Alicia, p.42
Alicia, page 42
The more I heard about Aliyah Bet, the more I became convinced that we would reach Palestine. I was very proud to belong to an organization that was part of this movement. I often thought about our brothers in Eretz Israel, so far away, reaching out for us across the ocean with love, devotion, and determination to sacrifice their own lives, if need be, to bring us home. Some of those valiant people were now in Europe organizing ships to bring survivors into Palestine under the very noses of the British. The immigrants would then be taken to kibbutzim, communal farms, where they could be hidden from British patrols.
All we could do for now in Badgastein was demonstrate in the streets against the White Paper and try to call world attention to our plight. We were forced to become accustomed to the idea that getting to Eretz Israel was going to involve a long and dangerous journey.
In the meantime I was busy with my studies and with my friends. It was June of 1946, and although I had been in Badgastein only nine months, it felt as though I had left Poland a long time before. I still thought about Tzivia and the Brecha and wondered who was carrying my documents and using the name Anusha Jurman. I hoped that she was having better luck than I in her work. At times I thought I would like to return to work for the Brecha, but mostly I was glad to be out of Poland and in the second stage of reaching my destination. I was trying to push my experiences in Poland into my subconscious and think only about the future, but I soon realized that that was impossible. Memories of our past followed us wherever we went.
Occasionally I went to the store nearby and stood on line to await my weekly ration of goods, which the UNRRA provided in addition to food and lodging. We stood in line and gave our names to the clerk, who consulted his list and gave us what we asked for; we had a choice of cigarettes or chocolate. One day the clerk was in the process of giving me my chocolates, when suddenly someone pulled me by my arm, turned me around, and cried out, “Little Alicia, is that you?”
I was startled. I couldn’t place the middle-aged man who had called my name. Did I know him? He looked only vaguely familiar to me. But there was something about the voice that I recognized.
“Alicia, don’t you remember me? I’m Dr. Feldman.”
I remembered a Dr. Feldman who had been my uncle’s colleague and had helped him with the patients in his hospital.
“Are you the Dr. Feldman who worked with my uncle?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Please, Alicia, can we go somewhere and talk?”
After I took my chocolates, and he dropped out of the line, we walked together to the lobby of the Hotel Austria, where he was staying. We sat down on a sofa. His excited face suddenly became serious and a little sad.
“I have something to tell you, Alicia,” he said. “But first, tell me, are you all alone, or have some of your family survived?”
“I am all alone,” I said rather curtly. Here we go, I thought. If he starts asking questions about my family, I am just going to pick myself up and leave. I couldn’t stand any more sympathy right now.
He must have read my thoughts, because he said immediately, “I’m sorry, but there is a reason for my question. Are you a strong girl, Alicia? Are you mature enough to hear about someone you loved?”
“Yes, yes, I am. You know we are all old, all of us children who survived.” At this point he just took my hand and held it gently in his.
“I recognized you, little Alicia, because I remembered when you visited your uncle in Stanislavov. I was the one who became angry when you cut up a sheet to make bandages for your stray cats.” He stopped for a minute, making an attempt to smile. “I know you wanted to be a doctor like your uncle, and you will be; you are still young. Your uncle thought you would make a fine doctor. He loved you very much, you know. What you are going to hear now will hurt, Alicia, but you should hear it.”
I was beginning to feel a chill creeping into my heart. This man holding my hand obviously had a need to talk and to unburden himself. His pain was so obvious that it seemed to flow through our joined hands straight into me. He continued to talk.
“Your uncle continued to work at the city hospital after the German occupation. Not legally, mind you. They used to bring him in secretly. He was the hospital’s only heart specialist, and they needed him. He had to leave his home because one of our colleagues wanted his house. He then moved into the ghetto.”
I felt as though someone had stabbed me. I had been right about the man who now lived in my uncle’s home.
“Are you listening, Alicia?” Dr. Feldman said, pulling my hand patiently.
“Your uncle was asked to operate on a sick SS man. He refused. But he talked to me about it, and we decided to do it after all, in return for the release of four hundred Jewish children who were being held in a mill. The children had been gathered up in this mill, and the SS men were murdering them in the most cruel way. We were hoping that we might put some of them in the homes of our former patients. The Nazis agreed, and the children were brought back into the ghetto. The operation on the SS man was successful. We checked our patient daily as is normal. On the sixth day after the operation, following our examination, the SS man pulled out a gun and shot your uncle through the heart.”
At this point Dr. Feldman started to cry. It broke my heart to see him so upset, but I was not able to say one word to him. I had known my uncle was dead, but the knowledge of how he was killed overcame me. I remembered my visit to his home on the way back to Buczacz, and then I, too, started to cry. We were sitting together in deep misery, when suddenly a girl’s voice called.
“Here you are, Father; Dov and I are looking for you. We have to start packing. We are leaving in the morning! Please hurry!” When her father didn’t answer immediately, the girl became frightened and asked tensely, “What’s the matter, Tatusiu? Are you sick?”
