It was the Sunday before the Easter of 1943 and the hurdy-gurdy in Krasinski Gardens ground out jolly tunes as laughing children rode on the carousel. On this pleasant April afternoon, the new buds that swelled on the trees were seen as a symbol of hope. Germany had been defeated in North Africa, the Wehrmacht’s mighty 6th Army had been decimated at Stalingrad, and the Allies had finally landed in the south of Italy. Surely the end couldn’t be far off.
But behind the gardens, on the other side of the wall, there was an atmosphere of taut alertness. Elzunia and her group were still in their bunker when Jerzy said, ‘There’s been a huge build-up of German and Ukrainian troops in Warsaw in the past two days. I reckon this is it. They’re going to try and finish us off. But we’ll spring a surprise on them when they come!’
‘I just hope we don’t die with any unused weapons in our hands,’ Cesia said quietly.
Elzunia was tearing the skin around her thumbnail as usual, too tense to take part in their conversation. Edek hadn’t been able to get Gittel out of the Ghetto, and Elzunia wanted to make sure that her mother and Gittel were safely inside their bunker. She was about to run over to their building when Itzak appeared at the entrance, his face taut and stern. ‘I want you all in here,’ he said. ‘This is our last chance to run through everything so you know exactly what to do tomorrow.’
That evening, as the sun was setting, Elzunia looked fearfully at the crimson sky and in it she saw the blood that would soon be spilt and the fires that were about to blaze.
Later that night, Elzunia tossed from side to side, too churned up to sleep. She didn’t realise she had finally dropped off until she heard an urgent voice in her ear.
‘Quick. Time to go.’
It was still dark. She had slept fully dressed, and, slipping her two grenades inside the deep pockets of her skirt, she sprang up and ran with her group until they reached their post on the rooftop of the building overlooking the intersection of Mila and Zamenhof Streets. There was no sign of activity in the street below, but the scouts had spotted German and Polish policemen staking out the Ghetto wall, so it was clear the assault would soon begin.
‘They want to destroy the Ghetto today to give Hitler a nice birthday present tomorrow,’ Itzak said.
‘It’s Seder night this evening,’ Rahela mused. She was patrolling the edge of the parapet, scanning the street below. With her unruly hair pulled into a thick plait, she looked like a schoolgirl. Turning to Elzunia with an encouraging smile, she said, ‘Whatever happens today, we couldn’t have chosen a better time to fight.’
Elzunia knew it was the eve of the Passover festival, which commemorated the liberation of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, but, as Itzak had explained the previous evening, the significance of the Passover transcended the specific event that took place thousands of years before. It symbolised the struggle for liberation from bondage through the ages.
‘Our slavery will also end in liberation, even though, like the followers of Moses, we probably won’t live to see our promised land,’ he said.
Listening to him, Elzunia had felt inspired, but, as she stood shivering in the chilly pre-dawn air, his words brought no comfort. Her chest was so tight that her breaths came in uneven gasps and her thoughts jumped around in her head. Were Mama and Gittel down in the bunker? What would happen when the fighting started? Would they be safe down there?
As dawn broke and streaks of apricot and peach tinted the sky, small groups of Germans started slipping into the Ghetto. Elzunia’s hands grew sweaty, her knees shook, and she was certain that the pounding of her heart could be heard on the other side of the wall. Standing beside her, Jerzy could hardly keep still. ‘I can’t wait for this to start,’ he said. Elzunia wiped her moist hands on her cotton skirt and her fingers closed around the precious grenades in her pocket. Would she remember what she’d been taught, would she know when and how to throw them? They had so few weapons — what if she missed her targets and wasted them?
The hours crept by. How much longer would this agonising wait last? A low-pitched hum broke the silence and they turned in the direction of the sound. As it grew louder, they recognised the distant rumble of armoured vehicles and tanks. Elzunia shot an anxious glance at Itzak but his face showed no emotion. How could they possibly fight against tanks?
The convoy came to a halt, and they heard the brisk rhythmic thud of boots on the cobblestones. From their vantage points above the street, they watched the platoon of SS men marching in tight ranks with the arrogant stride of conquerors about to claim a swift victory.
Unseen and unsuspected, in attics and rooftops above the street, the fighters were watching the soldiers as their fingers itched to hurl their Molotov cocktails and grenades. Some of the fighters were as young as thirteen, but they all burned with the desire to avenge the deaths of their loved ones. For once, the arrival of these hated officers with the death’s-head insignia on their caps struck no terror into their hearts. This time, they would unleash their own blitzkrieg.
As soon as the Germans had spread out along Mila and Zamenhof Streets, the resistance leaders gave the signal the fighters had all been waiting for.
Explosives sparked, flared and flashed, incendiary bottles shattered, burst and went up in flames, and gunfire stuttered from the rooftops. All along the street, SS men were falling, writhing, running, yelling and trying to see where the attack was coming from. Those who weren’t wounded scattered in disarray, confused and shocked by the ambush. Some turned back in panic or tried to shelter in doorways, but they couldn’t avoid the Molotov cocktails and grenades that rained down on them from all sides.
