herstories of lublin ghetto
Published as part of the project: Herstories of the Lublin Ghetto – the Development of the Lublin Herstory Archives and Multicultural Herstory Trails. Realization: Fundacja HerStory Editor: Lena Bielska Revision: Rafał Siwicki Translation to English: Magdalena Szewciów, www.szewciow.pl Graphic design and composition credits: Liliana Piskorska Project was possible thanks to the financial support of the city of Lublin.
HerStory Foundation www.fundacjaherstory.org Lublin Herstoric Archive www.archiwumherstoryczne.pl Lubelskie Szlaki Herstoryczne Publication free of expense, cannot be sold. Photos of Lublin, 1939-1942 Cover photo: Jewish tradeswomen, Lublin 1939 Photographs published through the good offices of: www.fotopolska.eu, www.app-in-die-geschichte.de , CC-BY-SA-3.0
ISBN 978-83-947191-2-8
9 788394 719128
Jewish district, Lublin, 1940
Szeroka Str., Lublin
An Overview of the Feminist Perspective on the Holocaust Research Feminist analyses of the Holocaust research date back to the 1970s when this trend began to develop quickly. However, this is true primarily in respect of American research, which results, to some extent, from the second wave of feminism that has also given rise to the herstory perspective. The essence of herstory, or simply the feminist scientific analysis of individual historical and cultural threads, involves mainly the view on women’s experiences directly related to their sex. Taking into account the different status of women and men in the public space, in religious and cultural traditions, and in virtually all spheres of life (the intensity of which varies depending on the relevant historical period, country, culture and religion), it is difficult not to see different experiences of both sexes. However, going back to feminist analyses of the Holocaust research, I would like to mention the gender analysis in terms of research that focuses on armed conflicts in general. As in the case of the Holocaust research, the differences are related, for instance, to sexual violence, motherhood, pregnancy, the social role at the time of military mobilisation or, what is extremely important, to the objectification of women who, through sexual violence and aggression against civilians at the time of war, become a way of humiliating and weakening the enemy, namely men. It is worth reminding that just a few years ago, the United Nations recognised rape as a war tactic. However, sexual violence against women during World War II has never been thoroughly examined. A Woman in Berlin (the World War II period)1 and The Whistleblower2 (the Balkan war) are two recommendable films that somewhat explain this historical thread. Sexual violence against women is almost an inseparable part of armed conflicts, irrespective of where they take place or what they involve. As mentioned before, feminist analyses of the Holocaust have been developing since 1970s, with 1990s witnessing their peak. The most acclaimed female researchers in this field include: Andrea Dworkin, Lilian Kremer, Judith Tydor Baumel, Esther Katz, Germaine Tillion, Konnilyn Feig, Joan Ringelheim and Myrna Goldenberg. The largest number of texts have been published in English, Hebrew and German. One of the events of the past century that highlighted feminist analyses of the Holocaust was the Conference on Women Surviving the Holocaust held at the Stern College (New York) in 1983. In Poland, Joanna Ostrowska’s research paper is among those deserving special attention; she has analysed the Holocaust not only from the gender perspective but also in terms of sexual orientation3.