“No, no, I am fine. Please forgive me. Here, Anna, meet Alicia, Dr. Kurtz’s niece. Please, sweetheart, go to your brother and tell him I will be up shortly. I have to talk to Alicia. Please.” She turned and left with a final look at her father.
“Alicia, listen to me,” I heard Dr. Feldman say. “I have affidavits for our family. We are going to Palestine. We are leaving tomorrow and are returning to Salzburg. Now, this is what I want to do. I want to leave my daughter Anna with my cousin there and I want to take you in her place. Then, when I am in Palestine, I can bring her there as my second daughter. It can be done. I just can’t leave you here all alone.”
I was shocked when I heard what he was planning to do. I could see from the expression on his face that he was very serious, and I realized that he must have loved my uncle very much. I wasn’t really surprised that my poor uncle could command such love. Of course I couldn’t accept such an offer. But I had to think of a response. Then I remembered. A couple of days earlier an UNRRA official had come to our class at school and registered all orphans who wanted to go to the United States, where some might have a chance of adoption or would be placed in foster homes. I don’t believe we really understood what he was saying, but we always registered for everything. I imagined it was a way in which the UNRRA remained aware of the number of people it had to support. Anyway, when my friend asked me if she should put my name down, I said, “Sure, why not?” Now I saw a way to refuse without hurting Dr. Feldman’s feelings.
“I am very touched by your offer,” I said with a trembling voice. “But I can’t accept it. I am registered to go to America, where a family might adopt me. Besides, perhaps my uncle told you that he had a sister in America.”
As I said that I flushed deeply. He looked at me with such sorrow that I nearly started to cry again. He knew I was lying then. But it was time for him to go. He hugged me and kissed my cheek. When he offered to give me money, I politely refused, but I promised that once I reached America I would look for him through the Jewish Agency for Palestine. I nearly said, “when I reach Palestine.” This slip probably confirmed me in his eyes as a liar, but he only smiled sadly and kissed my cheek again. I wished him a good journey to Eretz Israel. As he walked away, he called out softly, “I want you to know that the SS man did not leave the hospital alive.”
The minute I walked into the PaChaCh meeting room I sensed the excitement of the people who were already present. There was a complete hush when Mr. Taft, the manager of our organization, opened the meeting. He came straight to the point.
“My friends, I have the opportunity to select ten people to leave for Aliyah Bet. They will go to Belgium, and from there to Eretz Israel. I was instructed to make this offer to those who have worked for the Brecha, and to those who have been here the longest.”
I was overjoyed to hear this announcement. I qualified in both instances. When I gave my name I was put on the list without questions. There was a lot of excitement after the meeting, but I left quickly to share the good news with my dear friends Vanda and Peppa. Vanda was leaving for her aunt’s home in America, and she gave me her address. Peppa was waiting to go to Eretz Israel and was a little envious of me. I wrote letters to my friends in Bad Ischl and, within a week, I was on my way, feeling very happy that I was finally going to my homeland.
An UNRRA truck took us to a DP camp near Salzburg. We arrived there in the afternoon and were brought to a large room to wait for further travel instructions. The manager of this DP community, a middle-aged man with graying hair, came to welcome us. He was the father of a school friend of mine, in Buczacz. The family had a shoestore on the Hala Targova, and I would often walk home with my friend after school and leave her at her father’s store.
He must have sensed that I was watching him, because he turned to look at me. His eyes lingered on my face for a second, but he continued to talk, telling us where to go for our supper. Then suddenly he stood in front of me.
“What is your name?” he asked in Polish.
“I am Alicia Jurman, and I am from Buczacz.”
“Of course, I thought I recognized you. You came to the store with Gina. Wait for me a few minutes. I will be right back. Will you have dinner with me, please?”
I hesitated for a moment. I knew it was going to be very painful for both of us, but I said yes, and thanked him. He was back in ten minutes, and I followed him to his home. We had dinner in a room that served as both living room and bedroom. A woman brought in the food and served it on a table set for two. The table was covered with a white cloth and set with lovely chinaware and silver. The food was delicious, but we couldn’t really enjoy it. Even the cake which he had apparently ordered in my honor was left untouched. I couldn’t eat because there was a lump in my throat. After dinner we remained seated at the table, and he told me that he had lived through the war in Russia. He was a soldier with Wanda Wasilewska’s unit. When he returned to Buczacz, he found no one from his family.
“Alicia,” he asked softly with tears in his eyes. “Did you see Gina? Can you tell me anything about her?”
I just shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. He understood.
“Alicia, must you go with this transport? Could you stay here a little longer? I will send you on the next one, and you can stay with our people from Buczacz. Please think about it, and in the meantime would you like to meet a few landsmen? Come, I will take you to them.” He took my hand and pulled me up from my chair.
