Part 1 Out Of Russia

TO A NEW BEGINNING Part 1 Out of Russia Spring 1903 The alarm I saw that the peddler, the dorfgeher, was in an unusual hurry– as if he did not care if he sold any of his wares. A strong man, Jacob was in his mid thirties. Never married, he traversed our province of Podolia carrying his large bundle that had assorted straw hats, knives, leather belts and boots, ribbons, linen, tallow, needles, thread, and some reading material, usually the discarded newspaper he had pulled from trash. He would sell anything and everything. If the buyer did not have money, he would seek an advantageous trade. Jacob was our village’s main connection to the rest of the world. Wherever he called home, he would leave on Sunday with his bundle to return before sundown on Friday. His territory included the homes of the wealthy as well as our village of Turbiv that he visited once a month. Unlike the wealthy, we would welcome him, as he would relate news of the outside world. He was early this month – by two weeks, and from the look on people’s faces, his news was not good. Yelling at an unheard volume, he blurted out for all to hear, “It’s a pogrom!” He continued, “Peasants in Kishinyov are blaming Jews for the murder of a Christian boy. They have killed or injured hundreds of our people.” He continued after gaining his breath, “The Cossacks will certainly follow with a more complete slaughter.” A pogrom. No sense to ask for a reason, a pogrom is irrational. The Cossacks, swords in one hand, the reins of their horses in the other, thunder down on our villages, burning our hovels, stealing what they can, raping our women and children and killing the men and boys. They are merciless. Jacob continued. “After the Cossacks pillage and rape, the czar’s army is following. It needs all the canon fodder it can get for the coming war. Councils will be told their quotas, but it looks like every man will be taken.” Jacob had barely delivered his message when Rachel, ambled into the slaughterhouse. My wife of two years was not hysterical, but winded. Her six months of pregnancy was not noticeable through her loosely fitting dress, but her usual spryness had been reduced. “Meyer you must leave. They will take men like you, to what I do not know.” “If I leave, I will have turned my back on my family and friends. Besides, we have no money. No it is out of the question.” “What good are you dead or in Siberia to either your family or your friends. No one here will blame you for running. All of them would do the same if they could…” “If they could, if I could, but they can’t and I can’t.” “You can.” “How? If I run, I will be an outlaw, my family will be punished. Eventually they will catch me. Until they do, I will be constantly running and hiding. No, I must accept my fate.” “Meyer, you can sell our milk cows and get enough gold for you to escape.” Out of Russia, out of the misery that these oppressors have inflicted on my people. The word, escape, came from a distance striking me dumb. I looked wide-eyed, staring into space as if Rachel were not there. As it was, I did not believe I was there either. A moment of complete silence as my mind calculated the guilt against the opportunity that leaving Russia afforded us. Then a smile broke on my face as I once again saw my lovely wife and her serious, but strained expression. I picked her up spun her around. 1

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“Meyer put me down. This is not good for the baby.” The baby. How could I leave, now? Our child, our first-born would not have the protection of a father. “I can’t leave. Our child must have a father!” “If you do not leave, chances are he will not have a father, anyway. My seide will help. He’s old and knows how to survive.” In his sixties, Rachel’s grandfather was the picture of a pious Jew. An untrimmed beard and flowing white hair under an ever-present skullcap, he knew how to keep the raiders from his house, and it wasn’t prayer. Pay them, and they would mark your door and leave you alone. While the thought of a pogrom seemed to unnerve the community, I remained calm. In fact, for a person facing a pogrom and a draft, I was probably too calm. My brother Ephraim saw me and commented, “Meyer, there is some change about you that I do not understand. How have you come to accept this fate so calmly when only last week we talked and you were terrified of another pogrom?” Three years my junior, I had disliked him all my life. His birth had led to my mother’s death. My unmarried aunt helped to raise us and had favored him over my older brother, Reuben, and me. There was no way I could tell him that I was leaving. More to explain myself in a circumspect way I quoted our rabbi, “God gives us the power to change some things and others must be left to Him. I am calm because I know the difference between what I can and cannot change, and I accept my fate.” Have I become a liar? But I am not telling a lie. I can and will change my circumstance. But I do not need his baggage. Silence pervaded for a few seconds. Ephraim calculated. “Something suspicious is going on. You are acting strange. I am going to watch you.” I did not need a spy, especially Ephraim. If anyone had an interest in my staying in Turbiv, he certainly did. The Council generally did not offer the czar two from the same family. As the next eligible male from my family (Reuben was in Odessa), he would certainly go. While physically strong and young, the emotional strain on him might be too much. Should I feel sorrow, responsibility? Am I my brother’s keeper? Devising a Plan I had heard that Yitzhak Bronfman had helped others to find their way out. The grapevine was wild with rumors and I had nothing on which to base my conjecture, but I had to try. Like most of the Jews in our shtetl, Itzy was some sort of cousin. If he had names and places along a path that would transport me out of Russia, I needed to know. Itzy’s wife, Sarah, greeted me at the door of their hovel. “Meyer, it’s been such a long time since you came by me. Sit. Can I give you some kasha; maybe some beans? Oh you poor boy, you’re so thin! What’s new? What brings you by? How’s Rachel, she’s such a beautiful woman, reminds me of myself thirty years ago . . .?” The questions kept coming with no opportunity to respond. Then came a current history of her family, her son, Joseph, with whom I had played and learned prayers and her daughter slightly older than me about whom I had had fantasies. Recently I saw Rebecca in my dreams and imagined making love to her since Rachel refused to have relations with me during her pregnancy. Becca and her husband lived in Sqvar. They had two children and were onto their third. I momentarily thought about getting her that way. I reflexively shook my head to release that vision as Itzy entered. “Sarah, who are you badgering, now? Meyer, what brings you here?” Itzy had flowing white hair and a long white beard, just like Rachel’s Zaide. Slightly bent from years of hard work, he still was strong and healthy. I think he was about fifty, but it was difficult to measure age. I 2

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really did not know how old I was, although Reuben told me that I was twenty. “Can I talk to you, privately?” I asked with some reservation. “Nonsense, Sarah knows all my business. Anyway, she won’t let me sleep until I tell her, so you may as well talk. Believe me, she keeps confidences.” This latter statement was hard to imagine, but I had to get the information. I was hesitant to divulge myself to the man whom I thought had the required knowledge. It was no use holding back. I blurted out, “I want to leave this misery, escape. I am tired of the endless intimidation and humiliation, the rumors of violence, the draft. I have heard rumors that a wealthy German Jew has arranged for us to live in peace in abundance in a land far off.” “But you need money for that, gold.” Yitzhak continued, “You, your father, your father’s father, even your great-grandfather– I knew them all. All were too honest to have any gold.” “I will have the gold. Rachel has agreed for me to sell the milk cows, her dowry. What I need to know is how to make the necessary contacts to get out of here.” Looking at his wife, Itzy almost did not have to say, “ You’ve heard enough. Go milk the cows….” “But I did that an hour ago,” she retorted as if she did not understand the significance of the command. “Well, do it again. In any event leave, you must not hear this conversation.” After Sarah had closed the door, Itzy looked at me and sighed, “You know there are few secrets I have had to keep from her, a few kopeks behind a stone, a little variety when she was pregnant, and now this, my work with the underground. I suppose she would have learned sooner or later, but I prefer later. Come; tell me, do you think you are up to the hardships of the trek? Do you think you will be able to tolerate the loneliness? Do you realize that you may be a pioneer in a frontier with few other people who think like you, speak a language you will understand and seek God in the same manner as you?” I thought for a few moments, reflecting on Rachel and the child she would bear and on the relatives I probably would not see again. Are there any greater hardships than a war, or being a Jew during a pogrom? A pioneer. Well if that means that everyone starts from the same level, I will have a chance, something I cannot have here, no matter what. By leaving, everything I do will benefit my family and me. As far as the loneliness, time and new friends will numb that pain. Moreover, I will do everything I can to bring my relatives and friends to a new beginning. I looked at Itzy who had a compassionate frown while he contemplated a bottle of wine, “ Itzy, all those things do matter, but getting out matters more.” Setting down the bottle after pouring two cups, Itzy made a barucha over the wine and we began to set my great adventure. The first goal, cross the Russian border. I would either be sent through the relatively independent area of Bessarabia into Romania or through Galicia. Danger would exist at every step. Nothing could be written. If caught, I could not say anything about the people who were helping me. I would be tortured, but no matter what I said, I would wind up a corpse, naked and nailed to a cross and placed in the village center. I shuddered at the thought. Yitzhak could only provide me with my first contact, the schul in our market city of Vinnytsia. He said that Rabbi Friedman would provide me with two days rations and possibly a kopek or two. More importantly, he would tell me the next contact point. He then described what I absolutely had to have – warm clothing, wrapped in two blankets. His final admonition, “Wear your most comfortable shoes!” With that statement he opened the door and asked Sarah to make tea and slice some of her wonderful mandelbrot. We sat for thirty minutes, noshing, sipping tea and talking about nothing, or at least nothing that I can remember. My mind was fixed on the journey ahead. 3

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Ephraim discovers my plot There was no time to waste. My excitement grew, as did my desire for my wife. I had not had relations for three months and the thought of the crossing and the fields and forests of the Ukraine that I had never seen before both terrified and thrilled me. Rachel wanted to hear all that Itzy had told me. I told her that she shouldn’t know more than that I had left to seek more prosperous employment and that she did not know where I was. Once I reached a safe place, I would let her know, but not how I got there. As she embraced me and held me tightly, my excitement became apparent. She instinctively knew what to do. With one hand she unbuttoned my fly and proceeded to stroke my stiffness. We kissed passionately, and as we did my seed spurted out covering her apron. I was slightly embarrassed at the episode, but glad to have had the release. I gave a slight laugh as I looked down at the fluid covering her clothes down to her shoes. Without knocking, Ephraim barged in. Embarrassed, Rachel turned away. I instinctively tucked my still aroused member into my pants. With no apology my despised brother began a tirade that I felt could be heard throughout the village. “You’re sneaking away. I know. I saw you at Bronfman’s. Why else would you go to that old miser except to get an escape route? You are going to take me with you, or I will tell the Council.” My brother had no dignity. I knew that by betraying me, he would get the privilege of going to near the end of the Council’s list. There was no choice; I had to take him. At sixteen he had married Rachel’s sister and had her pregnant almost on the wedding night. He thought nothing of having relations with peasant women who would have sex with a Jew for a kopek and a bottle of illicit vodka. Somehow, Ephraim had both when he needed to. I told him to stop shouting, and invited him to the dining table. I told him he was a shameless bastard. He just grinned. Other than the difference between good and evil, we looked so similar people had difficulty telling us apart. I had grown a mustache to provide a difference, and as if to spite me, so did he. “You would betray me just as you killed our mother so that you could survive. But I will have to accept this fate and take you. But you mustn’t say any more than you already have. There is no telling who heard you and what they would do. We both could be prime on the council’s recruitment list.” “My loving brother, you offend me. I wouldn’t think of revealing our secret. Trust me. Tell me what we are going to do.” I outlined the first step and told him what he would need to bring. My final warning was, “Don’t tell your wife or anyone what we are doing. Remember how the Cossacks brought back Stein on the cross. Just keep that image in your mind, you rotten ass.” He gave me that so annoying smirk, the same as that which he gave to me as a youngster when he hid behind our aunt’s skirt protecting himself, the rascal, from my instinct to debrain him. Vinnytsia I had been to the market in Vinnytsia almost weekly, and was accustomed to the journey of ten versts (six miles). We planned to use a market day so that I could sell the cows and he could sell fresh eggs and the potatoes he had stored from the past fall. Going to market would also not arouse suspicion among those we could not trust. Rachel was awake before me and had prepared a pot of kasha mixed with some meat. As I put on layers of clothing and rolled up two blankets, her tears began to emerge. As I hugged her I tried to hold back, but could not. I did not know what the future held for us. The only thing that 4

