The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII (9 page)

Several more days passed and still the Germans didn't come near the farm. They were fighting the Russians on an enormous front and couldn't stretch their ranks enough to put soldiers into rural areas. They concentrated their forces in cities and strategic villages.

Sol decided he would join the resistance and do what he could to avenge, in some small way, those who died at Babi Yar.

It wasn't until the middle of the first week in October that Father Peter found out what all the gunfire was about. He couldn't believe it.

The Germans were, after all, a cultured people. Even the Bolsheviks would not have dreamed of killing a hundred thousand Jews! That, plus captured communists, resisters, political prisoners, was it possible?

Pogroms had killed more than a hundred thousand over the past centuries-but that was not the same as shooting that many men, women and children and heaping their bodies in a mass grave.

On the other hand, he thought, it wasn't all that different.

As a priest, how could he confront these atrocities? By Saturday, October 4th, he had not yet found the answer. What stand would he take at mass tomorrow?

On Sunday, the words came.

Father Peter stood tall in his pulpit. Determination showed on his thin face. He was taller than his husky frame looked. He brushed his light reddish blond hair from his brow. Piercing blue eyes looked out over his congregation and he began to speak in his soft deep voice. But there was a crescendo in his voice that Sunday morning. He pounded his podium furiously as he gave a scathing sermon condemning the German atrocities at Babi Yar.

His parishioners were shocked. No one stayed after church to talk to Father Peter about his sermon, as was usual on Sunday mornings.

On Monday morning, a German staff car pulled up in front of the church. The officer got out and entered the church. It was empty. He went out and walked around to the back. There he found Father Peter pumping a bucketful of water.

"Good morning. You are Father Peter Rochovit, I assume."

"Yes. I am. Can I help you?"

"I am Major Hans Oberman. Mine is a rather delicate mission today. May we talk?"

"Of course - please." Father Peter pointed to a bench and the two sat down. He wondered which of his parishioners had reported his sermon.

"Several of your parishioners have remarked to us about your sermon yesterday. I must say that we are surprised and disturbed by what we have heard."

"Surprised? Disturbed? I do not understand why this should surprise you!"

"Because, Father, your remarks go against official Church policy."

Father Peter was taken back by Oberman's words. "I do not believe so."

"Please," Oberman said, "the official Catholic policy is well known. It was clearly set out in 1933 by the Vatican, in an agreement with our Fuhrer. It is only because of that agreement that you have not been arrested." The German paused for effect. "We do not give everyone a second chance."

"I am not aware of this agreement. I'd like you to give me the details about it." Father Peter said the words to sound like a challenge. He was sure there was no such agreement.

"You priests amaze me!" the German said arrogantly. "Here we are doing efficiently what the Roman Catholic Church has been doing piecemeal for centuries and you all seem so astonished."

Father Peter sat speechless.

"Why do I shock you? I'm told you are an historian. You must know the Church has been trying to rid the world of Jews long before there was a Germany. The Crusades were blessed by several Popes-anti-Semitic policy was built into Catholic doctrine by Paul-the founder of our faith. You know as well as I do that the ghetto was not an invention of the Germans. We have just improved on that Christian concept."

"Surely you can't compare..." Father Peter began.

"If you will recall," Oberman interrupted, "the first ghettos appeared in Venice, toward the end of the fifteenth century. After that, the Church established ghettos for Jews everywhere that it had sufficient influence over local governments. And it was the Church that passed ordinances that Catholics could not work with Jews or deal with them, driving them out of many professions and occupations. We have just borrowed these ideas and methods. The Roman Catholic Church has reminded the world for centuries that the Jews are nothing but tyrants and congenital enemies of Church and state.

"Understand, Father, I have no argument with those facts. What I find disgusting and hypocritical is that you speak out against your own policies when someone else carries them out for you." There was a humorous sarcastic tone to his voice as he grinned at the priest.

Father Peter was stunned. He was well-versed in history and knew he could not argue these facts with the German. They were facts not openly discussed by churchmen-delicate matters, best left undiscussed. Well then, thought Father Peter, what of this agreement? "Tell me of the agreement you mentioned."

