Friday, April 4, 1947 DETROIT JEWISH CHRONICLE and The Legal Chronicle , Page Four enwald there was no need for me to work. I was tagged and given a number. Thousands of Jews were being gassed per day. I was to await my turn. The Americans came before 'my day' arrived." A hopeless shrug of the shoul- ders. "My day arrived he repeats and buries his chin in his thin, bony hands. The soldier gets up. It is long past sunset. The river winds its way lazily, a black patch on the earth's surface. A step is heard. mind. With brother and sister on A branch snaps. The leaves rustle. either side of me, mother and A solitary figure sits among the father close by, I felt at peace. I oak bushes on the dismal shore, a scrawny youth staring vacantly at felt secure. * * * the flowing river. "Six months passed and the per- secutions began anew. This time Youth Trade School the village was not spared. This time I did not escape. When we Opened in Romania BUCHAREST (WNS) —A new reached Oswiecin my mother, fa- ther, sister and brother were sent home for Jewish apprentices has immediately to the gas chambers. been opened at Oradea through the initiative of Jewish youths They were burned that night. "I worked in the coal mines who were deported during the near the camp. I didn't have war. Here young Jews from the ages much to eat. I didn't have much of 14 to 19 will be given the op- time to sleep. Many died but I — portunity to learn trades under I was young. Youth, they say, the supervision of competent su- always survives. pervisors. The aim is to make it "When the Russian army start- possible for the young people to ed to advance and came closer contribute to the rehabilitation of and closer to ,the German border, the Jewish community as soon as I was transported to another in- possible. ferno — Buchenwald. In Buch- Shades of the Past: A Short Short Story Sincere Good Wishes for a Joyous Passover MILGRIM A Youth Tells His Story to Soldier in the Quiet of a European Wood By LIBBY ZARITSKY A QUARTER OF an hour before sunset. It is quiet in the forest. A river winds its way lazily, serenely. The sun's last rays dance sprightly on its silvery surface. A spring wells forth from a crevice in the bank and falls with a babbling sound into the river. Oak bushes cluster the banks. The green foliage casts an eerie sha- dow on the damp, yellow sand. A solitary figure sits among the shadows, a crawny youth staring vacantly at the flowing river. The leaves rustle. A branch snaps. A step is heard. A soldier appears on the bank of the river. The soldier stands motionless, staring at the boy, uncertain whether to encroach upon this solitude. The boy lifts his eyes. His cheeks are drawn — his face pale. "Are you looking for someone?" he asks. The soldier shakes his head. "Then please sit down and talk to me. It's good to have someone near me. I'm alone so often. I'm always alone." "Aro you one of the children sheltered in the Home?" the sol- dier falters. "You look so much older, so much more mature .. ." The boy smiles, a shy, bashful smile. "Do I? I feel older, yet I'm only 15 . . only 15." His eyes arc wistful, his tone listless. "I was born in a little village near Petrikov, Poland. My par- ents owned a dry goods store and they owned a house. We were three children, I the oldest. We were happy .. so happy. Then Hitler came and gobbled up Po- land. "His henchmen herded the Jews of our village into a camp. We slept in barracks — barren, no light, no beds. We spent three endless weeks, man, woman and child huddled together on the damp, cold barracks floor. "Then we were sent back to our homes and were reassured that we would no more be molested. 'We' did not include the 40 healthy boys picked for slave labor. I was then 11 but tall for my age. I was one of the 'chosen few' to be transported to Germany. "I'll never forget how my moth- er kissed the hands of those gang- sters, how she pleaded and begged. She encircled me with her strong arms and screamed that she would not let me go. They beat her and tore me from her arms. "On the way we picked up 200 more recruits, 200 more boys with which to populate Oswiecen. I lay in the corner of the truck, paralyzed by fear. When we reached the concentration camp darkness had already fallen. With darkness came courage. I made up my mind not to leave the truck. Perhaps no one would no- tice! Perhaps I would be able to escape! I lay in the shadows, curled up like a ball. I watched the others being driven out of the truck, being driven by the lash of a whip. I heard their shouts. I heard their cries. I lay in the shadows, afraid to move, afraid to breath. * * * "A half hour passed. Silence. Then I heard a methodic thump- ing. Bundles were being thrown into the empty truck. A bundle landed sharply on my back. I stretched out my hand and 're- coiled at the touch of a coat that still retained bodily warmth. The motor started. The clothes were being taken to Lublin. "I sat there buried 'neath the clothes, the clothes of murdered Jews. I wasn't sleepy. I wasn't hungry. I just wanted to cry — not alone in the darkness but on the comforting shoulders of my mother and father. The auto stop- ped. The guards dispersed. "Throwing the clothes off me, I jumped off the truck and ran out Into the night. I wandered through field and forest. When I saw a peasant I would hide. I was afraid of the men: But when I saw a peasant woman I would emerge from my hiding place and ask the way to Petrikov. She always told me. "Finally I reached home. My mother's fervent kisses warmed my shivering body. My father's calm voice quieted my tormented Incorporated —I N THE— FISHER BLDG. 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