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was certain was that change was essential. We embraced for what we both knew would be our last for some time. Because we were carrying blankets, we wanted to depart early. If our neighbors had seen us with more than normal items for market, it might have caused them to raise questions. The sun rises early in mid May, and we were ready before dawn. We walked on the road towards Vinnytsia, across a short plain. On a hill the faint light of dawn appeared in the sky. I looked back to take my last vision of the only home that I had ever known. Smoke was rising from the fires in each of the hovels. The scene of tranquility was in sharp contrast to the imminent chaos we would face. I thought I could hear the cantor initiating the first of the daily prayers, but it may have only been a memory. As the sun came up, I could feel spring. Grains were beginning to sprout in a sea of green. The days would be warm enough if rain did not intervene. Once we left Vinnytsia, the problem would be evening and night when a bitter cold could set in. I was warned to avoid setting a fire for the concern that it would be spotted and reported. While I disliked my brother, his youthful zest pushed me to go faster than I otherwise would have. The quick pace on the muddy road began to take its toll on me by mid-way. I called for a rest. The quick pace also increased my appetite so that I found it necessary to delve into a portion of our bread and water. We arrived at the market at its start. I sat with my two cows while Ephraim set up to sell about forty eggs and twice as many potatoes, all carried to market on the back of my cows. Several men looked at the cows, but none offered. It was getting late. Deciding that I was in financial stress, one person offered me a pittance. He haggled a bit, but did not come close to their value. I told him that there would be no more dealing with him. Overhearing what my last offer had been, another man offered me one gold coin less. Boldly, I told him that I was not going to sacrifice my wife’s dowry for the pittance he was offering. He offered me half the difference, and I decided to take the offer. I had the stake I needed, five gold five ruble coins. Ephraim had set prices and did not permit bargaining. “If you want my product, you will pay my price. If you want schlecht, see my neighbor.” Fortunately for him, there was a scarcity of eggs and potatoes that day. While he had to wait until the end of the market near sundown, he sold everything at his price. The man was a born businessman, and lucky. Vinnytsia is large and my memory of directions to the schul, hazy. I thought, there must be a Jewish section, and this being a city, it is probably near the market center. As we walked, I heard familiar chatter. Two women were using Yiddish. They were arguing, but what else do Jewish women do with each other? Here we were, two young, blond, blue-eyed men with peasant like faces asking Jewish women, in Yiddish, where we could find Rabbi Friedman. They both stopped short and stared as if I were a visitor from another planet. Then one of them asked, “What does a Uker like you want with my rabbi?” I responded politely, “We are not Ukers, we are Jews.” Ephraim added, “Do we need to prove it?” He reached to unbutton his fly. “No that will not be necessary!” exploded the second one, the first one obviously considering his proposition. “Whatever your business, Reb Friedman is an old man and used to much aggravation from your kind. He or his wife can be found at the house next to the schul. Just keep walking and you will see it. It is the grandest building in this wretched place.” The sun was low in the sky, so I figured that the rabbi would actually be at the schul for the evening service. We could prove ourselves by joining in. Hungry and tired as we were, we hastily walked until we came to the largest building in the area. I could hear the familiar sounds of prayer. 5

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Synagogue in Vinnytsia We entered, placed on head covering, and proceeded to the benches in the rear. The men were dovening, each at their own pace, mumbling the words they had memorized. Several stopped turned and stared at us. Gradually everyone turned except the rabbi who was chanting with his back to us. Three of them started towards us. I started the Barechu, the call to worship. The three stopped abruptly then one moved forward to welcome us. The congregation resumed a cacophony of prayer. The rabbi had not lost a beat. After the sunset service, we were engulfed with questions. Where are you from? Why are you here? Are you married? I did not tell complete truths. I said that we were from near Pogrebishche, on our way to a new life. “ Both of us are married, but our wives will have to follow once we settle on a place to live near our relatives to the west of here.” An older man who had putrid breath, looked up at me with wide eyes and an all-knowing expression. His face was covered with dark hair including the area on his cheeks just under his bushy eyebrows. He was leaning on a cane that he shook at me as he talked, “This is neither the time nor the place for a Jew to be moving about. Haven’t you heard of the pogrom? Don’t you know that the Czar is looking for more cannon fodder? If our town council knows that there are two young men eligible for the military quota, they will catch you and put you at the top of the list and you will have many years of miserable existence or better, you will die in some far off place.” The rabbi had a clean look, although his face was also covered with hair, this time, white. After the service, the rabbi said to the men, “Go to your wives. I want to talk to these boys, in private.” The rabbi obviously knew the real reason we were at his schul, but also did not want his parishioners to be aware of his work in the underground. In Russia you trust no one when you are acting subversively. The bima, the prayer leader’s platform, was in the center of the schul as it was in ours. The rabbi had a study on the top floor. There was one narrow window in the room that he shut before talking to us in a low voice. His first question was, “Who sent you?” When I responded with Bronfman’s name, the rabbi seemed relieved. “Do you realize that you have completed the easiest part of your journey? The Army and the Cossacks guard the border. 6

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They want no one leaving this wonderful country. After you eat and rest, I will tell you your next step. Talk to no one except the person whose name I give you. “In the morning you will leave after prayers. Tomorrow you will reach Hnivan. I will describe the rest to you tonight. Come now and meet my wife. She knows nothing about my involvement in the underground, so watch your tongues. I will introduce you as two journeymen from Pogrebishche on your way to work in Lvov. Your name, as he pointed to me, will be Shmuel and you, pointing to Ephraim, will be Avrom.” The rabbi’s house adjoined the synagogue. The rabbitzin was young, perhaps a year or two older than me, and had a very soft attractive face. After the rabbi introduced us with our false names, he excused himself. Miriam told us that she was his third wife. His first had died at the birth of their sixth child. He divorced his second wife, claiming that she had been unfaithful, she wanted a child and he did not. They had not had relations, but she was pregnant. Miriam had not had children. She said, “God gave Josef four sons and two daughters, and he decided that that was enough.” She apparently was not having relations with the rabbi, just a maid taking care of his house. I wondered if she were content with that role. A large cauldron was heating a stew of meat and potatoes. She said, “I was not expecting company, but I always make more than we need just in case we have visitors. Please eat. I will use the water that I am boiling to fix some kasha.” She ladled generous portions of the stew in bowls for us and provided a loaf of freshly baked bread. The rabbi returned with a decanter of wine, said a barucha, and we each took a sip. While the rabbi watched, we ate without saying a word, swabbing the bowl with what remained of our bread. A second portion was provided. We ate more slowly. This time, the rabbi joined us. Miriam did not eat with us, choosing instead to pour kasha into the cauldron of boiling water and continually stirring the mixture. In a few minutes, foam was seeping from edges of the cover and dripping into the fire making a spitting sound. It continued that way while we had tea with honey. I told the rabbi that I would do my best to repay his generosity. He told me that it was his duty, quoting the Tanach, “For once I was a stranger in a strange land.” Now the kasha was ready and the rabbitzin asked if we would like more to eat. I only thought for a second before saying I would like just a small portion. Ephraim said that he, too, would like such a portion. We were filling up for a possible day without food. After dinner, the rabbi asked his wife to leave us in private. She went to a corner where, if we talked in a regular voice, she could hear. The rabbi began in a whisper, “Bronfman probably told you there were two paths. Currently, the western path is too dangerous. Your will need to take the southern path. It should not be a problem for you to stay on the main road for the present. The army has not been patrolling this area. “I will get one of the men who is at market to take you in his cart to Hnivan. Find Rabbi Solomon. Mention my name and that our schul has helped you. He does not know the underground path. He only knows to help people I send him. I suggest you spend a night in Zhmerynka, a part day’s journey on the main road from Hnivan. “After Hnivan, your next contact is a Bolshevik radical named Spector in Sharhorod. Be very careful. Avoid being seen with him. He will supply you with the most important contact.” This learned man in his sixties provided us so much; I could only repay him by thinking about him in my prayers. His wife I could think about in my dreams. The place by the hearth gave us warmth. Not wanting to stay in our clothing, we slept naked wrapped in our blankets. I was sleeping soundly when a commotion next to me woke me. Ephraim was grunting and she, the rabbi’s wife, was giving faint whimpers as his body moved quickly in and out of hers. He was totally uncovered, his buttocks alternating hard and soft. She 7

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was dressed in a nightshirt lifted above her waist, her legs wrapped on his. Guttural sounds of pleasure came from her followed by a final gasp from him. He momentarily rested on her, and then rolled over. She turned and softly kissed him, rose and, straightening her nightshirt, made for her marriage bed where her husband was snoring loudly. Under my breath I cursed my brother, although I surmised that it was not he that initiated the tryst. He should have denied that animal instinct, but who am I to judge when two people have the same instinct. I was really wondering why him and not me? After morning prayers we returned to the rabbi’s house for tea and cakes with a man named Nehman. There were sly looks between Ephraim and Miriam. They had satisfied their mutual urges and my only hope was that there would not be a product from the engagement. I hoped the rabbitzin would convince her husband to perform his husbandly duties in the near future so that any progeny that ensued would have a marital reason, not that the child was the product of an immaculate conception. I decided not to dwell on this possible outcome. We will be far from here or dead by the time any results are known. Ephraim’s sexual impulses became the least of my worries. Hnivan The sun was shining without any clouds. The breeze again brought the scent of spring and we had to contemplate getting to the next site. The back of Nehman’s wagon had items he had secured in town. We got in and he placed a cover over us. I cannot say that I loved surrendering the wonderful day with its fresh aroma for the stench of moldy wood, cabbage, onions, garlic and the body odor of my brother. But riding was better than walking, and if the rabbi was correct, it is better than being detained so that the Jewish community had two souls that they did not care about, that they could give to the Czar instead of two of their own. Once out of town, the road deteriorated. We bounced, momentarily weightless then crashing hard against the wood. Relief came when the wagon stopped and the voice told us it was safe to get out. “You shouldn’t meet anyone on this road. Eventually it leads to Hnivan.” As predicted, the journey on the way to Hnivan was hassle free. We met no one on the well-worn trail that was obviously used by various animals. It was Friday and we had to find the Jewish community and the rabbi we were told to contact before sunset. We located Rabbi Solomon after finding the schul and asking directions from an older man who was tending a garden. The rabbitzin answered the door and then went to get her husband who was in his study. I heard her say in a rather irritated loud voice, “Two young shnorers are at the door asking for you. They look like shagitz.” Moments later a rather young man with a black beard, long coat, and a scull cap with paises hanging from the side and wearing fringes met us at the door. This was the dress of a Hassid. People in our village did not subscribe to differentiating ourselves from the goyim in this manner; we were maskilim, followers of the haskalah, or enlightenment. My grandfather and his parents came from the west for economic reasons and brought with them the German language and reforms to those Jewish physical practices that had set us apart from Christians. My grandparents insisted that their children and grandchildren study secular teachings. The Jews in Turbiv leaned toward this liberalism and combined to provide our education. We had not been isolated from the Hassidic movement whose rabbis used the ignorance of their flock to gain a powerful following. Followers of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hassidim, survived and flourished in many communities. Rabbi Solomon looked surprised. Here were two blue-eyed-blond obviously strong young men who looked nothing like Jews. “Are you Jewish?” were the first words out of his mouth. 8

