Tosia: Chapter 4

Portrait of a Jewish woman written by her daughter Felicia Graber.
Updated September 6, 2024

In the early part of 1941, we had to leave our beautiful new apartment and most of our furniture and move to Gebniza Street in another part of town. “Jews are not allowed to live on the main street” was the German decree. Shlomo, my husband, as enterprising as ever, found us a place to live, and life seemed to quiet down for a while. 

Early in 1942 my father-in-law could no longer come to visit. Beards became illegal, and since he would not shave his off, it was too dangerous for him to go out. 

On June 11, 1942, the first deportation from Tarnów took place. My father and my in-laws, and most elderly, the sick, as well as some children from the orphanage were rounded up, herded on trains and taken away. At first, we did not know where the trains were headed. Later on, rumors were that these trains had gone to a place called Belzec. Thousands of Jews were taken there, and nobody heard from them again.

One man claimed that he saw a German shoot my father-in-law because he was not moving quickly enough. Later, when horrible rumors were spreading about the fate of those transports, Shlomo was almost grateful that his father was spared the dreadful torture of the long trip to Hell.

That same day, June 11, when the deportation was taking place, German soldiers were going door to door, dragging people out into the street and randomly shooting them. They were already next door to our apartment. We saw our neighbors’ two daughters, their father and son being shot. Their mother begged the soldiers to shoot her. She did not want to live. But cruelly, they laughed and left her alone in despair. Shlomo and I said our goodbyes. We waited for them to come to us. Miraculously, however, they first checked their watches it was already 7:00 o’clock, “Time to stop working,” and they left.

Later in ­­­­­­­June, we were ordered to move again, this time into the ghetto. We could take with us only whatever we could carry. This time even Shlomo’s skills at always finding a way out did not work. The ghetto area was so overcrowded that it was impossible to find a room.

 June 20^th was the deadline, and still we had no place to stay. We were standing in the street when Asher Osterweil, a good friend, saw us. He had found a room for his wife, son and daughter in the Michalewicz House, named for a famous socialist, on Ochronek Street 22. He invited us to share the room. We were very grateful. We divided the room in half with a sheet and settled in with our meager possessions.

A while later, I do not remember exactly when, Shlomo organized a hiding place accessible from our room for Jews who could not conform to the constantly changing rules of the ghetto. I helped him take care of the people hiding there. In the morning, I took out and emptied the buckets that they used to relieve themselves, and we cooked whatever we could to feed the crowd.

Then came that horrible day, September 11, 1942. We were all ordered to report to Targowica Square early in the morning. Our papers were checked. Shlomo, as always, had managed to get both of us jobs and the proper required seals. But we were not released all day. Then, it came out that this was to be a “Kinderaktion” also. Children were to be taken away.

I froze, I just could not think. My first reaction was to go with my child, of course, but Shlomo was vehemently opposed. “Do we give those bastards more victims than absolutely necessary?” he asked angrily. “As horrible as it is, we are young, we can survive, and after this nightmare is over, we can have other children. We have to use our brain, our logic and not our emotion.” Without hesitation, he grabbed Felucja, put her on the truck, took hold of my arm and dragged me away running. But I heard my child cry. I could not do this; I could not abandon her like that. I freed myself from Shlomo’s hold and ran towards the truck. One of the German soldiers was holding Felucja and yelling, “Whose child is it? Where is the mother? Mothers are supposed to be with the little ones.”

I was about to call him and identify myself, when I was pushed aside. I had not noticed that Shlomo had followed me. He yelled out, “I am the father of this girl. She has no mother.” Then he whispered to me, “Get lost, save yourself, both of us do not have to go.” He climbed into the truck, grabbed the crying, terrified Felucja into his arms and yelled at the German, “Get your paws off my daughter.” I followed him into the truck. My life was not worth living without him and my child. I wanted to die with them. We were taken to the “Piaskówka” near the railroad station. It was a large, sandy area outside the city where there were some old empty stables.

We were all herded into those stables for the night. That night was a nightmare. Children were crying, they were scared, hungry and thirsty. Those who were alone wanted their mothers. The others just wanted something to eat and drink. All of us, children and adults alike, were terrified. We did not know what awaited us in the morning.

Shlomo, always the “go getter,” tried to talk one of the guards to allow him to get at least some water from the well. A young German guard took pity on us and was about to let him go get some water from the well, when a German officer’s car pulled up. The guard got frightened and rescinded his permission.

Somehow, we made it through the night. Early next morning a group of German officers came to the stable. One of them took out a piece of paper and started reading. But no one could hear him because the babies were crying. Nobody was able to calm them. Shlomo volunteered to help the officer and started reading loudly. It was a list of names. People on the list were to be released and taken back to the ghetto. Amazingly, our names, Shlomo, mine and our daughter’s were on that life-saving list. We did not know why, but were not going to ask questions.

Unbelievably, Shlomo decided to take little Fedula, a friend’s daughter, along with us. I was petrified. “You cannot do that; they will shoot us all. You are endangering all our lives. It said on the list: Shlomo Lederberger, wife and daughter. How can you take this blond, blue-eyed child along? That is not responsible.”

“I will not leave her behind,” was his answer, “I promised her mother I would watch over her. I will keep my word.” He grabbed the little girl, held her close to him, put her head under his jacket pretending that he was comforting her and we started for the entrance of the stable. A German guard was standing there with his rifle ready for any problems. As we got to him, he said; “It says here that there is one child, not two.”

“That is an error, Sir,” replied Shlomo calmly, “I have two children.” Just then, there was some kind of commotion in the stable. The guard got distracted, and we quickly went out to the wagon which was waiting for us and the other Jews who had gotten a new lease on life.

When we got back to the Michalewicz House, we were greeted with enthusiasm by all those who were hiding in the attic. They thought we were being deported. All were terrified as to what fate awaited them. They knew they could not leave as the room had been sealed. German soldiers would soon come to look for valuables and hiding places. All of them would be discovered and most probably shot on the spot. Thus, seeing us back in our room was like seeing their liberator. 

To be continued.

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Read more by Felicia Graber.