Karolina's Twins Page 3

  “Polish signs on public buildings were taken down and replaced with German signs. Street names were changed from Polish to German and renamed for German heroes or replaced by the German phonetic name. In 1941, they changed the name of our town from Chrzanów to Krenau.

  “Those were the written rules. The unwritten rules were driven home by experience. Get off the sidewalk if you see a German coming. You better not be in his way, even if it means stepping into a puddle. If a man walks in public with a yarmulke on, a Nazi is sure to take it off and force the man use it to polish his jackboots. And don’t make eye contact. It’s considered provocative. For girls, we know to go out in groups or not at all. Even in the hot weather, girls are smart to cover up.

  “The city became red and black with Nazi flags. They were hung from all the city buildings. Swastikas were everywhere. And so were the Germans. On every block, at every corner. I know that Ben must have told you all about the horrors of life during the occupation.”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid he did.”

  “The Germans levied a tax upon the Jews. The professed purpose was to pay for the German administration of our town. After all, how could the Nazis be expected to pay for their own conquest? Obviously, the real object was to impoverish the Jews. To that end, Jewish men were conscripted and ordered to go door-to-door to collect the taxes in paper bags. Woe be to the family that did not pay.

  “Within months Germany annexed Chrzanów and the Polish towns to our west—Chełmek, Trzebinia, Libi�ż. We were now located inside Germany and were no longer part of the Republic of Poland, but of course we were not German citizens. We were Jews and Jews cannot be citizens. Krenau was now a German town. Poles in our town who could prove some German origin or ethnicity, the Volksdeutsche, could become Germanized, and thus privileged.

  “I’m sorry to say that many of the Volksdeutsche took to it like a duck to water. They immediately became superior to us and would enthusiastically shoot their arms up in a Seig Heil salute to the German soldiers. The Volksdeutsche strived to ingratiate themselves and would point out Jews to the Gestapo. They would gleefully run to report any infraction of the rules. I remember Mrs. Czeskowicz, an unassertive, spineless widow who became Germanized, running full speed to find a German soldier to report little Tomas Resky for walking through the park.”

  Catherine wrinkled her brow in a confused look.

  “He was a Jewish boy and Jews were prohibited from using public parks. Mrs. Czeskowicz caught him cutting through the park on his way home and turned him in. He was only twelve, but that didn’t stop the Nazis from giving him a beating. And Mrs. Czeskowicz stayed to watch.

  “Our currency, Polish zlotys, was officially abolished and could no longer be used in any stores. The new currency was the German mark. We were allowed to exchange zlotys for German marks—two zlotys would get you one mark, though it was counterproductive to make the exchange, because you would be telling the Germans that you had money and they’d come and get it.

  “I was fifteen in 1939. For my friends and me, we viewed the occupation through a teenager’s eyes—how did it affect our lives? How much were our social and educational lives disrupted? As I already told you, the first thing that happened to me was the change in my education—the Gymnasium was closed. Not that it would have mattered if it stayed open—taking the train to Kraków was out of the question. Passage on the trains was forbidden without a passport.

  “My father immediately enrolled me in the Chrzanów public high school. To tell you the truth, at the time, it didn’t seem so bad. I was reunited with Karolina and most of my friends. My social group was back in business. Unfortunately, that only lasted until October 30, 1939. That was the day all secondary schools in Poland were closed. Our high school was requisitioned by the Germans to serve as an arms depot. All of the maps, equipment, books—the entire library of over six thousand volumes—were destroyed by the Germans.

  “The grade schools were still open, but after they took the Jewish census, all Jewish students were barred from attending. Jews in Chrzanów were identified and issued white armbands with blue stars to wear on our left arms. How did they know who were Jews? Because, as I mentioned, there were Poles who, in an attempt to curry the favor of the Germans, would take them around town, pointing and yelling ‘Jude.’

