The Day Skalat Was Declared Judenfrei

It was the end of the second year of the German occupation.

The Skalat Ghetto was again made smaller and once more we were forced to move. The remaining Jews were now confined to a few narrow back streets of our town and this time the Rosenblats took us in. We shared two small rooms and a kitchen with several families. The house was crowded and each family confined itself to a bed.. There we slept, ate, agonized over our inability to find a hiding place, and spent anxious hours awaiting inevitable death. The nights terrified us and everyone with whom we shared the house was exhausted and on edge from tension and lack of sleep. Another day had started without an 'action,' nevertheless we knew that our days in the Skalat Ghetto were coming to an end.

Someone opened the door and we saw Jews appearing in the street. Was it safe after all we wondered? Inside the house people moved about mechanically, but our minds were alert to the danger all around us. No one spoke very much and even the complaints, which at times would arise from living; together in tight quarters, had stopped. About our common obsession of finding a hiding place, we were all secretive.

We spent the night awake and as had been our habit for a long time now, we kept our clothes on. As I was getting up, I felt over-dressed and uncomfortable. My mother, sitting on the edge of a narrow bed, which she shared with me and my five year old sister, stood up. She placed a black shawl on her shoulders and went outside. Assured that the streets were safe, she returned, took my sister and me by the hands, and without saying a word, led us out of the house.

Outside, some Jews were returning to the ghetto from a night spent on the safe “ Aryan” side. We did not speak to them nor did they make any inquiries. Because it was safer, we were walking through back streets and alleys, staying close to the doorways wherever possible, in case of a sudden need to hide. Since the Skalat Ghetto had no physical barriers, no one stopped us as we made our way outside the designated ghetto section.

Making sure that no one could hear us, my mother started to speak. She explained that we were going to a Gentile family to whom she had given all our remaining possessions and who, in turn, had promised to hide us when the time came. The family lived off the marketplace in a formerly Jewish-owned house and very near our own home. I knew every corner of that house, where, before the German occupation, I used to play with my cousins and friends. It was getting late in the morning. As we passed the Prayer House where our family worshipped, my mother recalled how, before the war, on holiday mornings such as this, my father, grandfather, uncles and cousins would already be gathered here for prayers. She was quickly jolted out of her reminiscences by the appearance, here and there, of local Gentiles, who knew us. It was, therefore, becoming dangerous for us to be on those streets.

We were approaching the house. Suddenly we heard awful shouts and cries. The terrifying sounds of shooting coming from the direction of the ghetto which we had just left convinced us that an 'action,' had started. Since all previous 'actions,' in Skalat had started at dawn, this sudden, unexpected attack caught us off guard. In the grip of panic, we became dazed, and didn't know which way to turn. Within moments we heard shots coming from many directions and heard the Germans and the Ukrainian policemen, accompanied by barking dogs, running down the narrow streets and alleys. Bellowing commands and insults, they were inflicting merciless blows on the trapped Jews. The round-up was taking place with a deliberate frenzy: it was fast, loud and full of painful screams and death. People everywhere were running and we too started to run as fast as we could. We reached the street and saw the house where we would be saved! We ran faster and finally made it to the Gentile family.

As we pushed our way inside, we found ourselves standing in front of a man, his wife, and two small children. The man stared at us in disbelief and told his wife to take the children to the back room.

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He then turned to my mother and in a loud and angry voice shouted “What are you doing here? You must get out immediately!”

We can't leave, an 'action' has started and you promised to hide us” my mother said. “I have no hiding place and I want you out of here, right now! “ He started to push us out of the room as my mother continued to plead.

Have mercy on my children, the streets are full of Germans” she sobbed “and if we go out, we'll be killed!”
The man's wife returned and, confronting her husband, demanded that he throw us out immediately. In the ensuing commotion, my mother turned her head quickly and looked at me. On her face I caught a glimpse of unspeakable desperation. She was afraid to speak, but her gaze was totally fixed on me. With all the strength left in her she wanted to say something, but her lips remained closed. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide and shot me a glance wild with urgency. Then, with an instant wink she willed me to move. She was telling me to get away now, to run, to save myself! As I stepped back, my mother turned from me and I never saw her face again.

I moved back into a small vestibule, through which only moments before we had entered the man's house. There were several doors and, since I knew the house well, I opened the one leading to a pantry. When my eyes adjusted to the dark, I noticed some firewood on the floor and sacks half-filled with grain and other items. In the corner of the ceiling was an opening leading to the attic. Although there was no ladder and the ceiling was high, I was drawn to the attic with indescribable willpower. With a sudden strength and agility far beyond my years and expectations, I lifted a heavy sack and placed it on top of another one. Then, I climbed on top of the sack and stepped from it onto a door handle. Digging my nails into the wooden door, I grabbed a hinge and hoisted myself up onto the attic. I could not believe it! I had just managed to climb up a straight wall, but this was no time to stop and reflect.