Feminist analyses of experiences of Holocaust survivors have also been widely criticised. Accusations claimed that diminishing the suffering of the Jewish people by dividing them into women’s and men’s experiences could belittle the tragedy of the Holocaust and undermine the role of anti-Semitism as the reason for the genocide. However, feminist female scholars have pointed out that the experiences of female Jews have been intrinsic to the plan of destruction of the Jewish people in part because women are able to give life and, according to the principles of Judaism, also pass on the cultural continuity. Female suffering was different due to procreation, pregnancy, sexual violence, menstruation or the lack of it, and work and punishments in camps that were different than the ones given to men. Reasons for the suffering of female and male Jews in the Third Reich and during World War II were the same (anti-Semitism and racism). Nevertheless, the suffering, experiences, views and memories of female and male Jews differed among these two groups due to the above-mentioned variables. It may be argued that this is where the research perspectives expand rather than simplify Holocaust crimes4. The research on war experiences of women and men in the 21st century still continues. Growing conflicts and international migration open up new research fields and enable us to focus attention, firstly, on how terrible war is; secondly, on civilian experiences; and, thirdly, on effects on individual social groups and their survival rates, both for women and men. In the final part of the publication, I have selected several memories of the women who experienced, as adults or children, the tragedy of the Lublin Ghetto and, as one of the few, survived its liquidation. 1. A Woman in Berlin, original title: Anonyma – Eine Frau in Berlin, directed by Max Färberböck, 2008. 2. The Whistleblower, directed by Larysa Kondracki, 2010. 3. See H. Heger (J. Kohout), Mężczyźni z różowym trójkątem. Świadectwo homoseksualnego więźnia obozu koncentracyjnego z lat 1939– 1945 (The Men With the Pink Triangle: The True Life-and-Death Story of Homosexuals in the Nazi Death Camps), translation: A. Rosenau, Warszawa 2016. The book includes Joanna Ostrowska’s historical commentary. 4. J. Stöcker-Sobelman, Kobiety Holokaustu. Feministyczna perspektywa w badaniach nad Shoah. Kazus KL Auschwitz-Birkenau (Women of the Holocaust. Feminist Perspective of the Shoah Research. The KL Auschwitz-Birkenau Case), Warszawa 2012, pp. 11–19.
History of the Lublin Ghetto: Major Facts After the outbreak of World War II, German troops seized Lublin on September 18, 1939. As a result of bombing and military actions, several dozens of residential buildings were destroyed, forty-one of which being inhabited by a large number of Jews. Therefore, they was a huge problem where to accommodate the survivors (both Jewish and Christian female and male residents). As a side note, it is estimated that, in 1939, the Jewish population in Lublin exceeded 39 thousand people. In October, the German authorities started to draw up a list of names of Jewish female and male residents, including detailed data on their professions and practised occupations, which was important because there were plans to use them as workforce in 1940. Demographic studies from early war days showed that 23,102 women and 19,028 men of Jewish origin lived in Lublin at the time5. There were many resettlements at the time. Many people left Lublin (they were running away or they were forced to leave), but many also came there from other often smaller towns. In early 1941, the Germans began the displacement of the Jews living in the city. The plan to create the ghetto in Lublin assumed that it would house not more than 25,000 people. In the end, the number was exceeded by about 10,000. In March 1941, the displacement campaign ended with the transport of 9,200 Jewish women and men outside of Lublin, and with their accommodation in small towns and localities in the Lublin region. This campaign continued, though on a smaller scale, in the following months. In fact, Jewish female and male tenants were removed from the entire left side of Lubartowska Street. On March 20, 1941, a ghetto was established in Lublin under the declaration of Ernst Zörner, governor of the Lublin district, which stated as follows: “By reasons of public interest, a closed residential quarter is being immediately created [...]. All Jews who have settled in Lublin should live in this quarter. The Jewish population is forbidden to permanently stay outside of the ghetto6.” For some time, however, part of the Jewish female and male residents were allowed to live outside of the quarter’s borders (e.g. in the Kalinowszczyzna quarter); nevertheless, afterwards, they were forced to move to the ghetto. Interestingly, Grodzka Street was still outside of the ghetto, with its Jewish orphanage and care home for the elderly; the Jewish Council was situated there and a few people performing clerical functions still lived there. The most densely populated streets in the ghetto included Lubartowska, Szeroka, Ruska and Krawiecka. In June, the ghetto became even more isolated,
