The Commandant’s Dog: A WW2 Historical Novel, Based on a True Story of a Jewish Holocaust Survivor by David Shmuel

Author:David, Shmuel [David, Shmuel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

“It was in the days before the first Great Aktion, 2 in the summer of 1942. We were living on Niska Street then, at the house of my uncle Yulek the tanner and his wife Anya. Anya was a certified bookkeeper at the factory and Yulek managed one of the departments there. You wouldn’t believe how we hid. My uncle had these enormous drums in the yard which they used to stretch the hides while they dried. Oh-ho were they stinky! God help us, it stank to high heavens. And we would hide inside those smelly drums all day. From the morning, when my aunt and uncle went to work at the leather factory, until evening.”

“And at night?” Tom asked, “Was there room for all of you?”

“At night, I no longer remember how, but we managed. All of us crowded into one little room.”

“Who was hiding with you? What about Grandma? Was it after Grandpa was killed?” Anat asked.

“Yes. Grandpa was murdered in April of 1942 and the Aktion was in July of that same year. My grandmother and grandfather and little Felusha were there, too. Now, it’s hard to imagine all of us crowding in there together.”

“And how did it end?” Anat asked.

“Terribly. One morning we were getting ready to go hide in the drums for the whole day. Yulek and his wife had already gone to work. Suddenly, my cousin Avrasha turned up. He was pale with fear. Didn’t say a word. Evidently, he had seen what was going on outside. Within a moment the Germans were inside and led us to the Umschlagplatz 3 . At first, we waited for hours in the street, which was a street paved with big round stones the size of cats’ heads. We were forced to kneel, which lasted an eternity, and the whole time those stones were pressing into our knees until the pain was unbearable and in the background, we heard the constant screams of mothers being separated from their babies. When they finally let us stand, they used their guns to push us into the square and I screamed hysterically, shamelessly. Grandma couldn’t stand my screaming and said something that I will never forget for the rest of my life: ‘even in the face of death, one might do it with dignity.’ She was so angry at me that she took little Felusha by the hand and pushed ahead to the front of the line. What was she thinking? That she would get something good there? A better spot? Where was she hurrying with Felusha? We never saw them again and I felt guilty that my screaming forced them away. Mom and I searched for them for a long time and didn’t find them. Then suddenly, I saw my best friend Barbara, from the building, who was also standing in the long selection lineup. I remember being surprised that they were taking the non-Jews, too. Poles from noble, Polish families. I really wanted to speak with her, to

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