  “Germans issued new regulations for Polish education. Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, who you may remember as the architect of the Holocaust, set the new rules. Since the non-Jewish Poles were destined to become subservient slave labor for the Germans in the General Government, there was no need to waste time and money educating them. Himmler said Poles should learn only simple arithmetic, up to five hundred, and the writing of one’s name. He said, ‘I don’t think reading is necessary.’

  “I remember the winter morning they closed the grade school to the Jewish children. I had taken Milosz to school and when we arrived, we saw German soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder at the schoolhouse door, their rifles pointed at the children. They had lists of the students. One of the soldiers with a clipboard addressed us. ‘What is your name?’

  “‘Milosz Scheinman,’ I responded. He looked at his list and checked off his name. ‘Take him home. He is a Jew. He is terminated from the school. Do not bring him back or your parents will be arrested.’

  “In response to the school closures, our Jewish community established classes at the synagogue, but that didn’t last either. Harassment of students coming to and from school was so pervasive, the classes had to be abandoned. So, Karolina and I ended up studying at home with books my father obtained. My mother was a tough teacher. She made sure we kept regular school hours and did our homework.

  “She also enforced the curfew hours, which, of all the restrictions, were the toughest for me because it meant alienation from my friends. She was insistent. ‘The Germans would like nothing better than to arrest and abuse young girls. Stay off the streets unless absolutely necessary, and never after curfew.’ But we were teenagers and when did teenagers ever listen to their parents?

  “As the days grew shorter, the opportunities to socialize became fewer and more difficult for us. Curfew would begin as early as four-thirty. One evening, just after I had turned fifteen, I snuck out the back door, met Karolina and went to Freda’s house. There we joined all our friends in her basement for a wild party. There was music from a phonograph, lots of boys and even beer.” Lena bit her bottom lip in a mischievous gesture. “That was a bad mistake on my part. When I came home, my mother was furious.

  “‘Where have you been? Are you crazy? Do you know that people are being shot for violating curfew?’

  “Because I was emboldened by a glass or two of beer, when my mother scolded me, I shrugged my shoulders and smiled with an air of disobedience, which enraged my mother. She hauled off and slapped me across my face as hard as she could. The only time in my life. And she grounded me for a month. No going out, and Karolina could not come over. Except for dinner and chores, I had to stay in my room. She ultimately relented on Karolina because she felt sorry for her, but she kept us apart for the month.

  “In the spring of 1940, I came downstairs to see my father and some other men talking in our living room. They said something about a large prison camp being built just southwest of town. One of the men said the Nazis were requisitioning workers to expand the former Polish army camp at Oświęcim. By then, the name had been changed to Auschwitz, which is the German pronunciation for Oświęcim.

  “When the men left, I asked my father about it. He thought deeply for a few moments, and then said, ‘You’re old enough and you’ll know soon enough. Come with me.’ He took me into his study and shut the door.

  “‘Lena, what I’m about to tell you is private information, just between you and me, not to be repeated to anyone. Do we agree?’

  “I nodded calmly, but his demeanor was frightening me.

  “‘Those men who met with me, do you know them?’

  “I shook
my head. ‘Only Mr. Osteen, the math teacher.’

  “‘Good,’ he said. ‘Forget they were ever here. Do not tell anyone that I met with those men. There may be more meetings in our home, or I may have to leave to go to meetings, and you are never to tell anyone about any of it. Do you understand? Do I have your promise?’

  “I nodded. ‘I promise.’ On the one hand I was scared, but on the other hand I was proud to be taken into my father’s confidence. ‘I heard someone talk about working at a prison camp at Oświęcim,’ I confessed in a whisper.

  “My father cursed under his breath. ‘Lena, if you haven’t already, you will see German soldiers grabbing men from our town, supposedly for work details. They send them away for a day, sometimes several days. We know that some of them are sent to Oświęcim where the Germans are building a very large prisoner-of-war camp to house thousands of Poles.’

  “‘Will they take you for work detail?’

  “‘I hope not, but who knows? They might. Most of the men come home at night.’

  “‘But not all?’