with 4 gates that had to be passed through when crossing the ghetto’s borders upon presentation of adequate passes. All female and male Jews aged 16 to 60 performed compulsory labour, often outside of the ghetto7. Living conditions in the ghetto were extremely harsh; the residential areas were overcrowded and the Jews mostly lived in poverty. Food was scarce, as was adequate medical care, running water and electricity. In these circumstances, infectious diseases, which the Germans were extremely afraid of, could easily be contracted. Street round-ups and various repressions among the ghetto population became the every-day reality. In the early spring of 1942, Operation Reinhardt began. It was the plan of mass murder of the Jewish population, detailed and approved at the Wannsee Conference held on January 20, 19428. The operation actually started from the liquidation of the Lublin ghetto, which took place on the night of March 16 to 17, 1942. Right after midnight, Unicka, Lubartowska, Czwartek and Ruska Streets were surrounded. The sick and the elderly were shot on the spot or at the assembly point where the selection was carried out. Some of the people who were important from the German’s point of view were transferred to Ghetto B (in February, the original ghetto was divided into two parts: A and B), which was intended e.g. for clerks and people with useful professions or simply those somehow useful for Germans. Sometimes, entire families were moved; at other times, a pass was given only to a single person or part of the family. The population that lived in Ghetto A was the first to be crowded together and sent to extermination camps. During the first week of the liquidation of the ghetto, about 10,000 people were transported away; thousands followed in upcoming days. Almost all female and male patients and employees of the Jewish hospital on Lubartowska Street were murdered during the operation, followed by carers and charges of the orphanage and care home for the elderly on Grodzka Street. After the displacement of almost all female and male residents of the ghetto, about 5 to 6 thousand people were transferred to the small ghetto in Majdan Tatarski. A strong propaganda message said that the ghetto was a supposedly safe place, comprising something like a refuge for the survivors who would no longer be subject to displacements or exterminations. Even though it was a trap, many of those living outside of the ghetto believed in the lie spread by the Germans. Between October 2 and 24, successive deportation actions took place; people were taken e.g. to the concentration camp at Majdanek and to the transit ghetto in Piaski near Lublin. In November, Germans carried out the final phase of the liquidation of the ghetto in Majdan Tatarski. The last group of Jewish female and male residents was sent to the camp at Majdanek or shot on the spot9. This is also how the history and herstory of the centuries-old vibrant Jewish life in Lublin ended. 5. T. Radzik, Zagłada lubelskiego getta (The Liquidation of the Lublin Ghetto), Lublin 2007, pp. 21–22. 6. Ibid, p. 24 7. Ibid, pp. 25-28. 8. The Wannsee Conference, http://www.sztetl.org.pl/pl/term/435,konferencja-w-wannsee/ [accessed on August 20, 2017]. 9. Ghetto in Majdan Tatarski, http://www.sztetl.org.pl/pl/article/lublin/13,miejsca-martyrologii/411,getto-na-majdanie-tatarskim/ [accessed on August 20, 2017].
Lublin Ghetto in the Memories of Surviving Women Mira Shuval’s account. Beginning of the German occupation. Indeed, I did not imagine that these circumstances would last for long. As I was leaving, my mother cried. I think that [she was afraid] we would never see [each other]. I was laughing at that. I said: “What are you saying? How long will this war last? A week or so.” A week; it was one week. Not yet. They already caught people for work, including my sister and many other women. I had this situation with that German, whom I have mentioned before. There were... there were various ones... this Szimy Grajer... various such situations. By comparison to what happened later, you could say these were minor situations. I wasn’t with the Germans for a long time there. But the story I have not spoken about concerns this Jewish woman who was a lover to a Polish officer; when the war began and the people were standing on the square to be taken away, she – that lover of his – with the boy who was his son, well, they stood together there and he came and took them away. And arrangements were made, so that they survived. There were Poles who collaborated with Germans and they acted like Germans, but there were also those who saved the Jews. There were not many of the latter, but they were there indeed. I told you that this Szimy Grajer took this Gelibter and what happened when the family... that a Jewish woman married a Pole, and how her children brought the food [to the ghetto]... I would say that what the Germans did to them was just the beginning. Still, it was relatively not so bad because they did not know what would happen to them. They brought a freight wagon, caught thirty or forty people and took them away to clean something, work or do hard labour10. 10. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Mira Shuval’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=98159&dirids=1 [accessed on August 15, 2017].
