The Art of Resistance by Justus Rosenberg

Author:Justus Rosenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-12-23T17:00:00+00:00

Part III

INTERNMENT

August 27–29, 1942

WHILE I WAS finding students to participate in the French Underground army, the Germans for the first time had begun to encounter serious military resistance in the Soviet Union. In June of 1941, they had broken their nonaggression pact with Stalin and initiated an invasion that would prove to be the largest military operation in the history of warfare. Its failure to achieve its objectives and the devastation of German forces that ensued would be a major factor in Hitler’s ultimate defeat.

Initially the Germans moved easily into the Ukraine and expected to defeat the Soviet army outright in a few months and control the western Soviet Union. Their aim was to enslave the Slavs and replace them with Germans, gain access to sufficient agricultural resources to supply the war effort, and to advance to Baku in Azerbaijan to secure the oil fields of the Caucasus. None of this occurred. The Red Army proved more capable of resistance than anticipated; combat continued through the summer and fall of 1941. The Germans failed to enter Moscow in December, and the continuation of the campaign through the winter of 1941–42 proved disastrous. In June of 1942 a renewed offensive sought to secure the oil fields and the city of Stalingrad on the river Volga to protect the forces advancing into the Caucasus, but they never captured Stalingrad, remained stalled through the fall, and would face another winter that all but spelled defeat for the Reich.

While the fate of Nazi Germany was reaching a turning point at the end of August 1942, my own “fate” was about to take an alarming turn.

FOR SEVEN MONTHS my life as a student and undercover talent scout proceeded smoothly, but then it came to an abrupt end. On August 27, 1942, very early in the morning, someone was knocking repeatedly on the door of the house. Though still half asleep, I heard Madame Damour’s footsteps on the floor above me. I had been dreaming about my childhood in Danzig—on a vacation in Zoppot with my family. I was swimming with other children just a few yards from the shore. My mother and father standing on the beach called out to me, but the currents interfered with my efforts to swim to them. The knocking on the door came again. I was awake now. I pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and heard Madame Damour scuffling down the stairs. She opened the front door to two gendarmes. I came up behind her. They glared at me.

“Justus Rosenberg?” one of them inquired, glancing at a clipboard.

“Yes?” I responded.

“You have five minutes to get dressed, pack your things, and meet us outside.”

“Where are you taking him?” Madame Damour shouted anxiously.

“He is being transported to a detention camp,” the officer sternly replied.

Someone must have denounced me, I thought. I’ve been found out. Or are they just rounding up German and Polish Jews?

The three of them argued briefly, before Madame Damour became too exasperated to continue effectively. There was nothing to be done.

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