Nehama Rahav — Association of Jews of Vilna and vicinity in Israel

The Germans occupy Vilna.

The First Two Years

I lived under German rule for four years: two years in the ghetto, one year in a forced labor camp and almost half a year in a concentration camp as well as undergoing the death march. I look back at these years aware that the first two years in the ghetto were the most significant. The ghetto period, with all the questions and doubts about my experiences there, accompanies me to this day. Today, I know much more how this period has left on me a deep imprint for better or worse. Life in the ghetto was not one dimensional. I see the period as a circle within circles, each containing different events, each with its own different decisions.

In the first circle stood the figure of my mother who fought for the first two years for our survival from the first moment of the occupation, as long as we were together. Sometimes I ask myself why on June 22, 1941, the first day of the war, we - Perele, Rachel and I - did not turn to our father with a proposal to flee immediately. No, from the first, Father was not the address. Why? Did our natural instincts direct us to Mother in that we recognized that she was the stronger figure and the one more able to make difficult decisions? Were we aware that Father, who was sick, was not the person to whom to turn? I don't know; but that's how it was. As soon as we saw our two tenants, Hannale and Bella, members of the Hashomer Hatzair, pack their clothes and quickly leave with the stream of refugees, we begged our mother to escape as well. Our mother did not reject the request outright, but hesitated. She did not tell us why, but it was clear to us that she was afraid to go because of our father was sick and weak. It is unclear to me whether we would have been able to escape and have boarded the train on which the wives of Russian officers hastily tried to evacuate. The rapid progress of the Germans would not have allowed us to reach a safer destination. I have no complaints against my mother about our not escaping, but to this day I try to understand her way of thinking.

It is clear to me that, from the first moment, my mother understood the dangers we faced. No doubt she was unaware of what was about to happen, but from the first, she was instinctively aware of the danger. One of the hard questions I ask; when did my mother realize that anyone captured by the Germans and allegedly sent to work, would not return? When and how did my mother, a simple woman, realize that everyone who was taken to Ponar would be murdered there? I try to rationalize whether I am not imagining a situation that was, in fact, incomprehensible.

I relive the first traumatic event which affected our lives during the entire ghetto period and accompanied me even after the ghetto. It happened on July 28, four days after the occupation. Our yard was surrounded by Germans and Lithuanians demanding that all men from the age of eighteen to fifty were to report. There were people who thought that there was no need to resist since people were being sent to work, and there were those who obeyed for fear that disobedience would cause a violent reaction. My mother decided that my father would not report. Since we lived on the third floor and an attic was above us, he hid there. The Polish gatekeeper who knew all the tenants went from house to house together with the Germans and came to us as well. The Germans entered our house, went through all the rooms, saw us - a woman and three girls –did not ask any questions, were not angry, were not violent, and left. As we accompanied them to the exit while talking to them, suddenly ... it's hard for me to write about this moment ... my father came down. Why? Was he afraid that something was happening to us? Was he so afraid that he couldn't keep hiding any longer? I will never know what he thought in those moments, but neither will I understand my mother's reaction. Seeing him coming down, she approached him and gave him a ringing slap out of anger. Why Mother, why? After so many years I write and cannot free myself from distress and from the terrible question of why she reacted the way she did. The terrible thought of my father who went to his death with the remembrance of such a farewell does not leave me. What did he think? What did he feel?

My mother followed him. She was not allowed to stay with him, since only men were taken during that Aktion. In the evening she returned without Father. The next day she showed up again at the Lukishki Prison, hoping perhaps she could have him released or at least give him some things he needed since he had not been allowed to enter the house and take the minimum belongings necessary in a labor camp. But even on the second night, she came back without Father. This was repeated on the third day as well, but the mother who came back alone was already different. Most of all, it is difficult for me, even today, to forget her silence, her vacant look, the despair in her every movement. She just seemed to have stopped living. She did not want to eat, did not want to get dressed, or comb her hair; she just lay in bed with a vacant look. We, unused to seeing our mother in such a condition, could not understand what was happening. Her silence was extremely frightening. We walked on tiptoe and tried to encourage her, but we did not exist for her at all.

After a few days, she got up, dressed, combed her hair, and asked us to sit together because she had something important to tell us. In a dry and matter-of-fact tone she said: "Father will not return; the Germans killed him." We protested, but she stopped us, repeated the terrible statement and added: "From now on we do not obey the Germans, and if they come to take us, we hide." Then she looked at Perele and said: "You will hide in one place, Nehamale in another, and I, in a third place with Racheli, so that they will not catch us together." We thought she was deranged. What was she talking about? And she, in the same quiet and matter-of-fact tone continued: "The Germans intend to murder all the Jews." I remember our silence - the silence of our inability to understand and absorb such a statement. All my life, I have been trying to understand how my mother understood and internalized this terrible fact. Then there were still only rumors from Poles reporting about hearing incessant firing in Ponar. But who could have comprehended such a thing?

