Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Deportation


DEPORTATION
One evening at the end of October 1938, I returned home from Mainz (where I worked) only to find my younger brother and my two young sisters in our flat crying bitterly. Apparently the police had come to our home and taken my parents to the police station. What had happened? The German government had decided that all Jews of Polish nationality residing in Germany, were to be deported back to Poland. With the usual German efficiency and brutality they swooped into the homes of all these people and arrested them. I immediately went to the local police station in order to find out what was going on. Yes, they confirmed, my parents were in their custody, would be taken to the local prison and deported to Poland the next day! I begged them to let my mother go home in order to be with the younger children, and I would stay in her stead. I pointed out to them that I could easily have hidden but chose to be with my family instead. After some time they relented, and let my mother go. My father and I were taken to the local prison, together with hundreds of others. The next morning we were all taken to the railway station, where my mother, brother and sisters joined us.
The news of this, the beginning of many more terrible and brutal events, spread like wild fire during the night throughout the entire Jewish community. As those who were holders of German or other nationalities were not yet affected, they all, to a man, tried to help as much as possible. They came to the station in order to say good bye, brought food and any other amenities that could make our journey more bearable. It was a scene which to this day is unforgettable. People, who hardly knew each other, embraced, kissed and cried on each other's shoulders.
Meanwhile the train was ready and the escorting police took us into the carriages. The train left Wiesbaden, heading eastwards. We stopped in Mainz, Frankfurt and one or two other places. In each place, we were joined by many more families. Wherever we stopped, people from the Jewish community turned out in full force in order to bring us food and good wishes to help us in our ordeal.
Eventually we arrived in Beuthen which is a border town between Germany and Poland. Here everyone got out. The train returned empty and we were kept for hours and hours in no-man's land. It was a Friday night, but the atmosphere was hardly that of,Shabbat, as you can imagine. The night passed and morning dawned and we were still kept in the same place. Suddenly we were separated from some others. the reason being that the Polish authorities, who were taken bv surprise by this whole operation, would not accept those who did not have a certain stamp in their passports. Among those was my mother. and as my sisters were entered on her passport, they stayed with her.
As I mentioned before, the escorting police force was from Wiesbaden and one of the officers was a former school colleague of mine. As we used to be friends, I dared to approach him in order to ask if he could help my father, whom he knew to be blind. He spoke to his superior and to my great surprise and relief, we were taken directly to the Polish immigration officer. After some protracted formalities we were allowed to cross the border into Poland.
Here we were put on to a train going into the interior of the country. At the first stop my father asked me where we were. I looked out and saw that we had stopped at Katowice. Here he insisted that we leave the train. It was Shabbat and he refused to travel any further. So we sat on the platform for about five or six hours, until nightfall. Only then could we board a train that took us on to Krakow.
Arriving there, we took a horse drawn "droshke" and asked him to take us to my brother Yaakov's house. There we arrived to the surprise and amazement of the whole family. Within minutes, dozens of relatives and friends assembled, all very excited to hear what had happened as, so far, they had heard only rumours. The news of the deportations had spread throughout the community, but we must have been amongst the very first to arrive in Poland. Because of the disagreement between the German and Polish governments , the majority of those deported ended up in the infamous camp of Sponscin, which is near the border of the two countries.
As I mentioned before, we were separated from my mother and sisters. After a few days we found out that they had been returned to Wiesbaden. At least they had, for the time being, a home. With the help of friends, conditions for them were not too bad. However, for us in Krakow, it was not too easy. My brother only had a small flat, so there was not enough room for us all. We split up. My father stayed with Yaakov. I went to stay with a cousin, and Osias my youngest brother went to Tarnow, to stay with my mother's relations, where eventually he got a job in a bakery.
I was in a dilemma as I could not get a job, and when I did manage to do a little window dressing for some Jewish stores, they exploited my situation as a refugee and paid me very little. I was very unhappy. I did not speak the language, I had no real work nor any friends. So my thoughts from the beginning were directed towards how to get away from this place. After some weeks I received an order to enlist in the Polish Army - that was the last straw.