Once in the attic, the only thought racing through my mind was to hide quickly. I took in my surroundings with a glance. The attic was dusty, the floor covered with straw, but otherwise it was empty and there was no place to hide. I thought of climbing out and clinging to the roof, but I feared that I would be spotted from the street. I also thought of breaking through the wooden partition of a neighbor's attic in hope of finding a hiding place there, but I knew that to do so would take too long and would be dangerously noisy. Other ideas rushed through my mind while precious minutes ticked away. I was desperate and so frightened that my legs became shaky and I sank to the floor.

It was incredible, for as soon as I sat down, my hiding place stared me in the face. In a broken spot of the attic floor, I noticed a small space between two beams and I knew that somehow I had to get in there. From years of surviving 'actions,' in the ghetto, I also knew the importance of not leaving a trace behind me. I, therefore, got up quickly, removed all my excess clothing, folded it into a bundle and pushed it through a small trap door inside a chimney. Then, feet first, I slid on my stomach into the narrow space disturbing the straw, in order not to leave a trail and covering the opening by pulling down some straw. In front of my face I left a tiny slit for air and vision. I was finally hidden.

As I lay, I became aware once again of the horror taking place outside. My mind drifted back to my mother and sister. Did the man have pity? Did he hide them? The frightening sounds outside were now on the street where I was hidden and the Germans were running up and down in front of the house.

Within ten or fifteen minutes, I heard the front door burst open and Germans accompanied by a barking dog were shouting “Juden raus!” They were searching the house. Now they were coming up to the attic and once again that morning I was overwhelmed by an indescribable fear. I started to shake uncontrollably and had to push my tongue between my lips to stop the noise of my chattering teeth. The Germans were in the attic. Through the opening in the straw, I could see the bottoms of the soldiers' boots and the legs of the dog. I held my breath as they passed only inches from my face. Then I saw the beam of

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a flashlight. In minutes the search was over and the Germans left. My brush with death was over, but I have lived with it all my life.

With my head turned to one side and unable to move, I lay for hours, squeezed between two beams. I felt no hunger, or thirst, only pain from the twisted position of my neck and head. I drifted into merciful sleep, only to awaken frightened and angry for allowing myself to slip away from vigilance. I was all alone and again fear assaulted me. What should I do, I thought? Who will help me? Words of my mother's inordinate effort to save me came back to me.

Leave me and try to save yourself,” she would say over and over again when we were in the ghetto. “You must go far away from Skalat” she warned, “so no one would recognize you. Forget that you're Jewish you are small, you don't need papers and you have a chance to survive as a peasant girl.” At such times, tears would well up, as I begged her not to make me leave her. Lying alone in the dark attic I cried silently because I still did not know where to go nor how to save myself.

As daylight waned, the streets became quiet and then it got pitch-dark. I fell asleep again and when I woke up, I was aware that I was wet. I could no longer sleep. Dawn was breaking. How long was I hiding? I lost track of time.

Early in the morning I heard someone coming up onto the attic. It was the man and he was alone. He was walking around and calling on whoever was there to come out. I had no choice. Weak and stiff, I crawled out of the hole. I had wet his ceiling he said and therefore he knew that someone was there. When he saw me he could not believe that I was in his house while the Germans were searching it. He demanded that I leave his house immediately. “Is the 'action' over? Is it safe to go back to the ghetto?” I asked. “And where are my mother and sister?” He told me that there were no more Jews left in Skalat and that my mother and sister had been killed. Where was I to go then? He didn't care. I begged him to let me stay until evening because if I were to go out in the daytime, I said I would be immediately recognized and shot. They might question where I had hidden and then both of us would be in peril, I reasoned. He agreed reluctantly and as he left, he warned that he would be back as soon as it got dark. When the man left, I retrieved my clothing from the chimney and remained in the open attic for the rest of the day.

It was exactly twenty-four hours earlier on June the 9th 1943 on the second day of Shavuot that the last 'action' in Skalat took place and the town was declared Judenfrei. On that day the Jewish community which existed there for hundreds of years came to an end, and with it the lives of my mother, Necha Rosenzweig-Goldberg, nee' Rubin, and my sister, Ginia Goldberg. My stepfather, Jacob Goldberg, was confined to the Skalat Camp and was later burned alive in the Kamionka Camp. That evening as I walked out into the unsafe streets of my native town, I was twelve years old, all alone and in mortal danger. Little did I know what was yet in store for me in the months ahead during my struggle to survive.

Lusia Milch nee' Rosenzweig
New York, 1993

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