It was all happening faster than Elzunia could take it in. Mesmerised by the scenes that flashed before her eyes, she felt disoriented by the explosions, yells and shots, as she tried to grasp the fact that, for the first time, the blood spilt on the Ghetto streets belonged to the Germans, not the Jews. She hadn’t thrown her grenades. The right moment hadn’t come. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that she’d become paralysed with fear.
A threatening roar rose from the far end of Zamenhof Street. ‘They’ve brought in the tanks!’ Edek shouted as they watched them roll into view.
He rushed forward and leaned over the edge of the parapet. ‘This one’s for my mother and little brother!’ he cried as he hurled a Molotov cocktail. It struck the side of the first tank near the gunner’s turret, exploded, and the tank burst into flames. Elzunia gripped one of her grenades, ready to throw it at the second tank when it advanced, but it stayed back to avoid the fate of the first. Ambulance sirens shrilled up and down the Ghetto streets to take away wounded German soldiers as the fighting raged in Muranowski Square and on the corner of Nalewki and Gesia Streets.
By early afternoon, the sounds of battle had stopped and a wondrous calm had descended over the Ghetto. The Germans had retreated. For the first time, Jews could walk freely on these streets. It was a victory no one had dared to imagine. The fighters were incredulous.
Edek was jumping up and down. ‘Did you see how I demolished that tank?’
Elzunia nodded. ‘Now the Ghetto is ours!’
‘Listen to this!’ Jerzy said. ‘Someone told me that a group of AK fellows tried to break through the wall at Bonifraterska Street to help us but something went wrong with their explosives and they couldn’t get through. And over on Muranowski Square, some of our fighters put on German uniforms and fooled lots of SS men and captured their machine guns.’
But the leaders were not as euphoric as the fighters.
‘Today was a great triumph,’ Itzak said, gathering his group around him. ‘Ours is the first organised battle against the Germans in occupied Poland, possibly even in the whole of Europe. We’ve shown what a handful of brave street fighters can do. With hardly any firearms, we’ve not only won a momentous victory without losing a single fighter, but, more importantly, we’ve shown the world that the master race is not invincible.’
They all cheered and clapped but Itzak looked sombre as he held up his hand. ‘I’m proud of each one of you, prouder than I can say. Today we’ve written ourselves into the history books. But we don’t know what tomorrow will bring.’
On the second day of the Uprising, the Germans, humiliated by their ignominious defeat at the hands of a rabble of Untermenschen, sent in huge reinforcements.
‘Want to know what I just heard?’ Edek asked Elzunia. Even his curls seemed to bristle with excitement. ‘The Germans have got rid of the colonel and replaced him with a general, as if they were fighting a proper army!’
Within an hour, every building became a fortress fighting for its life. However hard they fought to repel the Germans, more kept rushing at them from all directions. On their rooftop, a movement to their right caught Elzunia’s eye and she saw Itzak motioning them to crouch down, out of sight. She squatted against the parapet and followed Itzak’s gaze. Three German soldiers had crept onto the adjoining roof and were setting up a machine gun behind the chimney. Her breath caught in her throat. The only way out was by the stairs but the exit was cut off by the gun that was being trained on them. They were trapped.
Before she knew what was happening, Szmuel sprang from his corner like a panther and threw himself onto the machine gun. The Germans were caught off balance and, for a moment, the path to the stairs was clear. Swiftly and stealthily, they crawled towards them one at a time and ran down, throwing grenades at the Germans trying to get in.
After the Germans had been pushed back from their building, the fighters stole back onto the roof. Elzunia stifled a scream. Szmuel lay sprawled in front of the chimney, his body perforated like a sieve. He had sacrificed himself to give them a chance to get away. But there was no time for tears or gratitude because the Germans intensified their attack, and machine-gun fire stuttered all around. A grenade came flying towards them. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elzunia caught it in mid-air and immediately tossed it back, like Jove hurling a thunderbolt.
She ran down the stairs to a less exposed position where one of the older fighters stood near a small window, looking through the sights of a rifle he’d used in the previous war. On the street below, a German soldier was edging along the wall, heading for their building.
‘Come on, Grandpa; quick, shoot!’ Jerzy hissed from beside her, but the old soldier was in no hurry. Slowly and deliberately, he took aim, fired, and hit the intruder in the chest. But the Germans kept coming. They were almost out of grenades when Edek’s Molotov cocktail struck a helmet that sparked and went up in flames. But still Elzunia couldn’t bring herself to throw hers.
There was a brief lull and, when they looked down, they were amazed to see three unarmed German officers walking slowly in the centre of the street, with white ribbons pinned to their lapels. In polite voices, they asked to speak to the Jewish commander so that they could negotiate a truce to remove their dead and wounded. ‘Stop fighting and we promise all the residents will be resettled peacefully in work camps at Poniatów and Trawniki. They can take all their possessions with them,’ the German spokesman announced.
For a moment, the fighters thought they were dreaming. The German general was petitioning them for a truce. A few seconds later, he got his reply. A salvo of gunfire.
That afternoon, the Germans pulled out of the Ghetto once again and, despite their sorrow at the loss of some of their comrades, who had become closer to them than their brothers and sisters, the fighters were jubilant. They had not only held off the enemy for two days, but had forced them to sue for peace and retreat. They’d cheated Hitler of his birthday present.