Ida Gliksztajn-Rapaport’s account. Displacement from the Jewish Quarter in early 1941, before the ghetto was created. At six o’clock, I got up and looked outside of the window [...]. A Gestapo unit in green uniforms and Ukrainians in black uniforms turned up from behind the corner of the opposite corner tenement house [...]. They started running and screaming along the street, surrounding every house and every gate, so nobody could get away. 10 minutes of time, luggage up to 25 kg and then going to the assembly point, under the escort of course. The panic was terrible. Families immediately fell apart; men were gone; mothers could not say if they had all their children together; lingerie and clothes were scattered on stairs and pavements. Commotion, shouting, crying; nobody knew what would happen next. Door slamming; footsteps on the stairs; everyone dropping everything; clothes lost somewhere; nobody being able to find the right key while there was a German standing over you and calling out: “Los, los, schnell.” People with bundles of bedclothes on their backs herded like lost sheep, from one street to another, from one assembly point to another. Feathers fluttering in the air; abandoned or lost baskets and suitcases, half open, with everyday things scattered around on pavements and roads. It seemed as if nobody was in their right mind: neither the persecutors, nor the persecuted. Jews were removed from the western part of the Jewish quarter, namely from the left side of Lubartowska Street, including the side streets11. 11. T. Radzik, op. cit., pp. 23–24.
Jews in Lublin
Ida Gliksztajn-Rapaport’s account. Plunders and repressions against the Jewish population before the ghetto was established. Once, there came two soldiers and one clerk from the municipal council to get bedsheets and pillowcases. It was at the very beginning and they left a receipt for four pieces of bedlinen. Another time, several soldiers came together for a table, a couch and a chandelier. One Friday, two civilians and one man in a uniform came in the morning. They were looking for eiderdowns, but also took the violin and camera. Once, they did a search looking for gold. The search took the whole day; all the women in the entire tenement house were told to undress. They did not spare the mockery and remarks12. 12. T. Radzik, op. cit., p. 38
Sara Tuller’s account. Round-ups in the ghetto; displacements; repressions. Middle of the night; always awful weather – rain or snow; it was winter; suddenly – bribes13. Suddenly, we heard: “Ausgang. Everybody raus! Raus! Zwei Minuten! Raus!” Two minutes and everyone was to leave their flats. And the dogs. Whoever left, the dogs would follow; if you didn’t leave, the dogs were with you and they would beat you up on the spot. And then you saw people out with children and if you had the green pass, they would say: “We don’t have any work for green pass holders; we will take you to another place where we need you to work;” they took them away to concentration camps; we were asking ourselves if the blue passes still OK. We would go out and show the passes; they would look at the pass: “On this wagon, on this truck.” If you had the right pass: “Go back.” If they didn’t like your face: “You are still needed there. They will need you there.” There were a lot of older people who did not have the passes, and then everyone was gone. It was a terrible winter of 1942; then the spring and the situation was more or less the same: bribes.14 We would be gathering; we would not be gathering; we would be hiding. People began to build those hidden flats; if there were round-ups, they would run to such a flat instead of gathering. They caught people and kept on catching them until they had enough. If there was a round-up, they would start from, say, one hundred thousand people in this one place and they would catch people every few hours, like five, one thousand; they had enough. And they did it every few weeks; they had a lot of people because they had no gas in the concentration camp at the time and so they had to kill them in an orderly manner15.