A smirk crossed Oberman's face, "I thought perhaps you wouldn't ask." He paused for effect. "The fact of record is that on July 20th, of the year 1933, our Pope, Pius XI, signed a concordat between the Fuhrer and the Vatican. The Roman Catholic Church agreed to keep its priests and influence out of our politics. Your sermon yesterday certainly did not uphold your Church's side of that agreement. I think you will admit that it is your obligation to support the policies of the Vatican. Am I wrong?"

"No, you are right. I must uphold the policies of His Holiness. I do, however, seriously question your interpretation of this agreement-if it exists."

"Oh, I assure you, it exists. Without question it exists. I would suggest you contact your superiors and make yourself familiar with your obligations in these matters. The Vatican knows that what Hitler and the Reich do are for the best. You should have faith in the wisdom of the Church. When the Vatican agreed to keep out of our politics, our Fuhrer granted complete freedom to the educational and religious policies of the Church." Oberman paused, studied the expression on Father Peter and then continued. "We have certainly lived up to our end of the bargain. We are very understanding people, however and we understand that your comments were probably provoked by a lack of insight. We felt that this dialogue would help you to understand the situation."

Father Peter looked at Oberman. He had nothing to say.

"I am sure, Father, that after you have had a chance to consider all that I have told you, you will find it in you heart to give your parishioners a better sermon next Sunday. Admit that you spoke hastily! They will have nothing but the deepest respect for you then. We are, after all, doing what is best for the world. The Vatican understands that ...surely you cannot doubt that wisdom."

Father Peter remained silent.

The German seemed satisfied.

"It has been a pleasure to meet you, Father. Remember, we are in this struggle together-the Reich and the Church-to rid the world of the Bolsheviks and the Jews. Both are a threat to civilization. Both are a threat to the Church."

Oberman got up, bid the silent priest a good day and walked back to his waiting staff car. He breathed deep of the fresh fall air, satisfied with the way the morning went.

On the wind, the sound of gunfire from Babi Yar continued.

Solomon's decision to join the resistance was the easy part. How did one make contact with the resistance? Resistance organizations did not make their whereabouts generally known. Who were their contacts? How could Sol make his intentions known? He couldn't even make his existence known. He asked Ivan if he knew how to contact the underground.

"What do I know of such things?" Ivan replied. "But there must be a way. Perhaps I could ask in the city."

"And just who would you ask?" Sosha interjected. "You ask those types of questions of the wrong person and the Germans will come to arrest us all."

"She's right," Sol agreed. "It's my problem. I'll find a way."

"Maybe we'll hear something," Sosha said. "There's a lot of gossip in the market places. Maybe we'll hear something without asking risky questions."

"Good idea," Ivan added. "We should go into town. We'll go today. I want to see some of those Germans anyway. If they won't come here, well, we'll go there, Sosha and I. On the way, we'll stop at some neighbors. We'll get a feel about their sentiments on the occupation. Maybe we'll be able to get some leads. Who knows?

"And in Kiev-well, the marketplaces are troves of gossip. Sosha will be of more value there. Those women can talk..."

"Oh and your cronies don't have a thing to say?" Sosha inquired sarcastically.

Sol laughed.

"And we'll try to learn more about Babi Yar," Ivan added.

It was agreed that while the Igonovichs were at Kiev, Sol would stay out of sight. He decided to hide himself exploring the woods around the farm. Sol departed for the woods and Ivan and Sosha left for Kiev. Sol had wanted to explore the woods for some time. He'd thought it would be wise for him to know his way around the area. Sol wasn't looking just for an escape route, but also an alternate hiding place. He thought he might even be able to build one taking the risk away from Ivan and Sosha. It was just a matter of time before he'd be discovered if he remained at the farm.

The day was warm for autumn. This was the first time since his recovery that Sol had ventured away from the immediate surroundings of his hideaway. It was like a holiday. It had always relieved the drudgeries of the Podol when he had a chance to go out into the woods. It was much the same now. The few birds not yet migrated chirped and were answered by the chatter of squirrels. Sunlight trickled through the trees, making bright patches on the forest floor. Dry, fallen leaves rustled underfoot, releasing a strong scent of fall.