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When we answered in the positive, he went with an affirming question, “What is the Akadah?” I responded, “It is the passage in the Torah describing Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac. It is read during the Rosh Hashanah service.” The rabbi embraced me and welcomed Ephraim and me into his home. His wife looked annoyed, saying rather disgustedly, “I guess we have two more for dinner.” Rabbi Solomon was irritated by his wife’s reaction. He said, “Strangers must be fed. This is providence. Are you irritated with the Almighty?” These words seemed to put the woman, who probably was thinking that she should have married a rich merchant, on the defensive. The hostility in her eyes was in stark contrast to the warmth of the prior rabbitzin who gave too much of herself. I wondered if Ephraim would seek to tame this klipe. We went with the rabbi to evening prayers. Many men were attending as the cantor had died that week and the community was paying its respect to a man that had no family. Before services, the Rabbi went to several of the men. I could not hear the conversation, but the Rabbi returned to us and said, “I have obtained promises for bread and meat for you after Shabbas. Please join our service tomorrow. Can you read Torah?” Unlike his congregation who memorized the Torah from oral training, I could read Hebrew. I thanked him for offering the honor, but said that I’d rather stay in the background. Contrary to her attitude at first, the meal at the rabbi’s house was excellent. I suspect that the woman is put upon for just too many incidents and dislikes her role. Hopefully, this will change over time, or the marriage will not last. There were three young children. The oldest was a girl of about ten who had acquired her mother’s attitude and refused to help with anything. The boy of eight was rather good-natured and a helper. His future was probably to follow in his father’s footsteps. The youngest, a boy about four, was bright and rather extroverted. He wanted to play with us. His idea of play was hide and seek. Ephraim, who from my perspective was not far removed from that age, played with him and had a grand time. We were fully nourished and tired. Taking turns, each of us used the outhouse. Then again by a fireplace, we laid out our blankets and climbed in. The next thing I knew the rabbi awakened us for the Sabbath Service. It was twilight and rather cold as we walked to the schul. At the schul we found two small piles of supplies along with rucksacks. After services, the rabbi took us back to his house for tea and cakes. Our conversation centered on what lay ahead. “Where are you headed?” “To Zhmerynka then to Sharhorod.” “Sharhorod. Why are you going there? It’s a hotbed of radicalism and atheists.” “Oh, it is only a stop. Ultimately we want to get to Soroca. We have a cousin who will employ us on his riverboats that carry grain to the Black Sea.” “If that is where you are headed, why not follow the road to Vapniyarka. To get to Sharhorod you will need to go through many fields. There is no good path, and you might get lost.” While our main reason to get to Sharhorod was to get help from the Bolshevik, Spector, I made up a story, “We were told that the main road south of Zhmerynka is dangerous. Those guiding us felt it would be best to stay off the main roads and follow the path that has proved safe.” “Whichever way you go, you will have to cross the Dniester River. This is a rough area and the river is probably fast because of the spring rain. You will need to find a boatman who, for a few kopeks, will ferry you across, after dark. No matter where you are going south of here, you must cross that river.”

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Zhmerynka We left the rabbi and his wife near midday. Our route took us west. Zhmerynka was not far and we reached it as total darkness enveloped us. We decided to splurge and stay at an inn. Rabbi Solomon had told us that the innkeeper, Zimmerman, was a Jew whose forebears came from Bukovinia. Zimmerman was a short stocky man with a beard. I told him we were Jews. He looked at me suspiciously, and then he said that anyone willing to say that he was a Jew must be one. He let us have a room for ten kopeks. In the morning he said that we could have bread, homemade jam and tea for one kopek, each. Having spent nothing so far, we agreed. In the morning I asked him if he knew the best way to Sharhorod. “There really is not a good path and it is about 30 versts. Go south until you come to a small river. Follow it to the outskirts of Staraya. There you should find a road leading to Sharhorod. Good luck.”

Camping Thirty versts is a long distance to cover in a day, especially when there is not a well-marked trail. There was no stopping point that had been recommended to us, so our alternatives were to push hard for the thirteen hours of daylight we would have, or to stop along the way when fatigue overtook either one of us. We were on the outskirts of Staraya when I decided I could go no further. Hunger and muscle pain had overtaken me and I was exhausted. I told Ephraim that I had to rest. While I did not like the idea of setting up a camp, the alternative was no longer a possibility. Even if we got to Sharhorod, we would still have to find Spector. The moon would be rising after the middle of the night. As we sat in the open eating the rations provided by fellow Jews, the splendid universe began to unfold majestically across a gradually blackening sky lighted only by the stars. The utter silence produced a feeling of awe that eliminated the increasing cold and darkness. For the first time in my life I felt at peace with the Almighty. All else dissolved into the heavens, I was not an individual. No longer did I feel the disdain for my brother that I had held for his entire life. There was no cloud in my vision. I must have fallen asleep when my dreaming was abruptly terminated by Ephraim’s loud voice. “I’m cold. Can’t we fix a fire?” “Quiet! No fire! Look about you. Do you see any light but that of the stars? Let this glorious moment warm you. We cannot light a fire. It will provide a target for our enemies.” “Meyer, are you insane? Has the cold frozen your brain? We will die in this iciness. And if the cold doesn’t kill us, the wolves that I hear certainly will. We need a fire to keep that enemy away, or do you want to sleep in a tree?” Point well taken. Wolves roaming in packs could be on top of us before we had a chance to defend ourselves. “All right, we’ll light a fire. Without moonlight, it will be difficult to find firewood, and we’ll also have to take turns on guard.” “Meyer, I spotted a tree that will serve our purpose before we lost light. I believe that there is enough wood near it to start a fire, and with that light and the moon that will soon rise, we will find more. I’ll see if I can find the tree, and when I do, I’ll guide you to me.” Perhaps God in His infinite wisdom had chosen this rascal to look after me. I do not know the reason, as I also do not comprehend my desire to end my resentment towards him. Moments later, “Meyer, I found it. Follow my voice. I am about thirty steps from you. As I hear your footsteps I will tell you if you are coming closer. Remember, bring everything. “Now start walking… Make more noise… You are off to my left. Walk to your left. Now 10

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walk straight. Can you see me yet?” “No it’s too dark, keep talking.” “I think you’ve gone too far left, come back to your right two or three steps, and talk.” “What do you want me to say?” “Hum, just make some noise. We are two blind men and we must use our other senses.” “Well, do you smell me? I do smell something rotten. Is that you?” “Ha! I did pass some gas.” “ It really stinks.” “Yes, sorry for both of us. You are very close. Keep talking.” Just then I stumbled over a rock and fell face first dropping all of our things. I let out one of my curses as Ephraim whispered, “What happened?” “I fell. Where in hell are you?” I forgot my admonition about loud talk. “Just a few more steps towards my voice and I should see your ugly white face.” “Strike a match!” “I would have done that when you started, but I don’t have any. They are with you. Why don’t you follow your own order?” I set things down and went into my right trouser pocket, no matches. Nor were there any in the left. “I can’t find any. Where do you think they are?” “I put them in my pack, but don’t mess. If you don’t have any right now, we’ll just have to keep to our game of the blind leading the blind. You’re very close… Oh, I can see you. You’re ten steps in front of me. Just walk straight.” We sat under the tree Ephraim had found. The chilling breeze I had felt earlier was not present. “Do you think we should build a fire, here?” I said in a questioning manner. I was turning over some of the decision making to Ephraim who seemed to be more adept at handling the unknown than I was. “Here is good. There is no breeze, so the fire should be easy to light. I do not have many matches, so we need to make it go on the first or second strike.” The howl of a wolf had a chilling effect on me as my brother built the fire. First small sticks then larger ones were arranged so that air could get to the twigs as they caught fire. He blew on the embers so that enough air was available to start the larger pieces. It took two strikes, but the fire, even one so little, provided a warmth that allowed my fingers to thaw from what was the bitter cold of the plains. After we ate one of the two loaves I had, I told Ephraim to sleep while I watched for about three hours, then it would be his turn. The wolf’s call was getting closer.

Under Attack I was sitting by the fire feeling rather comfortable and drowsy. I just had time to come to my senses when there was a flash of gray white jumping through the air directly at me. I instinctively dodged. The first animal missed, but not the second. Fortunately I was wrapped in my blanket and the teeth did not sink in, but I felt them, and the jaw would not let go. Suddenly there was a whack and a yelp. Ephraim had awakened and, taking large piece of wood, smacked the creature that was trying to tear me apart. The animal, knowing he was in for a battle for food, came back at Ephraim who now hit him a decisive blow, knocking him into the fire. His leg probably broken and his fur smoldering, the attacker limped away. Two others then took his place. They ran in circles, so rapidly that I could not watch for fear of getting dizzy. “Put your back against mine and grab what weapon you can,” Ephraim commanded. “Don’t move, just 11

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stand there and wait. The two of us can watch all of them and whatever trickery they are up to, we will have the upper hand. Just don’t let one of them get close. If one of them sees an opening, it will charge. If it is at you, swing with everything you have, just make sure you hit it.” They kept running in circles and making noise. Now there were five or six of them. The new leader, sensing my fear, snarled and came at me. I hit it, probably too gently because it came at me more ferociously. Another, sensing an imminent feast, started at my arm that held the stick. I went down. I was bleeding, and the blood was emboldening the others. “Crack!” The skull of one was opened and its brains were on me. “Smack!” A second was knocked a good five paces. The pack had had enough and took off. The gash in my arm was bleeding profusely. Ephraim tore one of his shirts and wrapped it tightly about my upper arm. “The bleeding’s stopped, but it’s only temporary. I have got to put a hot coal on it or you’ll bleed to death.” The pain of the bite and the fear of death both gripped me. My heart was beating rapidly, so hard I thought it would come out of my chest. Ephraim heated a stick, blew out the fire, and put the burning embers on my arm. The pain was unbearable. I bit down hard on the stick he had me put between my teeth so that I could not scream. I fell into delicious unconsciousness.

Sharhorod Dawn was breaking as Ephraim shook me simultaneously asking, “Are you all right?” I had slept through the rest of the night. Groggily, I answered, “Yes.” Considering what I had been through, I felt fortunate. Ephraim then added, “We need to get to Sharhorod quickly. I want someone to look at that wound.” The large ugly black spot on my forearm was crusty. The wolf’s teeth had made a large gash that my brother had seared closed. It throbbed. I understood the need to have it treated. The half moon was now just passed the middle of the sky. It had risen just before the attack. The dead wolf, its head cracked open, tongue hanging out and eyes open in a daze, lay just feet from where I was sleeping. Sensing death, vultures were gently soaring overhead in the air currents, gathering nerve to swoop down to devour the carcass. The cold of the night was still with us as we ate the other loaf of bread and drank half of the remaining water. Today’s walk would be short, and the possibility of sleeping in a warm protected place provided an additional incentive to push forward. We waited until after sunrise anticipating reaching sanctuary in a few hours. I had no idea how to find Spector. As an atheist and follower of Trotsky, I knew that he would hide himself fairly well. Asking for or about him would probably cause problems both from the authorities and from his friends. We had one thing going for us, our appearance. Since leaving our village, we both had had exposure to the sun. We were dirty and unshaven and had rucksacks with blankets, all indicating our vagabond life. Reaching the town center we were greeted by a woman dressed in men’s working clothes. She wore a cap and greeted us as “Tovarich.” Up to this time I had not been involved in nor understood politics, nor the significance of the term for comrade. I understood that I did not like the czar, the army or most things Russian. Natie, as I later learned her name, was about twenty. Aside from her manly dress, she was an attractive woman. Her greeting indicated that she had been celebrating and, while I was somewhat stunned at the greeting, “What brings you to this hell hole?” she asked in a rather rambling way. At this point Ephraim said, “A wolf bit my brother. The wound needs attention.” 12