There was no unity [constancy] [in the ghetto]. We would not say “See you tomorrow.” OK, you want to see me in three days, [but] in three days you could have been in a concentration camp or dead. So, when we parted, we would say: “Eat another loaf of bread.” That was well-wishing to be still alive for three days. Eat another loaf of bread. And we drank a lot. We started drinking at a very young age because it helped us endure the situation. Life was not normal; it was not a life. [We drank] vodka, only vodka. Vodka was the best drink. I like vodka even today. Vodka is the best. Vodka is... we would sleep, walk around... Nobody drank straight from the bottle, but would take one glass of vodka instead... Then, I could go to the street; if they caught me, then they would catch me; I was feeling great. We lived the life minute by minute. We would say “If you have something, eat it now.” Even if they gave us some bread, this was starvation. In the concentration camp, they would hide [the bread] for the whole day. Not on the streets. When I went for my ration of bread, which was, say, one slice a day, I would not share the slice. I would eat it. I didn’t know where I would be tomorrow, where I would be later, but I was hungry there and then. It wasn’t that bad at home because we had some money or things to sell and to buy more [food]. You could get things on the black market. You could get bread, even butter, even everything. Because these smugglers, these children, risked their life. They would not starve to death. They were alone There was this six- or seven-year-old. He was alone. His parents were taken away. He was starving. He would be going near the gate, stand near the wall, go out on the street or steal or buy something. Very often, he would steal bread or a piece of butter... He would go up and down the wall, selling this to me... He could buy a piece of bread. The other day, he went. If they caught him, they would kill him. And he was nobody as a person16. In March 1942, I was still in Lublin; then, there were so many transports; then there were those, how did I call it? I keep forgetting..., that they were coming at night, running around... from the entire Lublin, not only from that part. They would take us away on Grodzka Street. They had several similar assembly points. They would assemble us in the square on Grodzka Street. Or by the house. You would go out... and then it would start... “Raus, raus!” Houses in Lublin are not separated. On Grodzka Street or in any such a place, there were six, maybe ten houses and God knows how many people. In a small house, there would be four families in every flat. Such four families would have two minutes to leave. They told them to show the papers. “The passes are OK,” they would say... It was that night that they decided red passes were no good anymore. I had a red pass. For a car. At the time, we already knew they would take us to die. And that’s why I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I was not so exactly aware where or what happened; I didn’t want to think so socially. I was thinking more about myself, my family and my friends. Everyone became like a city within themselves, with their families. I just wanted to know that my brother, my parents, me and my friends who were still alive would stay. Mostly me and my family. So, when something happened on Grodzka Street, the feeling would be “Thank God.” When the round-ups were on another street, we, on Grodzka Street, would say: “Thank God, not here!” or: “Tomorrow, this will happen here.” We became like animals that were continuously herded. Like when hunters want to catch a fox and every fox thinks about itself, not about the other fox who is standing next to the former. It is very cold, but it is worse... During the war, a soldier thinks of his friend, the other soldier. This is a completely different feeling.
Jewish tradeswomen, Lublin 1939
He fights like a man, not like an animal. We were animals, chased by devils, not humans, but by monsters. They were monsters. Because while you were walking on a street and he didn’t like you because you were too close to him, he would pull out a revolver and kill you. Shoot at you. Just like when he took my grandfather at the beginning of the war... My grandfather was very religious, but he did not have a long beard. He would cut his beard around, like so, using scissors, slowly, just slightly. And so he asked him: “Why do you need the beard?” So he responded: “I am Jewish. I have a beard.” And so he said: “Now, you will be Jewish without the beard.” He took out his knife and did not cut the beard, but his cheek with the beard. “Now,” he said, “You will cut it on the other side.” These were monsters, animals, not people. And when you were chased by animals, you would feel like an animal. You were already a little dirty because there was no water. Whether you were in a dress or in a coat that was already dirty, you could not wash or clean it or do anything. You would hide wherever possible... Holding on to dirty stones in the coat. Running away in the same coat. Doing everything in the same coat. And then there comes a god... beautifully dressed... handsome; usually, these were handsome boys; very elegant and handsome boys. And it’s really ... you were starting to think: “Maybe I am an animal and he has to chase me.” Then you go back home and say: “No, I am not this animal.” And you had to talk to yourself – then you would believe ... Otherwise, you would lose the will... you would lose your strength to survive. That’s it. We knew that [they were liquidating the ghetto] there. When they came at night, getting us out of bed... this... this was so loud that the entire Lublin heard. Because of the “raus”, the shooting...17 13. Round-ups, author’s note. 14. Round-ups, author’s note. 15. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Sara Tuller’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=95931&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017]. 16. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Sara Tuller’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96010&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017]. 17. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Sara Tuller’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96043&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017].
