The trek was slow. We carried those who were exhausted, the elderly and the children, and at every stop we lit campfires to warm them as best we could. Kamil told the refugees about the area—its security advantages and spiritual qualities—and especially about the summit, a fortress that could be defended. The refugees were physically drained, and it was doubtful that they absorbed what he said.
Felix, who spotted us from afar, sent us some sliced bread, cheese, and a pot of tea. But the survivors were so weak they could barely sip the tepid tea.
Only at dusk, when we brought them to the summit, did the situation become clear: There were three starving children who could barely stand; four women, their eyes swollen and legs wobbling; and twenty-one men of various ages, emaciated and ravaged by hunger. These are the ones we managed to save. The others had scattered and fled or had been shot and left for dead on the ground.
We were now faced with enormous, hideous suffering. It was for good reason that Kamil had asked us to see only the human suffering and not its ugliness. We must not forget: ugliness is only the exterior of suffering; a soul resides within everyone who suffers.
Everyone mobilized to serve the refugees the tea, cake, and cookies that Tsila and Miriam had prepared for them. Salo and Maxie took care of the wounded, and suddenly our base looked different. This was not how we had imagined the rescue. We assumed the refugees would be weak, wounded, and in pain but not people whose exhaustion had shut down their souls. We had forgotten what the ghetto had wrought, what the work camps and the death train had done. A person is flesh and blood, not made of iron. Kamil explicitly said, “From now on we must be not only fighters but also caregivers and medics and nurses for all those in pain.”
Our test began at once. The legs of a few of the men were so thin they seemed to be eaten away from the inside. The legs of two of the women were swollen to a frightening degree. I could hear what Grandma Tsirl had told us in her final moments: “Love and increase love, have mercy and increase mercy.” She must have had this test in mind.
One of the refugees, a middle-aged man, said they had been locked in the boxcars for five days and that many had died from thirst and lack of air. That was all he had the strength to say. His voice was choked with loud weeping. The others sat silently on the twigs in the big tent that the fighters had set up. The stove spread light and warmth and illuminated the faces of the survivors.
Kamil addressed the fighters who took part in the operation. “We are privileged to have saved a precious handful,” he said, “a holy handful, from the talons of the beast. We battled the ultimate evil, and this is only the beginning. We will care for our brethren until they can stand on their feet.
“I wish to tell you something more: Human suffering is holy. We will care for these survivors with generosity and love, and we will thank God who enabled us to care for them.”
I felt sorry for this tall man, that such redoubled responsibility had now fallen on his shoulders. Yes, there were some fighters who cast doubt on the rescue operation and wondered if we were pointlessly prolonging the suffering of those we had rescued. How could we heal them, feed them, and keep their tents warm in such bitter cold? Kamil’s view was clear-cut: life is precious, life is holy, and we must devote ourselves to these people.
That night it was decided we would act on Salo and Maxie’s suggestion: to go down and abduct a doctor to treat the sick and wounded. Meanwhile, we brought them blankets and sheepskins and an additional stove. Tsila and Miriam prepared semolina porridge, and we got down on our knees and fed them. Now, for the first time, we saw gratitude in the eyes of a few of them. But they were exceedingly weak. They collapsed, and we covered them with blankets and sheepskins. In Salo’s opinion, they needed to stay in the tents for now, and only when they got a bit stronger could we move some of them to the bunkers.
Two squads, led by Felix, went down to capture the doctor. Before the operation, Felix consulted with Victor about the open roads and dead ends in the village. Victor drew him a map. It was clear: the mission was complicated and dangerous; the doctor lived in the center of the village, and presumably his screams would rouse the local residents.
Felix sat and planned the operation in detail. Victor, who knew the doctor’s house, made a sketch of the front entrance, the back door, and the yard.
We sent the squads off with great trepidation. Kamil may have been the most anxious of all. He repeated that our obligation was to relieve the suffering of those we had rescued. Recent days had left their mark on him: his face was pale, and his right hand, which held a cigarette, trembled.
Ever since the decision was made to go down and rescue people from the trains, the disputes among us ended. Now the fighters submit to Kamil’s authority without a word. Perhaps they finally understand that he is one of a kind and must be defended.
One of the communists, a quiet fighter whose voice I had rarely heard, spoke up and said, “This is all thanks to the revolution, to the Red Army. He who denies communism is wicked or incompetent. Soon we will see the liberating army, and all those who slandered Lenin and Stalin will ask their forgiveness. One thing is clear: the old beliefs are gone from the world. The new dawn is coming soon, the days of justice: from each according to his abilities to each according to his needs.”
Oddly, the fighter did not look happy or victorious. His mouth and his heart seemed to speak in different tones. His mouth continued to voice the old slogans, but his heart knew: there were too few of us left to be happy.