Kamil had prophesied without knowing it. Loaded with supplies on the way back to the base after a tough raid, we saw at a crossroads a Jewish home that had been broken into. When we went inside, a great surprise awaited us. The house was bare of any furniture, any dish or bedsheet, but in two alcoves, arranged on shelves, were many books. Kamil immediately ordered us each to take at least ten books. And so we lucked upon a Hebrew Bible, a Bible in the poet Yehoash’s Yiddish translation, and another one in Luther’s German translation, an elegant Hebrew prayer book, a very old High Holiday mahzor, and many other rare books. The books were damp and mildewed but complete.
ON EVERY RAID we pass an abandoned Jewish home in the countryside. These are now mostly occupied by Ruthenians who remodeled them, but sometimes the abandoned house remains in its original form. The new residents wear the clothes of the former residents, and for a moment their appearance is deceptive.
On one of the raids, Salo discovered the house of his Uncle Herzig: a big house with many lamps. This was before dawn, and we were on our way to the base. Salo, who was shaken by what he saw, asked Felix for permission to go inside to see what was left.
The new residents, startled by the raid, were ordered to sit on the ground. Felix immediately announced that we were partisans and requested that they contribute to the war effort.
“We have nothing,” said the father of the family.
“The house is full of fine furniture, expensive lamps, and you say you have nothing.”
“Take a piece of furniture if you want,” he said with a snicker.
“We do not need furniture. We are looking for necessities, warm clothes, blankets. By the way, whose house is this?”
“Mine.”
“You inherited it?”
“That’s right.”
“And if we tell you this is a Jewish house and you took it over, what would you say?”
“I would say that’s not true.”
Felix did not continue to argue. He ordered a search.
The house was full of city clothes, blankets, and down quilts, and in the dining room there were elegant utensils—candlesticks, a spice box—and a charity box from the Jewish National Fund.
It had been a long time since we’d seen clothes that Jews wore. There was still an odor of camphor in the closets.
Salo trembled. He used to come here during the Passover holiday to study for semester exams and spend time with his cousins. Those had been splendid days of heart-to-heart conversation, of hikes by the river, and of tastes and smells of Jewishness.
We filled four sacks with clothes and blankets, and we also took the candlesticks, the spice box, and the charity box from the Jewish National Fund.
“Why are you taking our clothes?” the father on the ground asked anxiously.
“They are not your clothes.”
“They are mine.”
“If you keep lying we will punish you. Do not forget. We are partisans fighting for our lives, and anyone who opposes us risks his life. And where are the books?” said Felix.
“I have no books.”
“If you don’t show us right now where you threw the books, we’ll burn down the house.”
“Have mercy on me and my children.”
“We’ll have mercy if you show us where you threw the books. There were many books here.”
“I burned them.”
“Why did you burn them?”
“I didn’t know what to do with them.”
“Where did you burn them?”
“Behind the stable.”
“Damn you. Show us where you burned them,” Felix persisted.
“Don’t kill me. I have five children.”
Two fighters went with him behind the barn. In the pile of ashes a few unburned pages remained. Salo took a half-burned page with the words of the morning prayer Modeh Ani: I give thanks to God for restoring my soul.
We retreated according to standard procedure, and it was good that we were cautious. We were no more than two or three hundred feet from the house when the farmer and his older sons came out of the house and, joined by neighbors, began to shoot at us. Felix ordered us to put down our supplies and attack them. Which is what we did. Within minutes the shooting stopped. This was not enough for Felix. He ordered us to set the house on fire. And that is what we did.