The Man Across the River: The incredible story of one man's will to survive the Holocaust (Holocaust Survivor True Stories WWII) by Zvi Wiesenfeld

Author:Zvi Wiesenfeld [Wiesenfeld, Zvi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: .ISBNincl, .Verified, Biography, Military
ISBN: 9789493231078
Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers
Published: 2021-02-11T05:00:00+00:00

19

Yankel was awakened, as he was every morning, to the shouts and clamor of the guards. He painfully rose to his feet. Each morning, standing seemed more difficult than the previous day. Hunger, his constant companion, wracked his body and clouded his thinking.

He heard a groan and turned to Velvel. His friend was standing beside him, his face ashen. “Essen,” Velvel said simply. He was swaying on his feet. “Essen,” he said again. Then Velvel keeled over and died.

Yankel did not report to roll call that day, despite Zushe’s protests. Velvel’s was not the only body lying on the floor of the storehouse that morning, and Yankel needed to make certain the hevra kadisha did not disregard his friend. Yankel hid in the cellar with the sick. He sat on the floor, arms around his knees, and waited for the sound of the sledge arriving to collect the bodies. He waited all day, but the storehouse was silent.

When the work parties returned to the storehouse, an exhausted Zushe among them, Yankel emerged from the cellar. His body lay where it had fallen. Yankel departed from the storehouse and walked to the Jewish cemetery down the ghetto’s tiny main road. The cemetery was surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence. Bodies lay in heaps among the tombstones. A Jew leaned against the gate, observing the dead dispiritedly. He knew his name was Shmiel and that he headed the hevra kadisha. Shmiel was weary from constant work.

“Shmiel,” he called out.

Shmiel turned to him.

“My friend died in the storehouse. He needs to be buried.”

Shmiel shook his head sadly. He spread his hands. “I’m sorry. There’s just no room.”

“Please,” Yankel said. “I promised him.” He realized he was crying. “Please,” he said again.

Shmiel looked tired and sighed. “Take my wheelbarrow. If you want to bury your friend, you can. Just don’t do it here. The cemetery has no more room.” He reached into his pocket and proffered a small book of matches. “You’ll need this.”

He wheeled the barrow back to the storehouse. With Zushe’s help, he loaded Velvel’s body and wheeled it to the edge of the ghetto. The brothers gathered kindling and built a small fire to soften the ground rendered rock-hard from the Ukrainian cold. They then dug a small grave with their hands and gently lowered Velvel into the ground. They covered the body. Together, they once again recited the Kaddish prayer.

As they returned to the storehouse in the Ukrainian night, Yankel made a promise to himself in his friend’s memory. Whenever possible, he would do his best to bury the dead.

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