As we walked I reached out for his hand and held it tightly. Was I pretending that he was my father, or he that I was his daughter? He gave me a sad smile and held my hand in his until we reached the living quarters of the people from Buczacz. He left me there, promising to see me the following morning. I spent the evening with these people, some of whom I remembered. All of them knew my family. We talked about all kinds of things, but mostly I wanted to know who else had survived. When the name of my father’s first cousin was mentioned, I was very happy. His name was Israel Katz, and he was now in a DP camp in the English zone. When I asked how he could be brought to Salzburg to be with the community, they told me that they knew of someone who could smuggle him out, but money was needed. I didn’t have any money, but I had saved up forty packages of cigarettes, which I gladly gave to the man who knew the smuggler. I didn’t stay long enough to meet my father’s cousin.
I didn’t sleep well that night and was up early. I packed my things and sat waiting for everybody else to awaken. I couldn’t stop thinking about my poor friend Gina and about her father. What could I do? I couldn’t be his daughter; his daughter was dead. Poor man.
Soon everyone was up, and we went to have breakfast. Then we all walked to the gates of the compound, where the trucks were waiting to take us to the train. I searched for and found Gina’s father, who was organizing our departure. I went up to say good-bye to him. He didn’t ask me to stay again but took me in his arms and hugged me tightly.
CHAPTER 24
School in Belgium
Our group of ten people was joined with another thirty coming from various other DP camps and we were brought to the train station in Salzburg. I watched with professional interest as our group leader, an American soldier from the UNRRA, did exactly what I used to do when I worked for the Brecha. There was, however, one difference. We had tried to leave Poland secretly, and we entered Austria openly. We were now leaving Austria openly and entering Belgium secretly. It was important that the British not learn about our presence in Belgium. They would know that any organized group of young Jews could have only one purpose, and that was to get on a ship for Palestine.
The American was a very nice young man with a very funny accent, which I learned later was the way people spoke in the southern United States. He traveled with us inside our freight car and made sure that we had a chance to get off and stretch our legs and could use the station toilets whenever the train stopped. It was summer now and hot inside the car, so some of the boys took off their shirts to keep cool. The older men and our American didn’t do this and sweated profusely. We had to keep the door closed and got fresh air only from a little window near the car roof. I hadn’t slept well the night before, so I dozed off. When I woke up I became very frightened because I had forgotten where I was. I broke out in a cold sweat. Luckily the American who sat nearby reassured me.
At the train station in Brussels we shook hands with the American and thanked him for his care. I could see that he had tears in his eyes, and I learned later that he was one of the first American soldiers to enter a concentration camp after the liberation. This explained many things. We knew that the UNRRA and the United States army could not be officially connected with Aliyah Bet. But, as individuals, many Americans must have helped.
In Belgium we came under the care of the “Joint,” the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. They had trucks waiting for us and we were brought to a town with a name that sounded like Ongen, but could have been Enghien, not far from Brussels. Our temporary quarters were in an abandoned monastery. We entered through a wide gate and were told to go into the larger of two buildings, where we would find beds, tables, and food. It was a very gloomy place. The buildings were neglected. Their walls were peeling inside and outside and everything looked dry and sort of dead, including the little green pond. Surrounding the yard were thick stone walls that shut us in from the world outside.
Our living rooms were combination bedroom, dining room, and, later, classrooms. Some small rooms that opened into the large room were assigned to married couples, and the rest of us slept in the large room. Since it was summer, we kept the windows open and didn’t drape blankets about our beds for privacy; we lived just like one big family. The women took up one side of the room and the men the other. Most of the time, particularly in the evenings, the young people stayed outside near the little pond. We listened to tales told by some excellent storytellers and sang Hebrew songs in low voices so as not to let the people outside hear us. I was sure the townspeople knew that we were there, but I didn’t believe they cared very much one way or another.
Since we expected to stay only a few days, we didn’t really mind the conditions, but when many days went by and we didn’t leave, we began to worry. On our tenth day there a meeting was called by Leon, a Belgian Jew, who was in charge of our group. We listened carefully as he explained why we were still there. The original plan was for us to join the Jewish brigade from Palestine that had served as a unit of the British army during the war. This group had been in Antwerp and had been given permission to take relatives who had survived the war back to Palestine with them. Unfortunately something had gone wrong, and the ships had sailed a few hours before our arrival. Now we would have to remain hidden until new arrangements could be made for our departure via Aliyah Bet. Leon told us that we weren’t the only ones stranded. A group of teenage orphans who had come from Czechoslovakia had also missed the ships.
So, the man concluded, we might as well make ourselves at home. We had plenty of food, courtesy of the Joint, and “une grande chambre,” he said, waving his arms at our large room.
If we hadn’t been walled in, it wouldn’t have been so bad. We began Hebrew and English classes but actually spent most of our time outside near the little pond just sitting and talking.