After fifty-one years, I came to Vilna with a youth group. When we got on the bus near the Lukishki prison which still exists today, I asked the driver to stop. I got off the bus and looked at the surroundings. Even now, I saw people walking around the grey building, policemen in uniform coming out, coming in ... Suddenly I realized ... after all, my mother walked around here for three days. She could certainly have picked up a word or some hint from the Lithuanians and Germans around the place where they gathered the people for their deportation to Ponar. My mother understood German, Polish and Russian and could have picked up a word that was said or implied by the policemen walking around there. Yes, Mother read there the writing on the wall!

The days leading up to the establishment of the ghetto passed filled with tense anticipation of what was to come. A week before the ghetto was established, an entire neighbourhood was evacuated in one night. This time not only men but whole families, about five thousand people, were transported in the same direction: Lukishki to Ponar. That night was called the night of the "Great Provocation" because the Germans explained the evacuation as a punishment for a Jew shooting and killing a German. No one believed them, but no one grasped the purpose of the evacuation.

On Shabbat, September 6, an order was issued according to which all Vilna Jews must leave their homes that same day and move to the ghetto. For Mother this was a dilemma: to believe the Germans and obey? She did not hesitate much. We escaped from the house locking it behind us, thinking we would return after the Aktion, and we locked the dog Niko inside the house. Only the next day did it become clear to us that we had made a mistake and had to drag ourselves towards the ghetto in the evening along with the last Jews.

When I examine today the change in Mother's decision and her realization that there was no chance of escaping and hiding without having the proper means to survive, and her realization that given the new situation created, the ghetto would be the safest place for us. I am repeatedly surprised by my mother's logical thinking ability and her determination to act according to changing situations. It was not easy for us to enter the large ghetto because only professionals were allowed to live in this ghetto while others were assigned to the smaller ghetto. Yaakov Gens, head of the Jewish police, promised that nothing bad would happen to them. Mother pushed us with the rest of her strength to the large ghetto, to ghetto number one. With natural instinct, she realized that the small ghetto, although still spacious and not crowded, was an immediate danger to existence. Almost immediately after the closure of the ghetto, it became clear that her decision had been the right one: the small ghetto was the first to be liquidated.

The almost forty-thousand Jews living in the large ghetto realized that their turn to be evacuated would soon come and the only thing that could save them was a white piece of paper - a work certificate called a schein - a "life certificate" - testifying that a person's life was necessary and that would allow him to continue living. Beyond day-to-day worries, apart from the struggle to get a corner in the house, beyond the danger of dying of starvation and cold, hovered the knowledge that one must obtain that piece of paper that promises that one could, for the time being, continue living in the ghetto. People did everything to get these certificates, whether in acceptable ways or in depraved and cruel ways. We had no money; we had no connections with important people, and were exposed to that terrible fate called Ponar. Awareness of the murders that were taking place had already begun to seep in and everyone was looking for some kind of lifeline.

Four large Aktions were held in the ghetto for four months, and in the end only about twenty thousand Jews remained. We managed to survive. How?

When I think of that period, I can't forget my mother's sayings that became during my life a "code of conduct." In the Aktion held on Yom Kippur, we had to report to the ghetto's gate because we did not have work permits. The yard emptied, and I panicked because we were left alone, and then I said, "Mom, everyone is leaving. Why don't we join?" She looked at me and said: "I want you to remember: never, never go after everyone; never follow the herd!" This is a difficult saying that always arises when I have to make difficult choices under various circumstances, even those unrelated to the Holocaust. I examine my position against the position of the majority - the "herd", in my of my mother's words. I admit that this approach has not always helped me to be connected to society, and sometimes I found myself different and not belonging.

During this Aktion, on Yom Kippur, Mother hid us in three niches and thus we survived. I do not have the strength to list all the Aktions and how we managed to survive, but there was one Aktion in which my mother showed a decision-making ability that to this day I can't understand. Where did she gain the courage to make her decisions? This event I can't erase from my memory.