Ewa Eisenkeit’s account. Everyday life in the ghetto. At first, the ghetto was open; you could go or walk everywhere. Nothing was available in the city anymore – food or anything else; there was nothing. I went down to the countryside to buy something there. They asked me: “Could you bring me a wool scarf ?” I thought to myself: “I can earn.” When I came, I knew who had these. There weren’t any shops, but [people] had things at home. So I started trading. I went on foot in the morning, before seven, maybe half past six, along the road, and then I turned down to the village. I sold what they wanted – I would bring them something and they would pay. I came back, bought a pot of milk and some cheese. What else could you need? There were ten of us at home, eight children and even smaller sisters. Once, I went and wanted to follow the road; I was going outside of this village; there was a shop [there]; young people bought various drinks there, including vodka. Young girls and young people. I wanted to go outside to the road and there was a priest driving a carriage. He stopped the carriage and asked me: “Where are you going, madam?” I said: “To Lublin.” “Please, hop on, madam. I’m going to Lublin, too.” And so he took me with him. And I heard all these girls, [these] boys laugh. On the other day, when I came back, some of the boys who had been at the shop were there again. They said: “Ewa, if the priest had known you were Jewish, he would instantly have kicked you out of the carriage.” And I replied: “Whatever have I done to him? That I’m Jewish?” And so they laughed. Maybe [he knew] too that I was Jewish and only wanted to take me to Lublin. I didn’t know and I will never know. I was lucky; in this or that village, everyone knew [that] I was Jewish; I was very happy that they all loved me so much... If I spent more time with Jews, that would not be the case. I traded until the ghetto was closed. I could not get out; there was barbed wire, typhus... It was terrible. Hitler herded everyone to the ghetto from other towns and townships. I said: “I cannot leave home anymore to go get something to eat from the village or to trade.” My father died then, maybe two or three weeks afterwards. It was a huge blow. I told my mother: “I’m going. I’m going to the toll-gate; there are guards. When they are on the other side, far away, I will move the wire and leave. I will take the road to the countryside.” My mum said [they] would kill me. And I replied: “Either they kill me only, or I can save you all.” Because whoever worked for farmers in the countryside could still live [there]; no one knew if [Germans] would take them away. I succeeded and I went all the way along the road. Nobody knew who I was. From a janitor, I had taken this large apron and a scarf, like the one they would wear in the countryside, the folk scarf with flowers; the janitor of our house also gave me a blouse. And I wore them. I still had my blond hair and I was healthy. I wanted [to lead out] my whole family from this ghetto, away from typhus18. 18. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Ewa Eisenkeit’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96169&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017].
Diana Bach’s account. Liquidation of the ghetto on Majdan Tatarski. When there was the final liquidation, we learned in the morning that the entire Majdan Tatarski area was cordoned off. At our home, there was grandfather, grandmother, two aunts and some of my mother’s cousins who were quite young; they came from nearby the city. Because this house was quite close to the wires, my mother decided that she and I would go deep into the ghetto, to join the family. There was my father’s cousin; he was a Jewish policeman. He hid us at his home in the basement. One aunt and these two young people hid in our house. Later, we learned that Germans had come and found them and shot them on the spot. It was very close to the wires, so they didn’t have to look that much to see that the basement was there; you would have to move the boards up to see that there was a basement. Grandmother, grandfather and the other aunt went out along with everyone else. Grandma and this aunt, Elka, were taken to the Plage-Laśkiewicz women’s camp and died there. Grandfather was taken to the Castle and worked there as a tailor. We learnt this because later my mother asked a friend of hers from Lublin, a Pole, so that she would pretend to go there and tell him she had a job with him. She could go to the Castle and tell him we were still alive. Of course, he either died at the Castle, or was killed during the last liquidation at the Castle. [My mother and me] stayed in this basement with Jakub Tuchman’s family. There was his wife and two girls, one older than me and the other younger, and his mother. I remember hearing shots and, after a few hours, he came and said: “They have shot all the patients in the hospital This is the final liquidation of the