I got in touch with Philip, my brother who lived in Belgium. He had contacts with a Belgian consul in Holland and promised to try and get me a visa to Belgium. I immediately sent him my passport and he actually succeeded in obtaining this precious visa. He returned my passport, which reached me a day before its expiry. This is where the trouble started. What was I to do? How could I possibly arrive in Belgium within 24 hours? I went to a travel agent, whose manager had been recommended to me. Of course this was 1938, and you could not just buy an air ticket and fly from one country to the next. Air travel in those days was almost unknown.
My first idea was to go by train and boat. But the next boat leaving Gdansk was five days hence, so I had to abandon that idea. It was pointed out to me that my only alternative was to find a flight, but this was not so easy. There was no direct flight from Poland to Belgium, except one with a stopover in Germany. That was no good. So my only possibility was to go to Prague by train, and from there to Amsterdam by plane. At that particular time there was a border dispute between Poland and Czechoslovakia and it was almost impossible to obtain a visa from one country to the next.
Here my travel agent offered to help. He was on friendly terms with the Czech consul and he was prepared to accompany me there. He thought with some persuasion and some money he might be prepared to make an exception. Well, it took a lot of persuasion and a lot of money, but I finally received that precious visa for 24 hours: Back to the travel office. The manager now told me that he would issue me a flight ticket Prague - Amsterdam, 2 weeks backdated with a seat on tomorrow's flight. The reason for backdating the ticket was, that at that moment there were absolutely no vacancies, but had I bought the ticket two weeks ago I might argue that at that time there had been room. But if there is no room, surely I cannot fly, I said in all innocence. The man looked at me pityingly and said: "You just have to shout and stand up for your rights. He who shouts loudest will win. In any case, you have no alternative - this is your only chance".
What could I do? After paying a lot more money (which I had to borrow, since all my funds had been exhausted), I finally had all my travel papers. I returned to my brother's flat to pack a few things and say good bye to my father and the rest of the family. How little did we know that this would be our final good- bye, that we would never see each other again! In the evening I boarded the train for Prague. All this happened on December 18th, my 23rd birthday. As my passport was only returned to me that morning, I had actually made all these arrangements on that day, and now I was finally on my way to leaving Poland.
Arriving at the border, the Polish police officer looked at my passport and pointed out that it was about to expire! As calmly as I could manage, I said: "I know, but it does not matter. I have to be in Belgium on very urgent family business and there I will have it extended at the Consulate. As you see, I have a return ticket." He looked at me sceptically, but let me go! The Czech officer looked at the passport, gave me an understanding nod, and waved me on!
Arriving in Prague at 5 o'clock in the morning, I immediately phoned, from the station, to the number I had been given in Krakow. The telephone rang and rang for quite some time. Eventually a sleepy voice asked what I wanted. I told him that I had just arrived from Krakow and just wanted to confirm that my seat on the flight to Amsterdam was in order. The voice at the other end of the phone screamed at me furiously: Had I gone mad to wake him in the middle of the night? He did not know me. There was no seat available and his office opens at 8 0' clock. With that he slammed down the receiver. After this I walked around Prague from 5 till 8. At any other time I would have been fascinated by this interesting and historic city, but at that time I hardly saw where I was going. My mind was occupied with one thing only. How was I to get out of here?
Punctually at 8 o'clock, I stood outside the office of the travel agency. A few minutes later, the manager arrived. I quickly ran up to him, showed him my ticket and asked what time the plane was leaving. He looked at me and said: "Oh yes, you are that madman who rang me in the middle of the night. Yes, the plane is leaving at 11 a.m., but you are not going, because there is no room for you." I started to scream at him and he screamed back. I told him I'd even accept a "standing seat"! We both threatened each other with the police. Meanwhile people were arriving in order to book in, and I still was no further. The bus, which was to take everyone to the airport, already stood outside. It was 9.30 a.m.
As I stood there in desperation, an elderly gentleman entered, walked up to the manager and told him that he was very sorry but something had happened in his family, and he would have to postpone his flight. No sooner had I heard these words, when I jumped in front of the manager and shouted: "There is my seat". He shook his head and said: "Oh no, there is a long waiting list before you". Then he looked at me and must have seen murder in my eyes, so he then said: "Just be quiet, you have your seat". If this was not a miracle from heaven, I don't know what is. The booking formalities still took a little while. I was the last to board the airport bus but finally we were on our way, and for me, on the way to freedom.

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