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Natie was startled. “You survived a wolf attack?” She thought for a moment, “I know of an old woman, a witch. Maybe she’s got a cure besides her curses!” We walked for several blocks. There we came upon a bleak looking house. Upon knocking, we were greeted by an old woman dressed in black. She was somewhat hunched over, and her long nose was crooked as were her rather large teeth. I could see why Natie called her a witch. We entered her darkened house that had a rather nasty, indescribable odor. Natie told her that a wolf had bitten her friend. The woman disappeared, reappearing almost in an instant with a basket on her arm that contained various ointments. She said that they were cures derived from herbs. Placing a wet poultice that had a sweet scent on my wound, she said it would draw out any sickness. Whether for real or in my mind, I could feel it drawing. In a few minutes she removed the poultice and placed something that smelled like tea on the area. “This is a green tea, it will promote healing. I will give you several of both. You must put them on for the next two nights.” I asked, “What can I do to repay you?” “Two kopeks.” My brother reached into his pocket and put the coins on a table. The wound now dressed, we returned to our primary mission, to find Spector. We left the dingy house. Natie was still with us. She was obviously interested in Ephraim. “What really brings you here? Sharhorod is well off the main road. Where are you going?” Not wanting to tell her our true purpose, Ephraim responded, “To meet lovely women like you.” “Quit your flattery child, these pants don’t drop for babies.” “Oh but mother, I only wanted to suckle.” Ephraim was quick. “You’re quick. What’s your name?” He responded truthfully, “Ephraim.” “Oh, you’re a yid. I like having sex with yids, what do you say? Do you drop your pants for your mother?” Looking sheepishly at me he said, “I’ve been known to do worse.” “How about here in the street?” she responded. Not to be out quipped, Ephraim responded, “Are you willing to take off those pants and wrap yourself around me?” “Maybe, but first show me what you have to offer.” “That’s no problem,” Ephraim began to unbutton his pants. “No, I mean everything. Let’s go behind the witch’s house.” Addressing me, she said, “You Mr. Wolf Bite can come, too.” My shameless brother, seeing another conquest, was only too happy to comply. The three of us went behind the house. I kept watch. Ephraim dropped his pants revealing his bottom half. Circling the now half naked Ephraim, Natie made a study of my brother’s privates. She said, “I only know one other yid as big as you. Pull up your pants. I want you two to meet my lover.” Walking the length of several dark, narrow, winding streets, I constantly stepped in manure that was almost impossible to avoid. We arrived at a dilapidated building surrounded by weeds and old trees. Blankets let in no daylight. Three men sat on crates around a makeshift table with a candle in the center. They abruptly stopped talking. “Natie, I’ve told you not to bring strangers, here. If you want to fuck someone, do it somewhere else. We’re making plans.” “Oh, but Alex, I wanted you to meet two other yids. I know the younger one is real, I saw his proof. As for the other, I think they are brothers. I think that the younger one has a bigger one than you, but I want to compare. Are you up to the challenge?” “Stop playing your silly games, Natie. We’re serious. What do these derevenschinas want?” 13

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This was obviously a clandestine meeting, so I decided to trust them. “We’re looking for a man named Spector.” The other two looked at Alex who said, “What the fuck do you want with that pervert? He’ll only get you into deep shit.” Continuing, I said, “I was told by Rabbi Solomon in Hnivan to contact him. He said that Spector would help us get to the Dniester and beyond.” Whispering something to the other two, he said, “I need to talk to these boys in private. Natie, go find yourself a good fuck, one with a dick bigger than both of ours. Looking at the two men who had been at the table he said, “Get back here in fifteen minutes.” “You’re my fuck, Alex, don’t push me away like that. I could have had fun with this teenager. I’m sure that his is bigger than yours.” “Natie, come here.” The thin male impersonator sashayed across the floor. Alex reached for her butt with one hand and put his head on her chest, “I need to talk to these boys in private.” With a pout of rejection, Natie wiggled her way out of the room. With the others gone, Alex stated, “I am Spector. I was born Alexander Rabinowitz. My father gave me the czar’s name to honor the despot, Alexander III, who was assassinated. He was a progressive. He provided peasants and Jews with greater freedoms. “In the underground each of us takes on a nom de guerre to protect our families who have nothing to do with our mischief. Natie is a shikse, the daughter of a member of the Duma. She attended the University in Moscow. She’s brilliant, but she likes to party. “I surmise that you want to leave this wonderful country. If I thought I could, I would try to convince you to stay and commit to our cause. It’s fraught with danger, but it’s a glorious one- to bring Russia out of the Dark Ages.” “But enough of my seditious ramblings. A safe path to Soroca is your quest, and I am here to help. My only request is that you remember us when you are free. I have helped many of your compatriots escape to the west. The numbers are in the hundreds. “You need to go to Chernivtsi, about 20 versts from here. Crossing the Dniester at this time of year can be dangerous. Pay a boatman to transfer you to the Bessarabian side of the river. He will ask for twice as much as you need to pay, no more than one ruble for the two of you. Technically you will still be in Russia, but the army is not a big presence. The peasants in Soroca will be your concern. “I’ll have Misha, the short one you saw with me, take you to the start of the Chernivtsi trail in the morning. We have some potatoes and can get you some stale bread. If you want anything else, you will have to buy it. A Jew runs the Dov Inn in Chernivtsi. He is kind, but still a capitalist, sort of a conflict in terms. Watch out for his wife, she is a chaleria. She’ll seek to get you drunk and get every kopek you have. Don’t drink with them; the vodka they serve themselves is water. “You can sleep here tonight when we finish our meeting. No one will bother you.” “Put down your blankets in the next room and don’t listen to our conversation. Misha will wake you in the morning.” I do not know how long the conversation continued. I was asleep in an instant. When once again I was awakened by the sex antics of my brother, this time with Natie. She was riding him like a horse. As she became more excited, she bent over, grabbing his shoulders. He was pushing up as she pushed down. Her moaning became louder. He was gasping for breath. Ephraim sat up and let out one primeval grunt after another. She pressed hard thrusting him deep inside. Both let out final grunts and fell back into a relaxed position, she maintaining him inside her. She whispered, “You’re the best fuck I ever had.” With that, she rolled off to a place between us making certain to bump me. It had been five days since I had had a release, and my brother’s demonstrations made me 14

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ready for any proposition. I was erect and when Natie reached for my shaft, I was helpless. Turning over quickly I was inside in an instant. I did not take long. Satisfied, I returned to blissful sleep.

More water than we need The sun rising in the northeastern sky pointed our shadow somewhat southwest. We needed to stay due south. Misha led us to a rutted donkey cart road. Ephraim insisted on carrying most of the load as I was struggling to keep pace. Rest was not in his vocabulary as we trudged through fields and forests. The cold of the morning turned to wet heat by midday. In the distance I heard a cascade that grew louder as we tramped on. Suddenly I had a glimpse of a waterfall. A mirage, I thought, but no, it was real. Ephraim ran. I lumbered. Wading knee deep into the creek below it, Ephraim plunged his head under the falls letting water flow in and out of his wide-open mouth. I stepped gingerly onto the rocky bottom and felt the cold first healing my aching feet, and then numbing them. My brother is crazy I thought. He’s in freezing water, totally drenched and apparently not feeling the cold. I got out quickly. He remained for a few minutes first directly filling his needs, and then refilling our water containers. He brought one to me telling me, “Drink all you can. I’ll refill it.” After taking all we needed, Ephraim took off three shirts revealing his muscular upper body. Like me, he was developed from carrying large beef carcasses. Wringing out each shirt, he put one on while tying the other two to his pack. It was hot, so I could understand why he put the wet shirt next to his skin. Finally he said, “Let me look at the wound. Oh, it’s oozing. Perhaps I’d better use the other one of the witch’s cures.” Wetting the tea poultice, he placed it on the gash and took an unused part of the cloth he had used to stop my bleeding to hold the medicine in place. He then took one of the flasks and, as I held out my arm, he poured. The coolness felt good as it reduced the pain I had felt, but had not expressed. Refilling the flask, he said, “Let’s go!” and we left this little island of paradise. As we continued our journey, clouds gathered making it difficult for the sun to warm us. In the distance I could hear that often desired, now threatening, sound of a storm. I felt a gentle breeze and the scent of fresh air that I so often looked forward to in spring. We were both wet and I could see that Ephraim was shivering, his first sign of weakness. We each wrapped ourselves in one of our blankets and continued on. By moving quickly, our bodies found some warmth, but the pace was too much, and I asked to slow down. At first the rain was in large cold wet drops. Then came a torrent, a driving rain that completely soaked us. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go except towards Chernivtsi. Living in the Ukraine, one gets use to the cold. That’s the way it is for at least half the year, temperatures so cold that the lakes freeze before winter and thaw after the start of spring. But this cold is different. It went to my core. There was no chance for relief. My body was shaking. Generally a downpour such as this one ends quickly. If it did not, we would be in for a terrible time walking in footpaths ankle deep in mud. As was the case, the trails were wet even before this rainfall and our feet dug into the ground as we moved. A rainbow low in the western sky indicated that the rain’s end was near and the warmth of the sun would once again be upon us. Part of this prediction was correct. The rain did end and the sun did come forth, but the cold stayed. I wondered if we would do better taking off our shirts so that their wetness would not add to the cold. I took mine off exposing my bare skin to the renewed warmth of the sun. It felt good. Momentarily I shivered as blood began to flow into parts of my body shut down by the cold. This time Ephraim imitated me. 15

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Twisting the individual pieces of clothing and blankets, the water streamed down. For an hour we walked, half naked, but feeling like we had fought the elements and won. I had no idea where we were. All fields and valleys looked the same. We had been walking in the direction provided by Misha, but there was no telling if we were on target or were somehow going to miss it. The path led beside a field in which an old man was working. He probably did not see us until we were about ten feet from him, still on the path. Since both of us were blond and blue eyed, we looked like two peasant brothers. In Ukrainian I asked the farmer how best to get to Chernivtsi. “Oh the market is not far, perhaps three hour’s walk on the road. Just follow the way you are on to a small river, then follow it to the market.” I thanked the farmer, and, looking at my brother, smiled. We had survived.

Chernivtsi The farmer’s path led quickly to a fast running small river, the Ceyn. We followed it excited that we had survived to this point. We passed two peasants wheeling their carts from market. The town loomed ahead. Daylight was still with us. Walking along the main street of the town I saw children playing. I had not seen bicycles before and was so absorbed watching this mode of transportation that for an instant I forgot that we had embarked on a journey in which we would see many things that we could not have imagined barely a week before. There were no trees on this street, but just one street away, large ones provided shade from the sun that was just beginning to recede. Tired, we sat under one of them. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was being rousted by a woman complaining about us vagrants. While a babushka covered most of her head, she did not look old. From what I could see I could tell her hair was turning gray. Even though it was quite hot, leather gloves covered her hands, indicating a person of means. A large dog on a leash mirrored the nasty look on her face. It actually looked like her. Startled, I told her that we had no intention of being there and would leave. Ephraim, in his best German told her that she really needed a good fuck and maybe her dog could do her. Puzzled and not understanding a word that he had said, she looked at me for a translation. She then muttered something about lousy German Jews taking over the town. In German I told Ephraim to be careful what he said, that we did not need trouble from the locals. “Don’t talk behind my back in that awful language. What did you two say?” I told her that my brother does not speak Ukrainian, that he asked me what was wrong, and I told him that we shouldn’t be sleeping in a public place. Apologizing for intruding on her space, I looked at the dog whose teeth were showing in a snarl, and told Ephraim to move it. As instructed by Spector, we sought the Dov Inn. Because it is a place for travelers, it was not hard to find. On the main street, we saw a sign of a bear with Cyrillic characters in bold indicating it was the place we were seeking. Entering, we found the wife of the proprietor. Spector had told us that the owner came from Bukovinia. I asked in German if a room were available for the night. The woman responded, “Ja, das zimmer kommt mit fruhstuck. Möchten Sie Abendessen? Wir kuchen Kartoffeln mit ein bischen Fleisch zum acht uhr. Sie wunschen es?” I asked the price of the room with breakfast, and how much dinner would be for the two of us. She told me, “Ein ruble.” I only thought for a second before agreeing to the terms. She then asked for our papers. I told her that we did not have papers. “Dieses kann ein Problem sein. Entschuldigen, bitte.” 16