He'd walked about a half-kilometer when he came across an old trail. In days past, trails led from village to village, but when the villages were deserted, victims of urbanization, trails fell into disuse. The layers of leaves on this trail were thick and undisturbed. "This path is obviously seldom used," Sol said to himself. "I doubt the Germans will ever know about it." It might lead to an abandoned building or village. Might be perfect for me...he thought. He decided to follow it to his left as far as it would go. North, he reckoned. The morning sun was to his right and a little to his back. It threw a long shadow of himself toward his left and a bit in front of him. It amused Sol to have the company. "Okay, if you want to lead the way, I'll follow."

"They" walked about a kilometer and came upon a small stream. The ancient footbridge was in disrepair, the left railing gone and three-quarters of the planks missing or broken through. Solomon balanced his way across on a mostly exposed log that was the left support of the narrow span. A slight turn in the trail had put his shadow behind him. Looking around and seeing it Sol said, "Ah, on this rickety bridge you let me go first. Fine friend..."

On the far side of the bridge, the trail took a sharp right and followed the stream. Shadow was directly behind him now. Every once in a while he would look over his shoulder to see it still following him. "We must stay together, you and I. You are my only remaining mishpocheh. I fear I've no other family."

Sol followed the trail along the stream until it ended at a small ravine. He could see where a bridge had once been, but it had long since collapsed. "Perhaps it was washed out by a flood," he suggested to his shadow. "I'd wager it carries a real torment in the spring, with the rains and snow melt."

The ravine was perhaps seven meters deep and as many wide. Its sides were steep, but not too steep to negotiate. Sol could see where the trail continued on the other side. "It's an ideal place to explore for a refuge," he said to himself as much as to his shadow. "It's obvious no one ever uses this trail anymore. Certainly the Germans would have no idea of its existence.

He climbed down the steep walls and at the bottom looked back up. It didn't look as steep from here. Instead of climbing back out the other side, he decided to explore the ravine. As he looked around, he saw he was in complete shade. The deep sides kept out the sun. "I'll have to pick you up later, Shadow, when I come back up. Wait for me up there in the warm sun!" I must be going nuts, he thought, but it did help the terrible loneliness he felt since... Ivan and Sosha were wonderful-but the shadow was-from before... As a child he'd had a little stuffed bear and he remembered having talked to it the same way. When he had his stuffed bear-he always had a friend. Now, aside from Ivan and Sosha, he was totally alone. And as far as the world was concerned, "I, too, am dead."

If the trail on which I've just come ran north-then the turn that would have crossed it faced me east. Then this ravine must run north and south, also. I should explore the ravine to the south first. That will be nearest the farm. "Better I should know the terrain nearer the farm first. I can spread out, to the north, later..."

He estimated he'd traveled one or two kilometers north and about one kilometer east of the farm. If he traveled south now, he'd be staying within a two-or three-kilometer radius. "If I could find a good hideaway in that range, it would be perfect." I'll be near someone I can trust-near a place where I can get provisions-yet far enough away to hide without jeopardizing my friends...

This creek bed I'm walking in is probably one that runs full only with the winter runoff or when occasional heavy rains cause flooding for a few turbulent hours.

As he made his way south in the ravine, he wondered where the stream that the trail had followed went. It now occurred to him that stream and this ravine must both empty into the same body of water-"Perhaps the Dnieper River. It would be behind me, to the north." How far? It would be good to know. Someday that might be my escape route...

He pushed on to the south. At about a kilometer and a half he saw something that brought a bright smile to his face. "A cave-it looks like a small cave..." He ran to the spot. It was at a curve in the ravine, along the outside wall of the turn. Its entrance was under a shelf cut into the sandstone by centuries of rushing water. It was a hole about one meter high, five or six meters wide. "It should give excellent protection-except from floods. Then it could be a death trap..."