ghetto.” We went out in the evening and were circling around the Majdan Tatarski ghetto like animals. It was quite large. Anyway, I remember that when we were near the municipal office, a phone rang and we heard things. Plus, in the evening, the Vlasovians would fire their guns [in the ghetto’s direction] from time to time. At one point, the mother of this Jakub Tuchman fell – she was shot dead. We came to [some] house; apparently, it was a baker’s house; there were several families there, pillows, everything thrown out, and this Jakub Tuchman said: “Oh, I have a family in America, I have a family in America.” America then, in these circumstances, was like wishing to go to Mars or I don’t know where. In any case, we were going round the ghetto for three or four days. The Germans knew and the Vlasovians [also knew that we were there]. Jakub Tuchman was probably born when Lublin was still under the Russian rule. He knew the Russian or Ukrainian language, and bribed the Vlasovians. They raised the wires and I went first as a mascot, and six or seven people followed me. When we walked, there was snow; we walked towards Lublin. Everyone separately. My mother and me came to a family and my mother went to look for her friend [with whom we later stayed]. And the owners of the flat said to me: “Go to the yard, there’s snow.” They thought I’d go away and they would get rid of me. I came back later. “Why have you come back?!” When my mother appeared, I said: “I want to go home.” [She replied:] “We don’t have a home; we have nowhere to go.” Later, we went to my mother’s friend, Zofia Korulska who lived on Staszica Street. They got us fake IDs there. Because my mother was too well-known in Lublin, she decided it was time to run away from Lublin. But coming back to the Tuchman family. He and his two children were going round Lublin for two or three days, but had nowhere to go, so they surrendered to Germans. Of course, they died19. 19. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Diana Bach’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96584&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017].
Diana Bach’s account. Seizure of goods. They did not only collect metals. They also collected furs. Radios. [My flat] was one of the few where there was a radio in [19]39. Radio was not very popular in Lublin at the time. I remember my father taking the radio and going somewhere to give it away. Since then, there were only loudspeakers that said only what the Germans wanted to us to hear. I still remember that when it was quiet at my grandparent’s flat on Krakowskie Przedmieście Street and when we put our ears to the wall, we could hear some voices. My mother claimed that someone had to have a secret radio station there. Poles, of course20. 20. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Diana Bach’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96571&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017].
Helena Grynszpan’s account. Grodzka Street. I was on Grodzka Street during the occupation. When they transported us to Siedliszcze there, my mum with that older sister went to Lublin to get something out. After all, we went with nothing but what we had on us; [that’s how] they took us. And she was there. Afterwards, I went to my mother and there she was, well... On the way, when [I] was on this cart, the militia caught us. Later, I was there at my mom’s; there was mum and me, during the occupation. What can I say? How will I remember [Grodzka Street]? Well ... it was a ghetto; it was a ghetto. I want to say one thing: at the time of the liquidation of the Lublin ghetto, when they were emptying house after house, my mother and sister were there. And my mother pulled out the sister herself; she pulled out the sister out of the ghetto. She knew Ukrainian well and came up to a Ukrainian and said that they entered the ghetto by accident and now they wanted to leave. And he let them out as [Poles]; he thought they were [Poles]. She came down to join us21. 21. Archives of the Oral History Programme, Helena Grynszpan’s account, source: http://biblioteka.teatrnn.pl/dlibra/dlibra/doccontent?id=96791&dirids=1 [accessed on August 25.2017].
Ida Gliksztajn-Rapaport’s account. Division of the ghetto into parts A and B and the related resettlement. Everyone were squeezing into the small ghetto; there were dramatic situations at the gate. The Jewish Ghetto Police kept an eye on the order, but platforms packed up with bedding and equipment, carts and wagons created a congestion that was getting bigger and bigger every hour. Everyone seemed to have lost the ability to think clearly [...]. Everyone had relatives or friends among the privileged holders of stamps and flats in the small ghetto. They would still be there with children and bundles; there were over ten families in every flat [...]. People went mad; vileness was accompanied by heroism, extreme egoism by examples of extraordinary sacrifice22.