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A moment later a burly man about fifty came to greet us. “You are not German, are you? You could not be here if you did not have papers.” He told me that a traveler without papers could be a problem for him if the authorities investigated his clientele. He said that inspections were common and that he could not let us stay in a room. He then asked whether anyone had recommended his place. “Yes,” I responded, “Alexander Rabinowitz in Sharhorod suggested that we stay here.” “Oh” there was a long pause. “My nephew sent you.” There was another pause, “You know he is nothing but trouble, but he is my sister’s only son. This is what I can do for you. You will have to stay in the stable behind the Inn. I cannot let you have a room. Right now we do not have many guests, so there are only two of my horses and three others in the stable. If you are eating with us, you will have to eat in the kitchen. In order to avoid suspicion from the other guests, you will serve the dinner and breakfast. Is that acceptable?” What else was I going to do but accept? Besides being his nephew, Alex probably knew that we did not have papers and that his uncle would take care of us. The Inn owner continued, “You will need papers if you are going to cross the border. I can get them for you, but it will cost at least two rubles, each.” I responded, “We cannot spare that amount. We plan to sneak across borders.” “You are gambling with your life. If caught, the authorities will put you in jail and you will not get out. If you have the four rubles, buy the papers. I can have them in two days. You can stay here and work for room and board. I have some chores that need to be done by younger men. If you are going to Bessarabia, you will be able to work there, but only with papers. Without papers, you will be constantly hiding and not able to get the funds you’ll need to continue. “Please, I make nothing from this advice. I just want to help. If I could, I would give you the rubles, but there are too many of you who Alex sends me. I have been fortunate to have the Inn. The Church does not like me; they know that I serve vodka. But I’m a necessary evil because there are so many tradesmen and businessmen that venture into Chernivtsi. The other innkeepers are Ukrainian. If they sold vodka, the Church would have them closed and the owners, excommunicated. “Come. I will show you to your quarters. You can begin by cleaning them for yourselves. Then you can clean up and come into the kitchen. Mama will tell you what to do.” The stable was filthy. Manure littered the floor that was also swarming with flies. The innkeeper, Emanuel Schwartz, gave each of us a broom, showed us where there was lime to put on the stable floor to disinfect. Stacked on the wall was straw. Manny, as he wanted to be called, told me to put down as much straw as I needed. He pointed to the outhouse and a pump. “There is soap at the pump, along with a scrub brush. Make sure your hands and fingernails have no dirt.” With that we were left with the smell of manure and the flies that preferred fresh meat. Having cleaned the stable to make our beds, we followed Manny’s advice and thoroughly cleaned our hands and fingernails. Mama Schwartz was waiting for us in the kitchen. Inspecting our hands and fingernails, she grunted approval, then pointing to a mop she ordered Ephraim to get busy. For me, peeling potatoes was the order of the evening. Supervising from a rocker doing some sewing, she had Ephraim go to the pump with a large cauldron for water. Returning, he placed the cauldron on a hook over the open fire. After inspecting each unwrapped potato, she plopped it into the water. One wasn’t quite skinned enough. She tossed it to me with the order, “Nicht genug!” I was not used to taking orders from a woman. Before marrying Rachel, my aunts cooked dinner and men were not permitted near the food until it was ready. Rachel continued this way of life for the three years since we were married. Peeling potatoes was not one of my skills. Ephraim, 17

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my aunts’ favorite, was allowed near the food and did minor chores as a child, then more major ones as he grew older. He was used to taking orders, although probably not ones as stern as Mrs. Schwartz. Not to let us sit and rest, the warden took two spades from a closet and told us to turn over the soil in the rear of the building. Giving me a bag full of “Karrotte” seeds, “Wann Sie sind fertig, bitte bepflanzen.” I had not grown carrots, and I wasn’t sure how they should be sown. After we turned the soil, I put one seed about a thumb’s distance apart. Returning to the kitchen, there was another order, “Wasch seinen Handen!” Darkness does not settle in until ten in mid May. Frau Schwartz told us how to serve the meal. There would be three men in addition to Manny at one of two tables. The guests were talking in German about traveling in Russia. They were seeking to bind contracts for the wheat harvest that would start to be available in June. They were also looking to buy cattle. They felt that prices would be low. A bumper wheat crop was expected and there had been a high fertility rate among the cattle the past two years. We retreated to the kitchen where we could have a meal. Frau Schwartz did not permit us to have anything until she was certain that the paying guests had their fill. I could understand her reserve, but Ephraim, impatient, as ever, and feeling very hungry, said something very vulgar in Russian. Whirling around with knife in hand, the woman did not need a translation. Ephraim fled the kitchen, and I was left, mouth open, awaiting my execution. We cleared the dining room table of dishes and washed them in a tub of water that I had to bring in. Ephraim feared that Frau Schwartz was still angered by his comment, or his attitude. I told him to apologize and get busy. He followed my suggestion. Finally, when we could eat, our meal was excellent. In addition to the potatoes and some meat, the cook had put in onion that gave flavor. Tired from walking and working in the kitchen, I fell into a deep sleep. The next thing I knew it was dark and there was a commotion in the house. As near as I could make out, local authorities had been told by a woman that there were two illegals staying at the Inn. They were going to check. Mr. Schwartz protested, but it was of no use. Quickly I got up and pulled down as much straw as was in the stable. I woke Ephraim and gave him the sign to be quiet. Then I covered him with straw and covered myself with the rest. I felt comfortably covered and felt that the straw was so evenly distributed that other than kicking us, the inspectors would see a vacant stall. I could hear the footsteps and see a growing lantern light advancing towards our hiding place. A horse snorted as they looked into her stall, then one of them swung the light into our pen. I heard one of them say, “Nothing in there.” The other said, “Should we go in?” “Naw, it’s late and we’ve disturbed the Schwartz’s. That woman is waiting outside with that dog of hers, maybe he’ll satisfy that bitch. We’ll tell her that we searched and found nothing and go back to the station and have some tea. Sorry to have disturbed you and your guests.” “Thank you inspector, spo'koinoi 'nochi.” Dawn, or rather that moment right before night rolls into day, was not yet upon us when we were roused by the intimidating voice of Frau Schmidt. I had been in the midst of a dream only to find myself in straw with the scent of horse manure replacing my fantasy. I shook my brother, first by the shoulder, and then by pulling him up. One eye opened, then shut. I let go and he fell, limp 18

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against the straw he had piled for a pillow. He did not stir. Needing to relieve myself, I went to a convenient spot also used by horses. Returning to the stall, my brother had turned on his side, his mouth open, in deep slumber. A pitcher full of water, chilled by the night air, was at one corner. Seeing no other choice, I began dumping its contents on his face. The water entered his mouth. Gagging him to consciousness, Ephraim sat up, wiped his face with his hand and started to lie back down. All that I could take, I poured the remainder of the pitcher on his head. His response was immediate. He jumped at me and wrestled me to the floor. I couldn’t stop laughing as he pummeled me, the water dripping from his hair and face. I thought, my next step was to smear dung under his nose. “Get washed, the warden called us five minutes ago.” He protested, “The day hasn’t even dawned and that wretch wants us to work?” “Look,” I said, “The Schwartz’s have been more than generous to us and have protected us from the authorities. Today, Herr Schwartz will get us papers so we will have the possibility of safely crossing into Bessarabia and working there.” “Is it generous to put us in a horse barn, make us slaves to that bitch and take a huge sum for papers that I don’t think we’ll need?” “Let’s not argue. We agreed to what is now our lot. We have to help in the kitchen. Let’s clean up and do what is asked of us.” “Slaves. We’re just her slaves…” At that moment the booming voice of our taskmaster gave out with her first command, “ Jetzt hergekommen! Stellen Sie sicher, daß Sie Ihren Händen waschen.” Fear of God seemed to replace my brother’s antipathy. Within two minutes we had both washed hands and face and were in the kitchen awaiting orders. She told us that the guests needed to have breakfast as early as possible so that they could move on to conduct their business. We were told first to get water on the fire, then set the table with sliced bread, butter and preserves. When the water boiled, Frau Schmidt placed a holder filled with tea in the pot. She then instructed us to wait for five minutes before serving the tea, but to remove the holder so that the tea did not become too strong and bitter. The guests arrived at the table about ten minutes later. Both men were dressed in suits, and they were going to visit farmers. It was the first time I had witnessed the culture of business, and I found it rather strange. When they departed, we had our own bread, preserves and tea. Herr Schwartz told us that he was going to see a contact about getting us papers. Our chores started with booming orders. Clear the table! Get water! Wash the dishes! Neither Ephraim nor I had ever been involved with kitchen tasks. Further humiliation of our manhood was to follow. Frau Schwartz ordered us to clean the floors and remake the beds of the guests as they would be returning once they had completed their negotiations. When he returned, Herr Schwartz saw what was happening and was upset. Directing his wrath at his wife he shouted, “I told you that I had man’s work to have them do and you have made them your slaves. You know that I cannot lift those carcasses in the smoke house, and they need to be butchered.” He then turned to us and said in a subdued voice, “I have a contact for your papers. You need to see him at once.” I responded, “If you need us to do some butchering, that is our specialty. What do we need to do with this man you are sending us to?” “I have no idea what you will need to do. I do not even know him. A friend of mine gave me his name. When you return, I’d like you to go into the smoke house and butcher a side of beef that I have stored there. I promised our guests a meat dinner tonight.” The directions we had were not very good and we wandered seeking a house in a very 19

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shabby area of the city. Almost by accident we came upon it, a shack built with boards from countless torn down buildings and a roof of metal that looked like it was barely attached. I knocked on what looked like a door and was greeted by a rather gruff response, basically, “What do you want?” Not knowing anything else to say, I said, “Papers.” “I’m an old man,” came the response, “I don’t have papers. You guys know me. I was born before paper was invented. Go away!” I then responded in German that the owner of the Dov Inn had told us to see him. There was no response, but in a minute, a very old man appeared at the opening. “Your German is very good. How did you learn it?” “Our father taught German. His father was from Galicia.” “Oh. That’s good because I have some Austrian papers that we might be able to use. The Russians cannot detect a forgery. But you will need a photo.” I was not familiar with photographs. I had heard that such pictures could be made, but I never saw any. The old man told me that the authorities looked more at the picture and the seal than at the papers, themselves. He said that he had a camera and could make the photos, but it would take three hours to complete the process. I told him we had nothing else to do and that we would wait. He then said that the cost for the photos and the papers would be four rubles, each. I told him that we were told it should not cost more than two rubles, each, and that we could not pay eight rubles. At this point I said to Ephraim, who had been silent, that we should leave and take our chances. “Can you pay six rubles?” “Old man, I don’t have six rubles.” This statement was not true as I still had over twenty rubles from the sale of the cows and Ephraim had three rubles from his market day sale. At this point I opened the door and was about to leave. “All right, four rubles. I can see that you’re not yids, but somewhere in your ancestor’s past a yid snuck in his thing. What is your name?” I lied. “Johann Schwartz.” “And yours?” pointing to Ephraim. “Frederick Schwartz, I was named for the Great King.” I went first, sitting on a wooden chair and looking at a big box with a glass eye and a hood. The old man got a holder on which he placed some powder. He told me to look at the eye. He slipped something into the box, held the holder. The explosion and light was blinding. He said, “That’s it. Frederick, your next.” He repeated the scene. Ephraim was prepared for the flash and held still. These were the first photos we had, and I have kept mine to this day. I wonder if Ephraim still has his? We wandered about Chernivtsi. The market had started. As it was early spring, the main vegetables were potatoes and beets from the fall harvest. Flour, fresh bread and bakery items were in abundance. We stopped at one stall where the aroma of fresh baked honey rolls was overwhelming. For a kopek, we each were able to indulge ourselves in what was our first luxury of the trip. Loud shouting and the sound of gunfire interrupted our pleasure as into the market rode two terrifying figures on horseback. The board supporting one of the stalls was knocked loose and the covering came crashing down on the proprietor, an elderly woman who was sitting and looking horrified; then another booth collapsed, then another. These were reckless scoundrels carrying rifles and totally intimidating the peaceful villagers. A small child, not knowing what to do or where to go, was struck by one of the horsemen, 20

