning of Acharon shel Pesach, horse-pulled wagons arrived in front of the beis medrash to transport us to a fearful and yet unknown destination. About 100 people, including my father, sister and I, were left without room on the wagons. We were driven at a rapid march behind them by the SS guards. Anyone unable to keep up was shot. On the way, my father scraped his foot badly but with all my might I prevented him from falling behind. At about midnight, we saw a light in the distance and approached a camp.

When we arrived at Krychow labor camp, we were welcomed by Germans barking commands at us. Men and women were assigned to separate barracks. We had had no food for three days, so our first meal of potato soup was really appreciated. At six a.m. each day we gathered for a head count, followed by a little black coffee. Thereafter, armed with a variety of digging tools, we were marched to dig up the endless swamps for irrigation. Our feet were terribly swollen. The worst thing was the unsanitary conditions and the terrible epidemic of lice.

A few weeks after we arrived, all those who had worked in Zawadowka were sent back there. I was confronted with a terrible dilemma, knowing that I would have to leave my father and sister. I begged my father to take my place but he was afraid the switch would be discovered.

After a half-day march, we arrived in the neighboring city of Sawin. We received warm soup and bread from the Judenrat and stayed there overnight. Before leaving Sawin, I bought two loaves of bread that the Judenrat promised to deliver to my father and sister. Unfortunately, I will never know if they received them. The next morning, we were on our way back home to Rejowiec. It was just before Shavuos. For many, the return meant reuniting with their families. For me, there were no loved ones left there to alleviate my embittered heart.

To be continued.