One of our patrols detected a squad of trackers, opened fire, and captured one of its scouts. When interrogated, the Ukrainian tracker disclosed that the Germans were planning a mortar attack, and his squad had been sent to reconnoiter the area.
But the Russian radio is again broadcasting news of the German retreat on all fronts and is calling on partisans to hunt them down.
“The Germans are in retreat. Why would they attack us now?” asked Kamil.
The tracker was not fazed by the question. “Killing the Jews is the first priority,” he replied, as if it were obvious.
After Kamil was done, Felix interrogated the man as well. He told Felix that at least once a week, on Tuesdays, a train passes through that is filled with Jews whose screams pierce the heavens. When Felix asked if any Jews still live in the area, he replied, “Not a single one,” in a tone that was hard to evaluate.
Here’s the dilemma: According to Kamil’s original plan, we are to go down every Tuesday, blow up the railroad tracks, and rescue Jews. But our plans are delayed by harsh weather and many logistical problems. The survivors are recovering, but it will take several more weeks before they can stand on their feet. The big question is, where will we house new arrivals in this bitter winter? Where will we get food to feed them? Above all, there is the looming threat: the German attack on us.
Victor also believes that the Germans’ top priority is to kill Jews. They are bursting with motivation. More than once, we’ve seen them pursuing a single Jewish child, not giving up until he was caught.
In Kamil’s opinion, we must prepare for the attack and at the same time continue our regular raids, continue to go down and rescue as many Jews as we can from the boxcars. There is no purpose to our existence without saving lives. Felix agrees with Kamil and adds, “The survivors are not a burden but a clear justification for all that we do here.”
Last night, Isidor chanted Sabbath and High Holiday prayers. The survivors, who had never heard praying like this, were stunned, and they wept. Tsila also cried, but these were tears of relief: she was able to contribute to the survival of the saved.
Only now are we discovering relatives and acquaintances among the survivors. I found Emil, my classmate, who excelled in the exact sciences but found it hard to memorize poetry. The math teacher admired him and often asked him to show us how to solve problems. Within minutes Emil would write the equations, fractions, and square roots on the blackboard, as if this weren’t a math problem but an amusing quiz. The numbers flowed magically from his fingers.
While for the majority of students schoolwork was a burden and having fun was most important, Emil was busy supporting his family. His parents were blind from birth, and Emil not only supported them by giving private lessons but also took them to the park every day to breathe some fresh air and listen to the songs of the birds. And in the summer he often took them by streetcar to the river.
His parents were among the first to agree to leave the ghetto for “agricultural training,” where everyone, it was promised, would work according to his abilities and receive what he needed, the blind and elderly included. But in fact these were the first aktionen, the deportations to the death camps. Emil was transferred to various work camps and finally taken to the train station and crammed into a suffocating railway car that he was sure he would not survive.
I haven’t seen Emil in about a year. To my surprise, he has not changed much externally and probably not internally, either. His face, wonderfully bright-eyed and childlike, is the same as ever as he lies on the mat of twigs. Emil was all innocence and kindness. In the gymnasium he had suffered due to his exceptional intelligence and innocence. The rowdy boys and girls mocked him, called him names, and loved to taunt him, as if to show him that excellence in math did not make him superior to them. On the contrary, in their eyes he was below average in practical matters.
Emil speaks to me with difficulty; his astonishment has made him lose his words.
FELIX CONTINUED to interrogate the Ukrainian tracker. “Did you volunteer,” he asked, “or were you forced to serve?”
“I volunteered.” He did not deny it.
“Why?”
“The pay is high and there are benefits. Our family is poor, and things improved for everyone after I signed up. Papa says it’s better to join the Germans; they are fair and won’t cheat you like the communists do.”
“You weren’t afraid to kill Jews?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” he quickly replied. “We just rounded them up and brought them to the forest.”
“But on the way you whipped them and shot the weak or the ones who tried to escape.”
“Those were the orders.”
“And you didn’t fear God?”
“I did, but I was more afraid of disobeying orders.”
“I understand,” said Felix and let him be. Felix doesn’t know how to restrain his emotions. If it were up to him, he would punish the Ukrainian not only for what he did but for what he said.
“Are you going to kill me?” The Ukrainian was openmouthed with terror.
“We’ll see,” said Felix without looking at him.
“I have three little children. Don’t kill me.” His lips trembled.
“When you killed Jews, did you think about their children?”
“I didn’t kill any Jews,” he repeated.
“Don’t lie; we punish twice as hard for lying. I ask you now, and give me a simple answer: Did you kill Jews?”
“I did.”
“Now we’ll see what punishment you’ll receive.”
“I regret what I did,” he said, weeping.