In the Jewish theatre that was later established in Vilna, a satirical performance was presented about a fictitious marriage practiced in the ghetto in order to survive. The holder of a "life certificate" was suddenly a king. He had the power to connect to him a wife and three children. The theatre's performance showed the comic aspects, but I don't know what tragedies occurred following the fictitious marriages which took place, at times, in exchange for a lot of money and bribes. My mother also "won" such a marriage. Although we did not have close family ties, suddenly the Kincolkin family initiated such a deal. One of the brothers in the same family, a very religious man, was left alone. His wife and children had already been taken and he possessed the desired certificate. His brothers persuaded him to register my mother as his wife and us as his daughters, but only two of the daughters. The third daughter was a foreigner unknown to us. To this day I do not know who was involved in this arrangement. My silent mother did not share her concerns or her decision with us: to accept the condition and actually abandon one of us. I still can't understand how my mother had the power to make such a decision. More than that, how was she even able to abandon one of us. Sometimes I want to shout, "Mom, how could you?!"

The Aktion was organized as follows: the holder of the certificate left the ghetto through the main gate with the family. My mother organized us for the departure. The uncle went first, followed by the foreign girl, who was added to us, followed by Racheli, mother, myself, and lastly my sister Perele. She instructed Rachel to go quickly so that the Germans would not have time to count. But Racheli became confused, they counted her, and my sister Perele was thrown back into the ghetto and beaten with a blow to the head. My mother only managed to shout at her: "Hide!"

The ghetto was surrounded by Germans and Lithuanians, and those who could not hide were captured. When we returned three days later, Perele was not to be found. I can't forget my mother's reaction. No crying, no shouting, just a whisper: "Perele, Perele." She left immediately, did not return during the day or the night, and the next day Perele returned, accompanied by Jewish policemen. How did my mother manage to save her? What did she do? My silent mother said nothing. What would have happened if she had not been able to save her? What will happen in the next Aktions when she left Perele hiding with an old woman in some niche behind a cupboard? After so many years I can't understand how a mother could make such a difficult decision. I can't understand how she had the strength to stand this. My sister Perele survived. I never had the courage to ask her what she felt and did she live with the feeling she was a victim?

The Aktions ceased in December 1941. No one knew what would happen and why was it suddenly important to the Germans that we were still alive, and were also beneficial to their war effort? We were among the "happy ones" who survived.

The Beginning of the End 

It was possible to pick up signals heralding the beginning of the end in the air. In the town of Ashmiani, Gens allegedly tried to save the ghetto's young people; taking on the role of God, he sealed the fate of the old and the sick, following German orders, which caused a severe shock in the ghetto. Moreover, the clothes of the murdered were brought to the ghetto and distributed among the needy. Perhaps this was the first time that an outcry arose in the ghetto against Yaakov Gens. Remember his famous speech following these events, where he said he was ready for history to judge him. However, most of the public still believed in Gens' ability to protect Vilna Ghetto’s survival.

I saw the beginning of the end in the Itzik Wittenberg affair on July 15, 1943. Today, when I look over the events, I see this event as the beginning of the end, both in terms of personal existence and the existence of the Underground in Vilna.

I see my connection to the FPO mainly from my angle as a fifteen-year-old girl. With all the knowledge I have today about that affair, I try to examine the events according to that period's perspective. I remember the beginning of my relationship with the Underground. I was summoned to a solemn meeting to mark Red Army Day. The time and place of the meeting were kept secret. I remember young people I met at the youth club. Among them stood an elderly man whose name we were not told. I learned later that it was Itzik Wittenberg. I remember he looked at us, the children, with love and sadness and said, "I wish I could take you far, far away to Moscow." What caught most of my attention at this meeting was the cake. Its color was red and it was baked in the shape of a Red Army star. It was made of beets. It was the first encounter that connected me to the same group of children who were assigned small communication roles such as to transfer information and sometimes to carry out secret tasks like moving boxes at night from place to place. I still feel the great sense of sharing the secret of the greats. Along with this desire to be like them was an unconditional belief in the Underground, and a willingness to do anything they asked. We so envied one of the girls who took part in the weapons training. We were organized in quintets, like the adults. In my quintet were youth from Hashomer Hatzair, Zelznikov from the "Bund" youth movement and another boy, whose name I do not remember. How proud I was to take part in something so great and inspiring. We were filled with so such childlike innocence and willingness to sacrifice. I still remember the connection, and the friendship that existed between us. It is also a gift that accompanies me as a precious memory.

My mother did not ask or question as to where I was going and with whom I was meeting. Every time I was late getting home I saw her get up in bed, look at me, say good night and only then fall back asleep. I was so engrossed in these meetings and conversations with my friends that nothing else occupied me. My sister Perele did not join the Underground even though she was more mature and braver than I, but I said she was not suitable, and could not be trusted. I know I did her an injustice. I did not want my mother to be left alone with Racheli. It did add tension between us, but I was free to go out and come back whenever I wanted. Was I again the same girl who was given anything she wanted?