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falling onto the earth. An elderly man rushed out to the child, and he, too, was knocked down. I could see Ephraim’s anger welling. I tried to hold him back, but it was no use. He saw his opportunity and, as the second horseman rode by, he kicked the hind leg of the horse. Off balance, the horse threw the rider to the ground. That was all that the men in the area needed. They swarmed on the rider like locust. One grabbed the rifle and began beating the head and chest of the rider, mercilessly. Others kicked in any place they could. If not dead, he soon would be. Seeing his comrade in grave danger, the first rider lowered his rifle and shot into the crowd. A man fell. There was panic in the crowd. Another shot rang out, and the second rider slumped on his horse, blood streaming from his head, his rifle lodged between his arm and his leg. I whispered to my brother, “Let’s get out of here!” He agreed, but it was too late. A woman had seen what Ephraim had done and started shouting, ‘hero.’ Several villagers gathered around us. We could not get out. They wanted to know who we were and where we came from. I did not want them to hear how I pronounced Ukrainian words or any name that could be traced to us, so I responded in German, “Ich bin Gustav, und dies ist mein Bruder, Adolf. Wir sind aus Bessarabischen.” One of the men translated. “These two brothers are from across the River in Bessarabia.” Holding me by my shoulders in an embrace he said, “This is Gustav,” and grabbing Ephraim in a similar hug, “Our hero is Adolf.” A cheer came from the crowd. The thug who was shot was bent over, but still on his horse. He was pulled unceremoniously to the ground, dead. The brains of the other who had struck fear into the villagers was mixed with his blood. He, too, was either dead or near death, and would soon meet his partner wherever these souls go. The crowd wanted us to take the horses, but we politely refused. I knew that friends or family of the dead men would consider as killers anyone who had these animals. One of the villagers, perhaps coming to the same conclusion, asked others to help him load the corpses on the horses and tie them down. With a slap on the rump of each, the horses sped away to their homes. Enough thrills for the day, we journeyed back to the house of our forger. Our photos were ready and I marveled at this new technology. Ephraim did not like his likeness. He said that it looked too much like me. The man took out some green paper that he said was official for passports. He then wrote the false identities together with what we told him were our real birth dates as best we knew them. The documents described us as residents of Galicia and as “Hebrews.” I asked him “Why did you identify us as Jews?” “The border crossing guards are of differing Christian faiths. Often, they will cause a problem if you are identified as someone of a different Christian faith. Jews cross continually. They are the tradesmen and the source of economic well being for all communities. You may have to bribe the guards with a few kopek. They expect it, but they will not stop you. I am placing a copy of the official seal from Austria on your photo. A close inspection by someone in the know will disclose that it is a forgery. You do not want to get into any trouble that will bring you to the attention, especially of an Austrian official! Now pay me and get on your way.” It was midday. We could have picked up our few things and been on our way to the river. But getting another night’s rest, a meat dinner at the Dov and doing the chores that we had promised Herr Schwartz we would do, swayed our decision to stay another night. The smokehouse was cold. There were large blocks of ice in the room, probably cut from a lake before the spring thaw. It was not yet hot, so the cool nights and mild days had not completely melted the slabs more than half their original size. Ephraim lifted the forequarter from a hook over the ice and carried it on his right shoulder to a butchering table. I took a sharp ax like tool from the 21

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wall and with a single blow chopped a nice sized portion. I repeated this five more times. I sought out Herr Schwartz. When he came into the smokehouse I asked him, “Was this amount what you wanted?” He said, “You’d better slice two more in case those men are hungry and want seconds.” Two more chops and the deed was done. Our chores were the same as the preceding evening as was our sleeping arrangement. Again Frau Schwartz summoned us at the break of dawn and we finished our performance as servants to this taskmaster. After cleaning, we told the Schwartz’s we were leaving and asked about the best way to get to the river. Mr. Schwartz told us to follow the river that flowed through the town. The market that we had visited was next to that river. Retracing our steps back to the market, we encountered an elderly man who had seen the chaos of the prior day. Upon seeing us, he said, “You need to be very careful. Friends of the two men who were killed yesterday came looking for vengeance. They raided the marketplace, brutally raped four women in front of their children and tortured three men to discover the identity of those who killed their friends. “Although it was not true, the men who were tortured finally told them that two foreigners, brothers, were responsible. The raiders were given your description. These men are recruiters taking our young men for the army. They took ten of our sons, tied together with ropes and marched them on the way to the train in Yampil. You must stay out of sight. They want nothing more than to capture whomever they find who fits the description they have: young, blond and male. Where are you going?” I must have shown my fright bordering on panic. I did not know whether to trust the old man, but he really did not need to know our true plans, I lied, “We are headed to a city called Vinnytsia. We were going to follow the road from here, but we probably would do best to stay in the woods.” “Yes, the woods, but be very careful.” With that last statement, the man, stooped over from age, moved away from us. We had to find the river path to Yampil. We moved east through town until we came to the water’s edge. We then followed the current downstream. The Ceyn, the small tributary that we were following, eventually led us into the center of Yampil, where it empties into the Dniester. It was late afternoon when we walked into a large market area. The vendors were just closing their stalls. I asked one of the women tending her stall where I might find a boatman who could take us to Soroca. “Oh, the boatmen are already out, and besides, they do not like to carry strangers. It is dangerous. You will need to find one who will take you at night when it is totally dark.” “Do you know where I can find such a boatman?” “You really need someone with a row boat. The riverboats are large and easily spotted by the authorities. One that is out there after dark will almost certainly arouse suspicion. In a row, the boatman will only take you to the other side of the river. Soroca is many miles downstream and rowing back here against the current is difficult even when the water is low. The water is high and swift right now. Many of us have family on the other side, but the authorities know who we are, so they don’t bother us when we cross in one of the big boats and land at the wharf. The boatman will be taking a risk and charge you plenty to cross. I suggest you walk down to the riverbank and look for a small boat, then ask who owns it. You may have to ask several men before you get one who will risk the crossing.” I thanked the woman and the two of us crossed the town to the banks of the largest river I had ever seen. Along the shoreline were several small boats. We went a different direction. I went 22

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north, Ephraim went south. We agreed to meet back at the wharf in an hour. I went to several men who looked like they worked on the river. None of them owned a small boat, or at least would admit to it once I told them what we wanted to do. After an hour and with no luck, I returned to the dock. I waited. It must have been a half hour after I arrived that I saw my brother running up the road leading to the dock. “What took you so long?” I asked, “We were supposed to meet some time ago.” “I met a woman.” My mind went into disbelief. “I talked to perhaps twenty men. They all said they would not think of taking the risk. She overheard me and told me that she needed money and would consider the crossing for a ruble. I told her that I needed to talk to you, but that I would get back to her, quickly. She’s waiting for my response. What should I tell her? She can’t cross tonight, but will tomorrow.” I grabbed my brother by his shoulders and moved him towards me. “I could kiss you. I had no luck on my side. For the first time, you have found a woman that is more than a repository. Let’s both go and tell her that we accept.” We walked about four streets until we came upon a woman wearing pants meant for a large man, perhaps her husband. She was large, had short blond hair and was probably attractive many years ago. Ephraim said, “My brother agrees. When and where should we meet you?” “I’ll be crossing with townspeople most of the day. I usually finish about dusk. In fact, I am late right now for my last crossing. If you were from here, we could leave right now. But you’re not. Come with me. On our way I’ll show you where I live. My two boys have to be fed and put to bed. My husband was dragged off last year by bounty hunters taking men for the army, so I have to do everything myself. “Complete darkness does not set in until about two hours after I put the boys to bed. Come by my place at twilight and have something to eat for a couple more kopeks. We will leave when it is pitch black.” Accompanying her, we walked about two hundred paces to a shanty built with wood taken from other buildings that no longer existed. “Come here tomorrow night, you’ll eat and then we’ll leave.” Twilight lasts a long time in mid spring. We had food, but I wanted something fresh. Retracing our steps along the Ceyn, I decided to try my luck fishing. I had been carrying a hook and some string. Fastening the hook to the string, I placed a small bit of bread that I made into a ball on the hook and I dropped the line into the water. I had fished before, but never caught much worth eating. The line stayed in the water, unmoving. After five or ten minutes there was a tug on the line. Something was trying to pull the string out of my hand. Instinctively pulling up on the line and I felt another force at the other end. Drawing the line in I saw a beautiful fish dangling at the end. I decided to try my luck once more, as one fish was not sufficient for the two of us. This time I was not as fortunate as the fish took the bread and got away. It was getting dark and we needed to find a site to camp outside the town. While a fire could bring unwanted guests, we did not want to eat raw fish. Lighting a pile of sticks, I skewered the fish on a small twig and roasted it. Sharing the catch, we supplemented it with other food from our packs. Dousing the fire, I decided we needed to take turns on watch. I took the first lookout waiting until the moon was well above the horizon before waking Ephraim. I had permitted him to sleep an extra hour, but even so he was not happy and he tussled with me, imploring me in his drowsy state to let him sleep. When he finally came around, he questioned, “Why do we need a 23

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guard? If you had come by yourself, there would have been no one to guard. Let me sleep!” With this attitude, I knew that he would be asleep as soon as I left him. There was nothing I could do except implore him to stay awake. I could hear his regular breathing of sleep before I drifted off. The sound of horse hoofs on the ground awakened me with a start. Ephraim was sound asleep. I whispered, “We’ve got company!” Escape from Company Fortunately we were not in an open field, but behind some bushes and near a tree. “Company” was composed of two sentries on horseback. Two other horsemen followed guarding about ten men who were linked together with a rope tied around each of their waists, their hands tied in front of them. The captives did not look like Jews, but, then, neither did we. The one thing of which I was certain was that I did not want to join them. Were these the men looking for us? Were they friends of the men killed in the market? I knew that if they were, they would want either to kill us, or worse, take us with them. I really did not care to find out. “Aachoo!” Ephraim let out an unguarded sneeze. “Ephraim, cover up. No sounds!” I whispered. My warning was too late. “Aachoo, Aachoo” Seems like sneezes always come in threes. The sentries had passed, but the guards took notice. One of them looked towards the area in which we were hiding. Raising his rifle, he fired. The entire train stopped. Distracted from his task of watching the prisoners, the other guard pulled up his rifle and fired in our direction. A bullet whistled by me, hitting the tree behind me. I decided to raise my hands and plea in my best Russian, “I mean no harm. I was sleeping and the horses startled me.” As the two guards descended on me, the tethered group saw their chance and, in unison, broke for freedom. As this unit was their livelihood, the guards turned their attention to the prisoners. Several of the detained had loosened the tether from around their waist, dropped the rope to the ground, and ran, even though their hands were still tied in front of them. One of the riders continued to guard me. While he was distracted, checking on his comrades, I saw my chance and with Ephraim in front, moved with haste to the thicket that bordered the River. There was no time, I pushed Ephraim into the water and jumped in. The river, running rapidly was extremely cold from the winter melt. The current moved us swiftly downstream, away from the guards, but to a possible destiny of drowning. I was thrashing in the water frantically trying to get air. I took in water with each breath, gagging. I could hear Ephraim coughing. The sole guard who had been watching us, fired. Ducking under the water, I held my breath. I think Ephraim did the same. With the cold, I began to feel numb. I knew that I could not stay in that water more than a few minutes. The next thing I knew we were well down stream near a bend with a bank close by. I swam for the bank yelling to Ephraim to follow my lead. Crawling onto the bank, I collapsed on my back, gasping for air. Perhaps fifty feet from me I heard Ephraim coughing. We were both wet and cold. A slight breeze made matters worse. We had to move to get blood circulating and find a way to get dry. While we were downstream, we had not gone far. Our pursuers were close. Our belongings were where we had camped. We had only the wet clothes that we were wearing. Both of us were cold and shivering in the cool morning breezes. Should we backtrack? What if the band of horsemen came across us? In the distance I could hear shouting. The group of conscripts was being pursued, and we 24