​ Jewish women in Lublin, 1939
22. T. Radzik, op. cit., p. 28.
Sujka Erlichman-Bank’s account. Liquidation of the Jewish hospital on Lubartowska Street. At 4 AM on March 27, 1942, destiny reached our hospital on Lubartowska Street. After 7 AM, the hospital was to be emptied. Patients were divided into those who had Arbeitskarte and into those without it. Then, ambulatory and bedridden patients. Suddenly, everyone would miraculously recover. “I am not sick, I can stand up!” they would shout in the last effort, but the head would go limping down. Shouting, screams, everyone was looking for a way out. The hospital was surrounded by Ukrainians. Through the open windows on the first floor, where the maternity ward was located, executioners were throwing out the new-borns and behind them followed the voice of despair of the helpless mothers, going up to the heavens that were close shut [...]. We were forced to move patients on stretchers straight onto trucks or to the gate house. Everyone wanted to survive! Seriously ill patients realised the situation they were in. It was simply unbelievable how many changes had occurred in just a few hours. People just turned into a pile of trash! This mass could only be saved by a miracle! Sometimes, however, the heart of a German soldier would be softened I discovered this with my colleague after several hours spent working as “bearers.” There was another convict on the stretcher and our legs were refusing to support us out of fatigue. We stumbled over a bed. A German watching our work reproved us: “Be careful. These are people after all.” I barely managed to suppress the urge to spit into his face. I wanted to throw out all this bitterness that filled me out. Anyone who survived this resettlement of the hospital and did not go grey, would never get grey! After sending out those seriously ill, it was a turn for the selection of ambulatory patients and medical personnel. My little sister, Justynka, was registered on my card and was with me at the hospital all the time. Now, we were both standing in a queue and a 14-year-old girl from Hrubieszów was being held up [...]. She was embracing me and asking: “Sister Sujka, you were my mother when I was ill, please support me now.” Behind me, in the queue, was Mrs Berkowa, a neighbour from Skośna Street, who happened to be in the hospital because of a broken arm. With her arm in a cast, she’s asking: “Sujka, for God’s sake, you cannot save the girl, let her go, we have been neighbours for eighteen years, remember? Take me away from here.” I remembered my childhood neighbours, but was it OK to leave that girl alone? All the four of them underwent the inspection, Mrs Fajgenbaumowa was assigned to the group of those slightly ill. The girl was directed to the truck. Justynka stayed with me. I remember Mrs Kaufmanowa, a nurse. She stood in the line with her only fifteen-year-old daughter. They split them. The mother fell at a German’s feet and begged not to separate them. The motherly despair softened the German’s heart: he let the daughter join her mother. Both stood on the right; both were happy. The mother went mad on the spot. She just went mad out of being happy to be together with the daughter. Together, they marched to ‘Himmelkommando’ – they went to Heaven23.” 23. S. Erlichman-Bank, Listy z piekła (Letters from hell), Białystok 1992, pp. 25–26.
HerStory Foundation is a Lublin-based NGO focusing on herstorical education, human rights,
Szeroka Str., Lublin
multiculturalism, anti-discrimination, equality and diversity, commemoration and memory retrieving as well as counteracting violence. One of the most important for the Foundation fields of interest is herstory, a method of women’s memory retrieving and including them in the mainstream narration. Another important ield are WenDo self-defence and assertiveness workshops for girls, women and people socialized to the role of a woman, anti-discrimination workshops, gender theory workshops, consent workshops and many other workshops related to women’s rights and empowerment. Since 2016 HerStory has been creating Lublin Herstoric Archive, (you can find it at www.archiwumherstoryczne.pl) as the Foundation is a member of Polish Herstory Network created by Przestrzeń Foundation.
What are herstories? Herstory is a perspective including women into historical narration. It focuses on searching for forgotten and silenced women, their achievements, everyday life in order to bring them back to the common memory. The very word ‘herstory’ draws attention to the relationship between men and the mainstream past narration: his/story is narrated from a male perspective. Herstory, however, emphasize diverse female perspective and their socio-cultural context. In Poland as well as in many other countries around the world herstorical perspective is popularized through creating city walks celebrating women.