  “‘Not all.’

  “‘Why were you and the other men talking about it?’

  “He smiled and patted me on the head. ‘You know more than you should. Now remember, this is our secret. Not a word to anyone.’”

  “So your dad knew about Auschwitz from the beginning?” Catherine said.

  “Well, the prison at Auschwitz was never a secret. People would work at the camp and come back to Chrzanów. They would talk about what they had done. At that time, Auschwitz didn’t have gas chambers, crematoriums or mass extermination sites, it was a barbed-wire-encircled prison camp. In June 1940, the camp became operational. It housed Polish prisoners of war—soldiers, dissidents and the intelligentsia—who were transported from other jails and prisons that were overflowing. They were kept in cellblocks. Block 11 was a notorious building used by the Gestapo for torture.

  “Actually, from the onset, Auschwitz was a place of abuse and summary executions. It was enlarged the following March to hold thirty thousand prisoners. I didn’t know in 1940 why my father and the others were meeting to discuss Auschwitz, although I had my suspicions. I only surmised that my father was part of an informal resistance group.

  “Later that year, the Germans began to requisition houses all over town. They gave notice, usually not more than a few days, that the Reich was taking possession of the house. Families were forced to vacate and relocate to other living quarters. The house was then handed over to Wehrmacht officers, SS, Gestapo or Polish collaborators. We knew it wouldn’t be long until they expropriated our home as well. It was one of the nicer ones in town and centrally located.”

  “Where were displaced people supposed to go?” Catherine asked. “Had the Germans established alternative quarters for Chrzanów? A Jewish ghetto?”

  “Hmph. What did the Germans care? Nothing had been established as of that time. There was a ghetto, but it was de facto. Chrzanów’s displaced Jews started to congregate in the northeast section. The buildings were old—both commercial and residential—many were vacant, and rooms were available for small amounts of money. Or no money. Squatting became an accepted form of tenancy. So the northeast area became the unofficial Chrzanów ghetto. Later, it became the designated, mandatory Jewish ghetto. But, for whatever reason, our house wasn’t taken until several months later.

  “Almost every day I’d see a family pushing a cart or a wagon up the residential streets toward the ghetto. The carts were overloaded with as many of their belongings as they could fit in or on the cart, usually bundled up in blankets and sheets and tied together. Clothes, shoes, bedding, pots and pans. Children would walk alongside the carts with suitcases. They took whatever they could, because they knew they could not return to their home. Sometimes they took pieces of furniture and piled them on top of the cart, but more often, if the Germans were requisitioning a home, they’d require the owners to leave their furnishings behind.

  “As 1941 began, the Germans really tightened the vise. They declared that most of the stores were Für Juden verboten, off-limits to Jews. Our store was forfeited to a German owner, though my father was appointed to run it for a small stipend. Jewish ration cards were no longer valid to purchase clothes.

  “Food became scarce, not because we couldn’t afford it—my father had stashed away a bit of cash and jewelry—but because it simply wasn’t available. Each month, the Nazis issued the family a Lebbensmittelkarte. Food card. The card was divided into sections. Each coupon was dated and designated with what you could buy on that day. For example, in the month of November there were fifteen bread coupons. You could stand in line for bread every other day. If the bakery still had bread. There were only four coupons on the card for meat. Only four for marmalade. Only four days on which you could buy sugar, if you got there early and if the store still had it in stock. So if the store was out of sugar, you had to wait until next week, when the next coupon would be valid.

  “Our food cards bore a Jewish star in the middle and read ‘Für Juden.’ They had to be signed by the family and were not transferable. If a card was lost, there was no replacement.

  “At first, Magda would go to the stores and stand in line for our rations, but soon the Germans forbid her from working for us or from standing in line with our card. Since Christians were not allowed to work for Jews, Magda had to leave our house. It broke our hearts and hers as well. She was like a second mother to us.