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were close enough to be in the area being hunted. While I did not want to go back into the water, I thought that we had no choice. Ephraim wanted to take our chances. As I looked into the swiftly moving current, a body, head down, hands tied together in front, floated by. It was unsettling and made my decision to stay on land. I had no choice but to follow Ephraim’s preference. Hoof beats were coming closer as was the now distinct voice of one of the hunters. Ephraim climbed a tree. Up about fifteen feet and on a branch he pointed to an oncoming horseman. There was no time to think. The horseman spotted me and was moving in my direction. He raised his gun and began yelling to his comrades. The branch, filled with spring leaves, rustled. The horseman looked up, too late. My brother had launched himself like a cat onto his prey. He hit him squarely in his midsection, dislodging him. Taking the rifle from the startled man, Ephraim held the barrel and swung the butt hard, cracking the man’s jaw, and rendering him unconscious. Having heard his comrade, another rider came on a gallop. Momentarily stunned by what he saw on the ground, Ephraim again swung the rifle, hitting the man in the back, but not knocking him off the horse. Surprised, the rider pulled back on the reins. The horse reared, throwing the villain to the ground. No time to lose, I sat on the stunned man while Ephraim performed his excellent swat, rendering the second man lifeless. We now had two rifles with two other horsemen to contend with. Remembering the advice in town that the horses would mark us as either thieves or murderers, we did not take the horses. The element of surprise was probably more in our favor if we were not riding. The odds were more than even since scattered in the woods were the conscripts. While their hands were still tied, they remained a distraction for the rogues who had no idea of what had happened to their comrades. Slowly we made our way through the woods. Neither of us had ever had, let alone fired, a rifle. If we could get close enough, our aim would not matter. Hit the man or the horse. Somehow disable them. It was a matter of our life or theirs. We separated and moved towards where we had camped. With no warning I found myself face to face with one of the guards, his rifle pointed at me, a smile of pleasure gleaming from beneath his large beard. “So you fuck, you thought you’d get away from us. Where is that other shit? You have cost us dearly, and I will make you pay. You will only wish for a quick death.” The word ‘death’ had barely left his lips when I heard a shot and then saw the smile on his face turn to surprise. His head snapped back, his eyes bulged and blood came from his mouth as he slumped onto his horse, the rifle still grasped in his hand. From behind a tree came my brother, holding the rifle with both hands. His smile said everything, only one more to go. A loud attack scream pierced the air. Another rifle shot rang out, then cheering. The conscripts had captured the fourth man. We ran to a clearing where we found six men kicking and otherwise pummeling the fourth rider on the ground. One of their group lay wounded on the ground. As we approached, the cheering intensified. It was for us. We were heroes. The horseman was lying face up on the ground, his eyes wide open but seeing nothing. Blood oozed from his mouth, nose and head, but it had ceased. He was dead. I took a knife from the dead man and one by one cut the ropes on the hands of the prisoners. Each patted me on the back and kissed my cheek, thanking me and telling me that their life was now mine. I acknowledged their gratitude, but said that I have a pressing task ahead. Asked what it was, I said, “We have to recover our things and cross the big river, tonight.” “Where are you going?” “Soroca.” “Let us help you gather your things. Misha can get a boat from a relative in Yampil. He will get you to Soroca, and it will cost you nothing.” 25

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Misha was a blond Slav of about twenty. He nodded his concurrence. We later learned that the boat was that of his uncle and that he would have to take us without his uncle’s knowledge. For the next hour the group sought our encampment. All that I could remember was that we had camped near the river by a tree. Backtracking along the banks of the river should have led us quickly to our camp. The group ran for cover as we heard the report of another rifle shot. I could not fathom another group of conscripts and horsemen. Then I realized that we had only rendered the first two unconscious. One or both had their horses and were headed in our direction. I knew they were unarmed, Ephraim and I had their rifles. But why the shot? There was a shout in the distance. Our camp had been found. With two others in my group, I rushed to the spot where our clothing and blankets lay, undisturbed since we embarked on this unwanted, yet gratifying, part of our journey. Wrapping ourselves in blankets, we removed our wet clothing and put on dry pants and shirts. As we were changing, I could hear hoof beats. A loud cry rang out from the horseman as he shot his rifle into the air. The horseman was one of the former conscripts. He had killed the recruiter that we had rendered senseless and taken his horse. Here was a happy man. I did not want to tell him what the townsmen had told us about taking the dead man’s horse. . The chaos of the morning created a bond among us. Two of the recruits were missing, one was injured and one, the body that we had seen floating down the river, was known dead. Misha began to talk. “The Chernivtsi Town Council ‘selected’ us for service in the Russian Army. The men who we killed were not with the Army, but mercenaries paid by the Army to take those selected by the Town Council to a train in Yampil for transport to a garrison somewhere in central Russia. Escaping and involved with their killing, we would be considered deserters and murderers. If the Army discovers our treachery, our relatives will be at risk. If any of us return to Chernivtsi, we would be arrested. The townspeople would make an example of us so that the Army would not make an example of the town.” There was no time to lose. The dead men had to be removed from the trail and hidden in the forest to delay the report of their deaths. Because the hands of the body that had floated downstream were tied, a search group from Yampil would be sent out to determine what was happening. We decided that it was not safe for the group to walk into the town, together. Since Misha had promised to take us to Soroca, we went with him. Approaching the market place, there was much commotion about a dead body that had been seen floating down the river. Because of the swift current, no one had retrieved it, but several of the boatmen had gone after it hoping to retrieve it from the big river where the current was not as fast. Since we had come from upstream, it was natural for one of the townspeople to ask what we knew. Feigning ignorance, I shrugged my shoulders, raised my hands with palms up and looked skyward. Misha, unfortunately, indicated that he might know something. “We heard some shots while we were walking and saw a horseman with a rifle. But, we wanted nothing to do with what was going on.” “Where are you coming from?” “We were here yesterday and have some business, today,” I responded before Misha could speak. “There may be a murderer in the woods near here. Probably best that people stay away or go in numbers, if they have to.” I thought to myself, maybe I can stop a search. 26

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Misha led us to his uncle’s house. As were so many who worked the river, his uncle’s place was on the Dniester, just outside of town. Misha’s aunt, a woman in her forties, greeted us. She wanted to know why Misha was here and not working in the textile factory. Before he could respond, I said, “We met Misha in the Chernivtsi market. We asked him about getting to Soroca and he told us that his uncle had a boat and might, for some consideration, take us. He agreed to guide us here, and we are in his debt. Hopefully, your husband will take us, or know of someone who will.” Putting her hand to her face, Aunt Katrina looked perplex. “I presume you are trying to leave Russia. Escape from the terrible things that are taking place here. I am right. You don’t have papers.” Looking to reassure her, I said, “We have papers.” From his pack, Ephraim brought out the forged Austrian passports. Returning to our campsite to retrieve these documents was one of the primary reasons we risked our lives. Aunt Katrina looked at the papers with our pictures. She obviously could not read, especially in the stylized German writing on the document. “Oh,” she said, “talk to my husband when he returns. Misha, you’ll stay here tonight, then get back to work, tomorrow.” The surprise for all of us was now to come, “I’m not going back. I’m going with my friends. There is a better life in the west, and I want it.” “But nephew, your family, your mother will die if you leave without telling her.” “My mother will understand, and you will talk to her and explain what I am doing.” About this time I realized that we would have a third person with us. “What about the crossing? You don’t have papers. You don’t have money. Won’t the authorities cause a problem?” “If my uncle will take us, I’ll have him claim that I am working for him. Just before we get to the wharf in Soroca, I’ll swim to shore.” I looked askance, “Swimming in these waters this time of year is not easy. It’s cold and there is a strong current.” I wanted to show Misha’s aunt that I did not like his idea, but I knew that Misha had to get out of Russia, more so than we. Aunt Katrina excused herself after taking us inside their hovel, “I must go to the market and get more food. I was not expecting company.” Taking a canvas bag, she walked out the door. I talked to Ephraim in German in a quiet voice bordering on a whisper. “Do we dare bring him with us? If he stays in Russia he will always be a fugitive, but if he goes with us he will learn of our secret connections. Can we trust him? Do we want to risk everything to bring a fellow émigré with us?” Ephraim indicated that he did not like the risk, or for that matter, putting the entire system that we were going through in jeopardy. I turned to Misha and asked him if he had an idea of how to get out of Russia, safely. He had not given it any thought, but he was obviously desperate. We talked for an hour about Misha’s potential to get out stopping only when Katrina returned from the market, loaded with potatoes, a few apples, and some pork. “I will cook a roast and we will have a feast. It is not every day I get to see my favorite nephew and have his friends in my home.” I had never eaten pork. While I was not a strict follower of religion, my home both with my aunt and with Rachel, had followed the laws of kashruit. Eating pork was forbidden; pigs were unclean. I looked at Ephraim. He just shrugged his shoulders. Now was not the time to declare our sanctity. We would have the meal as presented, and suffer any consequences, later. Dinner was ready just as Misha’s uncle stomped into the house. Dmitri was Misha’s mother’s brother, a robust river man with a deep voice, a trimmed beard and deep blue eyes that seemed to see inside my head. He ferried freight from the Ukrainian side of the Dniester to Soroca 27

