Sheva's Promise: A Chronicle of Escape From a Nazi Ghetto

6 Into the Unknown, Alone

111 • 6 Into the Unknown, Alone Now the shots rang out loudly as we approached the railway station. From time to time, Gestapo passed us as we rode along unfamiliar streets. But the town of Brody had always been strange to me, and I a stranger within its boundaries. All I left behind were my tears and my fears; a poor legacy, indeed! The town was quiet except for the ghetto, where even during the darkness of the night the Nazis were exterminating the last traces of human habitation. The railway station seethed with Gestapo officers and militia. Perhaps they were getting the cars ready to deport Jews from the ghetto. We could hear only the shots and commands, and we knew they were meant for the Jews. We took my things from the wagon and started for the platform and the train. The last farewells, words of gratitude, and I picked up my luggage and boarded the train. It was dark inside, but I could see the silhouetted officers in uniform, flashlights in their hands. I noticed that there was plenty of room in the train. Next to a window sat a Ukrainian policeman, alone; instantly I thought that this would be a good place for me to sit. And without any hesitation I went to him, asking him in perfect Ukrainian if I could sit beside him. Smilingly, he took my baggage and helped me to get settled comfortably, saying that I was a beautiful girl. A moment later the train jolted to a start. The policeman was curious how I knew that he was Ukrainian. I said, “I can always tell my own kind, and I know the uniform anyway.” He seemed quite pleased with my remark. But, I thought, what will he say when the controlling officer asks to see my papers and my birth certificate 112 • Sheva’s Promise shows that I am Polish? Well, then I would say that my mother was Polish and my father Ukrainian. It was a plausible explanation from a professional liar . . . As the train picked up speed, our conversation became livelier and louder. I told him that I was going to visit my aunt and uncle in Lvov. It was my first trip to that city, I said, and I was curious to see the beautiful town. At the end of the corridor I could see some Gestapo entering from another car. They shone their flashlights into the faces of the passengers, told them to open their luggage for inspection, and demanded that some show their identification papers. I drew closer to the Ukrainian policeman—even hugged and kissed him—and tried to keep up a running conversation with him. A few minutes more, and it was my turn! I replied to the Gestapo officers’ questions with a smile, though my head was splitting and my blood pounding. When the light flashed into my eyes, I heard one of them say to the other: “Here’s a Ukrainian policeman with a girl—or maybe his wife. Heil, Hitler!” The Ukrainian replied, “Heil, Hitler!”—and I said it too. And they left. God, it was a miracle! I couldn’t believe it! The Ukrainian kept on talking and I pretended to listen politely. But in my heart I was listening again to my mother’s voice, imploring God to watch over me, to help me survive . . . The Ukrainian said, “The Germans are inspecting all the trains because they are liquidating the Jews, in Brody, everywhere—even in Lvov.” As dawn began to break we neared the city. The same Gestapo officers kept walking through the train all night, for it stopped at every station on the way. However, they paid no attention to me and the Ukrainian ; whenever I saw them approach nearer, I tried to draw my chance companion into animated conversation. Through the opened windows came fresh, warm breezes, and now that the sun was rising, we could hear notes of birdsongs. And then another sound—people singing, very faintly, in the distance . I heard what seemed like music—but not an orchestra, nor a military band. As we came to the station, I looked out and saw men in what looked like striped pajamas, standing in rows. Some of them had musical Into the Unknown, Alone • 113 instruments and they were singing a Jewish song. I was so astonished that I almost said something to...