  “As difficult as the Germans had made our lives, another crushing, heartbreaking event occurred that November. I was home reading when Karolina burst into the house in a state of hysteria. ‘Madeleine,’ she wailed. ‘They want to take my Madeleine.’ My mother nodded. She had heard the news. Jews were ordered to turn in all pets. We were given two days.

  “Karolina was inconsolable. She sat with Madeleine, hugging her and kissing her. ‘I won’t give them Madeleine. I’ll run away. They’re not going to take my dog. She’s my baby.’ My mother put her comforting arms around her. She knew that in Karolina’s world, with a drunken mother and an absent father, the love of that dog was all she had.

  “‘You can’t run away, there’s no place to go,’ my mother said gently. ‘Let me talk to the Captain. Maybe he’ll have an idea.’ Karolina nodded and sat rocking with her dog, sobbing continuously until my father came home.

  “He pulled up a chair, leaned over with his elbows on his knees and listened. He knew how important Madeleine was to Karolina. And to Milosz. He also knew there were times to make a stand and times to give in.

  “‘Let me talk to a couple of farmers,’ he said. ‘They might take Madeleine for a while until the Germans leave. Would that be all right?’ Karolina threw her arms around my father’s neck, thanking him profusely.

  “But he couldn’t do it. None of the families wanted to risk violating a Nazi order just to save a dog. Sadly, he told Karolina that he’d had no success. She’d have to give up Madeleine. He said he’d accompany her to the town square the next day.

  “She stood defiantly. Her eyes were wide with anger. I’d never seen her like that. ‘I will not give my dog to the Nazis. She’s my dog. She’s a sweet little dog, she never hurt anybody. Why do they want to take her? I won’t let them. They can’t have her. I’m going to disobey that evil order. They can kill me if they want to, and we’ll die together.’

  “My father shook his head. ‘I can’t let you do that. You’re too precious to us.’

  “‘But they’ll kill Madeleine. For no reason.’

  “‘Yes, I’m afraid they will,’ he answered softly. ‘We’ve had to give up many of our beloved possessions. But they’re possessions. Remember this—our lives are more valuable than any possession. We must preserve our lives and the lives of our family. They can have our possessions, they cannot have our lives. We can give up a radio, a fur coat, even a beloved pet, as long as we protect our family. And you, Karolina, are family to us.’

  “‘I won’t let them. I’ll ta
ke her to the country, to the edge of town, to wherever I can and let her loose.’

  “Again, my father shook his head. ‘She won’t survive on her own. She’s domesticated. She’ll just lie down and wait for you to come back and feed her. It might be more merciful to give her to the Germans.’

  “Karolina stomped her foot. ‘You don’t know that. She might survive. Someone might find her and love her. She could find things to eat. Maybe a bird, maybe a mouse. I’d just as soon throw her in a field as let the Nazis kill her.’

  “In a surprise move, my father said, ‘You’re right. Someone might find her. But you can’t be the one to take her, she’ll just follow you home. I’ll take her.’

  “‘Really? You wouldn’t lie to me?’

  “My father took her in his arms and said, ‘Karolina, I would never lie to you. I’ll take Madeleine to the edge of town tonight, into the country as far as I can, and we’ll let God take care of her from there.’

  “And that’s what happened. That night, my father put the leash on Madeleine, and Karolina said good-bye to her.

  “‘You find a nice family,’ she said, kneeling on the floor, hugging Madeleine, Madeleine licking her face. ‘Another family will love you and treat you well. You’re tough, Madeleine, you’ll make it. After the Germans leave, I’ll find you, wherever you are. I’ll come back and find you, I promise.’ With that, my father left the house and did not return for several hours.

  “Karolina wailed from the bottom of her soul. My mother rocked with her. We all wept with her. Taking a pet from a child could serve no purpose other than to impose heartless cruelty. Little did we know of the cruelty that was to come.

  “New rules came down every day and more restrictions were imposed. Still, we survived. We adapted. We would wait it out. We held tight to the belief that soon the world would crush the Germans and they would leave. But that all changed for us in 1941.