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in Bessarabia. He did this every day. He talked in short command like phrases; it was as if he did not want to know what was going on. I think he knew that Misha had been drafted and while wanting to know why he was not with the military, did not want to discuss the matter. Aunt Katrina served the meal. It was a feast, and the roasted pork was delicious, made all the more so because we were violating our dietary laws. Talk was rather casual. Aunt Katrina did most of it as the men continually stuffed their mouths. After we had finished, Misha blurted out, “Uncle, I was conscripted. The Town Council selected nine others and me for the Army. We were tied together when we saw a chance to escape because of these two men. We had no other choice. We killed the men bringing us here for the Army. These two men were not part of the corps, but did help us escape. I cannot go home, and I cannot stay in the Ukraine. Will you help me?” Turning to me, Dmitri asked, “What are the two of you doing here?” Ephraim responded with the tale we had agreed upon, “We are from Bukovinia and are looking to establish a business in grain and livestock. We came to this province to set contracts for the spring and fall harvests. We did not count on the turmoil. We have one last mission, to set up the transport. Perhaps you can help us with that.” “Oh, I only go to Soroca, not upstream, and certainly not to Bukovinia. The Austrian guards are very particular on whom and what they let through. Besides, you do not want to bring in goods from here to there, they have more than they need.” I responded, “No, we do not want to take product to Bukovinia, we want to ferry our goods eventually to central Europe, up the Danube to Vienna and Germany.” “Well, I can provide some help as can my brother river boat men. However, none of them carries goods to Odessa and beyond. You will need to have a large ship owner who pays the Russian guards in Odessa to do that.” Not wanting to break off the conversation in what would seem to Dmitri a midstream abandonment, I went on, “I presume you know some of the owners. Can you tell me who they are and who would be best to work with?” “There is Danyevsky. He will rob you. Krischenko has not been working long and has labor problems. Feldman is a Jew. I’ve delivered to him and people say he is fair. I guess if he weren’t he’d be beaten or killed, like we do with all lying cheating Yids.” Hearing the name, Feldman, must have caused a reflex muscle or something that Dmitri detected. Dmitri said, “You know, Feldman. Have you heard of him, or is it that you don’t want to work with a Jew? I wouldn’t blame you. You know that they kill innocent children to get their blood to make their sacrifice before the Day of the Resurrection. They did this to Jesus and they continue to do this every year.” I had heard of the blood libel, the so-called Protocols of the Elders of Zion, but I had never heard someone who believed it. I was upset, but did not want to confront our potential savior. Ephraim, seeing my confusion, responded, “Someone had mentioned Feldman to us. Can you introduce us?” “Tomorrow. I’ll see if I can find him or find out where he is. He’ll be a good contact for Misha, as well. Perhaps he’ll hire him. Misha can jump ship before they get to Odessa. Were you seen in the market?” Misha responded, “Yes, but the townsmen were distracted by the body of one of my companions floating down the river.” “Did anyone see you come here?” “I don’t know.” “For your aunt’s and my sake, it would be best if the three of you did not stay here. The authorities probably have been told about strangers and will be looking for you.” Looking at 28

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Ephraim and me, “Have the two of you talked to anyone about going to Soroca?” “Oh, I almost forgot, we were going to meet a woman who was going to row us across the river to the other side, tonight. Should we find her and tell her that we are not going?” “Does that woman have some kids, but no husband?” “I think so.” “You are fortunate not to be going with her. She would sell you out, even if you have a legitimate reason for crossing the river. As far as she is concerned, you are suspicious and she would have the authorities waiting for you. They would pay her a couple of kopek, and more if you turn out to be wanted. Anyway, you would not get across the river, and you would probably spend a couple of nights in jail and be tortured.” I looked at Ephraim as if to say, “How lucky can we get?” Misha asked, “Uncle, where do you suggest we go?” “Until dark, just walk along the shore, away from town. When it is dark and no one is watching, you can go to my boat. Misha, you know where I keep it. Don’t stay on the deck. Go into the cargo hold. You probably won’t want to sleep. The rats come out at night for the remnants. They are fat and not very fearful. Don’t get bit. They carry disease. Sorry, but that’s the best I can do. I suggest you try to find some other place. Be on the boat, tomorrow morning. I’m carrying some textiles to Soroca, and I will look for Feldman. We transfer our cargo to one of his larger vessels.”

On Board I had never been on a boat before. I had seen small boats with one or two fishermen floating on a river near our village while my grandfather and I fished from the shore. The three of us followed the instructions of Misha’s uncle and walked the shoreline. When it was both dark and deserted, we climbed on his uncle’s boat. There was a ladder leading to the cargo hold, but the total darkness and the prospect of finding rats, or rather rats finding us, led us to agree that we would not enter the netherworld. While Uncle Dmitri specifically told us not to stay on the deck, we determined that there would be no harm in so doing. The side of the deck to the gunnels was enclosed, and once we were lying down, no one would be aware that anyone was on the boat unless they climbed on the deck. What Dmitri did not tell us was that the boatmen had a routine inspection to stop vagrants from using their boats at night for just what we planned to do. About two hours into sleep Misha shook me awake. I let out a short sound as Misha covered my mouth. In an almost inaudible whisper Misha said, “There is someone moving on the boat next to us. It sounds like they have rousted someone because there has been much yelling. The three of us must go into the hold.” As always, waking Ephraim was difficult. He began to fight as I held my hand over his mouth so he would not let out a sound. “We have to hide in the hold. There is an inspection team and Misha and I think they will board this boat next.” The three of us headed for the ladder into the hold carrying our things. Misha went first. I dropped my blankets and backpack to him. Then climbed down. Ephraim tossed his things to me. While I could not see them after he let go, I was standing directly under the ladder and they fell into my arms. He began to climb down, but did not shut the door to the hold. As he reached bottom, I could see the light of a lantern and hear two men talking. “Every night we find Uri on one of these boats, and every night we chase him. I’m getting tired of it. Why don’t we talk it over with the boatmen so that he can stay on one of the boats every night? He does no harm.” 29

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“If they let Uri stay, others will follow. We have too many men like Uri who do not have a place to sleep. And then there are women of the night who, as nights get warmer, would like nothing more than to bed down in a quiet, cool place to perform their work.” “But you and I know that as soon as we leave, Uri will return.” “You’re right. We’d never shoot Uri and I do look forward to the payoffs we get from the women. I only wish my wife would watch-ha, ha, ha.” “Hey, do you see…the hatch door is open. Dmitri would not do that. Do you think someone is down there? Shine your light” The three of us hugged the wall to be as inconspicuous as possible. “Naw, anyone down there is welcome to it. We don’t have to worry, the rats will have him for a snack. Just shut the door and tell Dmitri when you see him. Let’s move on!” With that, the door slammed shut and a latch was thrown. Now we were locked in, in total darkness, the only sound was the squealing of the rats as they talked to one another about the new source of food. I don’t think that rats see very well, but they certainly have good olfactory senses. I felt surrounded at my feet as the vermin tried to make a meal of my boots. I kicked, and there was a sound of squeaking. The attack resumed. The night was interminable. There was no rest. Why didn’t Dmitri kill all these rats? After they ate the remnants didn’t they leave theirs? Didn’t this get into the grain? What are people in the west eating, bread with rat shit? The night fending off the rats ended with a click of a latch and the opening of the hold door. “Misha, are you and your friends down there? What happened? Why is the door latched? Are you okay?” As soon as the door opened, Misha climbed the ladder. Confronting his uncle in a terrified way, he said, “You didn’t tell us that the boat would be inspected. Last night two men came on board. We had left the hatch door open, and they closed and latched it. We’ve been down here with the rats all night.” Ephraim and I followed, but said nothing. Dmitri responded to Misha’s panicky critique by saying, “Calm down. I warned you about the rats. I’m sorry you had to suffer the night with them. Did anyone get bit?” Each of us answered that we had not been bit. “Good. Last night should be the worst of your journey. Hopefully we will find Feldman and transfer the three of you to his ship. We will be loading textiles on the deck to take to him. We can’t use the hold because the rats will chew up the fabric. The three of you can help. Several carts from Chernivtsi will arrive here this morning and we will depart before midday.” About 10:30 materials began to arrive at the dock where they would be unloaded from the carts bearing them, then loaded onto the various boats that would make the short trip downstream to Soroca. Dmitri told us to work the docks. He told a man who seemed to be in charge of the transfer that his nephew and his friends would be helping today. We were assigned a cart to unload carrying the loads on our back to the deck of Dmitri’s boat. We must have repeated the trip seven or eight times until there was no more room. Ephraim and I had little trouble with the heavy bundles having carried carcasses that weighed even more from one place to another often porting them the equivalent of five miles on our backs. Misha had not had this experience and was pretty well spent after his second trip, although he made a third. Dmitri marveled at our stamina. “How can two business oriented Germans carry such weight for so many trips?” Ephraim told him that last year we had carried carcasses and built up an ability to do hard 30

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work. Being the truth, Dmitri accepted the explanation. Dmitri fired the steam engine that would put us in the main current in an order whereby the boat furthest out on the dock would be the first to leave then each next, and so on. We were 7th in line and it took about a half hour before the others had backed out and started downstream. Dmitri said that navigating this area of the river was difficult, especially since the water was moving rapidly. He said that more often than he cared to remember one of his colleagues went aground and had to be hauled out by two or three of his comrades. Going aground usually meant the loss of a shipment as it had to be unloaded onto a sister ship to allow the grounded one to refloat. Dmitri said he was lucky and had never had a problem, but the current and a swift breeze often took the most experienced to task. Drifting downstream was out of the question. One had to have power to maneuver through the currents. Dmitri was at the helm and one of the stevedores was at the front with a long stick. He’d call out numbers that Dmitri said indicated the depth of the water. A certain point low down on the stick was danger and another point perhaps one foot lower indicated that the boat was headed for ground. It took about an hour to navigate downstream to the dock in Soroca. The river channel grew deeper as we neared the port and the measuring stick was no longer needed. The deeper channel made it possible for the larger cargo vessels to navigate the river to Odessa. Dmitri anchored the boat offshore since six others had to be unloaded, ported to a larger vessel and new loads put on the six boats that then began the return trip. As these boats had been first out, they would take their place at the start of the dock at Yampil and become the last out on the next trip. Dmitri liked his place in the middle of the pack, the desired place. He said to Ephraim and me, “If you want, one of my men will take you in the rowboat to shore. Once there you should have no problem finding Feldman, if he is in Soroca.” “What about Misha?” I asked. “Oh, I’ve got to talk to Feldman, directly. He owes me a favor or two, and maybe I can persuade him to take on Misha as a “helper.” I saw no sense in delaying. Wishing Dmitri and Misha well, we climbed into a rowboat with our gear. With one of Dmitri’s men rowing we quickly made it to the dock. Climbing onto the dock we thanked the boatmen and began walking towards shore. Before we were off the dock a soldier stopped us demanding our papers. Looking at them suspiciously, he asked our names, place of birth, our business and other intimidating officialese. Each of us handed him our respective papers. We then responded in lousy Ukrainian with a German accent reminiscent of our grandfather the information that was on the forged papers we had handed him. With a grunt he handed the papers back. We then asked him where we could find Mr. Feldman. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Probably in his ship.” “Ask in the office, over there,” pointing to a hut about 50 feet from us, “I haven’t seen him.” Going into the shack I asked a man sitting in a chair, feet on desk, if he knew where we could find Gaspadin Feldman. “No I haven’t seen him today, but I understand he is here. What do you want with him? Maybe I can help.” “No, our business is with Feldman. Any idea where he is?” “They’re loading a big shipment of textiles to go to Odessa, today. He may be on or near his ship. It’s the Alexander, the white cargo ship being loaded on dock 3.” As we walked toward the ship, Alexander, two more officials met us and demanded our papers. This time the interrogation was more detailed as was the examination of our forged Austrian papers. 31

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“Why are you here? These papers don’t look real. You look like two animals. Why are you so dirty?” The questions seemed to come like shots from a revolver. He never let me respond. “Come, you can answer our questions at the commissariat.” In German Ephraim started to tell the official that our business was with Mr. Feldman and they would pay the price for their belligerence with their cushy jobs. “What did that jerk say,” asked one of the officials. I responded in broken Ukrainian, “He said that our business is with Mr. Feldman and that you would pay with your jobs for delaying us.” “We’ll see about that,” said the other rather reserve official. “Let’s go find Feldman and see if he wants anything to do with the two of you.” Escorted down the dock to the boat side, the more reserved official called to one of the sailors to get Feldman. Recognizing the official, the sailor turned and headed for the pilot’s cabin. A small man about thirty came out. He was immaculately dressed in a suit – very unnatural for his surroundings, “Yes Rostowsky, what is it this time?” “These two no-goods claim they have business with you. Do you know them?” “No I don’t, but that means nothing. What brings the two of you to me?” I responded, “Solomon in Hnivan gave us your name as a person who could handle merchandise we are trading in at a fair price. We need to talk.” Feldman responded, “Obviously. Solomon is a trusted friend who sends me much business. Gentlemen, I need to talk to these men about business. They mean nothing to you. Here is a ruble, each, for your time. Thanks for bringing them to me.” End Part I.

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