Our activity was ostensibly conducted peacefully until the night of July 15, 1943. I woke up at two in the morning. A group member tapped on the room window and said the slogan: "Liza Ruft" (Lisa Calls). Lisa Magon was a resistance fighter who was caught and murdered in Ponar. Her name became a battle slogan. I got up quickly, and quietly left the house. I saw my mother stand up and follow me with her eyes, but she said nothing. I ran quickly to the meeting place. When I arrived a few minutes later I saw the youth we knew standing at attention with weapons in hand, and I realized that something unusual had happened. What scared me most was that the yard was surrounded by Jews, armed with sticks and axes standing and shouting: "Where is Itzik? Give us Itzik, you bastards."

Even today, when I recreate this horrible picture: Jews surrounding us, threatening us that if Itzik Wittenberg, head of the FPO, was not handed over they would kill us; hatred expressed as real threats to our lives if we did not obey, and if we were not to give him up this would endanger the entire ghetto. These moments I have carried with me all my life. I was just a girl but felt our helplessness in front of an angry crowd of Jews unwilling to hear that all this is just German conspiracy, and the Germans' demand to extradite Wittenberg was just an excuse and no guarantee of our surviving in the ghetto. However, the people of the ghetto did not want to listen. Even the sudden discovery that there was an Underground, that there were weapons in the hands of young people, provoked great anger among those who did not take part in the same siege that was imposed on us. We were seen as irresponsible people endangering the existence of the ghetto. And who is this man, Itzik Wittenberg? Who knows him and why should we die because of one irresponsible person? So many people have been murdered, so what is the value of one person compared to the entire ghetto?

I did not share the terrible decision facing the commanders of the Underground. I can understand that the situation did not offer many choices. There was the possibility of fighting. It was no problem overcoming those people Gens had recruited to convince us of the threats. We had weapons. However, to fight Jews when the Germans stand aside and show them how the Jews were helping them in their work? Was it for this purpose that weapons were obtained at the cost of life? To start a fraternal war?

We, the young people, sat on the steps and quietly sang, for the first time, the song written by Hirsch Glick: "Never say this is the final road for you" (Never Say). We sang the song quietly, out of deep pain and outrage. Romance died then; my great love for the Jews of Vilna - the Jerusalem-DeLita - for proud and enlightened Jews. I had learned the hardest lesson: that my people could also be utter bastards. Among the dilemmas facing the commanders of the Underground this was, perhaps, the most difficult: how can you sacrifice a friend, a man, a commander, for the sake of imaginary peace in the ghetto? How can your struggle be waged if there is no support from the Jews of the ghetto? The Underground received the hardest blow: there was no support for it in the ghetto; the people were not willing to fight, nor were they ready to support resistance during an Aktion, either emotionally or morally. Hence the decision of the headquarters, of Itzik himself, to surrender for the sake of peace, for another piece of life, becomes clear.

Itzik, accompanied by his friends, went to the Germans, waiting for the result of the ultimatum to be fulfilled. The same Jews, who previously had demanded that the man be surrendered to them, now stood and whispered one word of farewell: "Kadosh! Kadosh!" (Heb: Sacred). How did this angry crowd suddenly become so loving?

Itzik Wittenberg committed suicide in prison so as not to betray his friends. The wound remains open and, to this day, accompanies the people who were partners in the decision. The new situation created, changed the decisions of the Underground: no more fighting in the ghetto for the ghetto, no more ban on joining the partisans. Members of the Underground were exposed, and there was an urgent need to get them out of the ghetto, otherwise, their families might also have to pay the price. I remember that the Gordon brothers were among the first to leave the ghetto and fall in battle. We hid their younger sister.

The Wittenberg affair remained for me a signpost marking the beginning of the end of the ghetto. It is as if nothing had changed in everyday life. The belief that the ghetto would continue to exist, and that Gens would know what to do, continued to deceive the people, but not me and of course not members of the Underground. A short time passed before various rumors began circulating in the ghetto - rumors of the deportation of young Jews to forced labor camps. The word Estonia was heard for the first time.

Only a month had passed since the seizure of Itzik Wittenberg in the name of "peace for the ghetto," and Gens approved the Germans' demand for a certain number of young people to work in Estonia. This was accompanied by reassuring words that this time it was not murder in Ponar. To this day, it is hard to understand how Gens still believed that work would save lives. I think he seriously believed that this was the real intention of the Germans, and the reason why he cooperated with them.

This time, too, innocent people believed in the Germans' promise and presented themselves. They were interned in the Klooga camp in Estonia, and even wrote letters reassuring their families that everything was fine; but most people did not believe and did not show up, despite Gens' pleas.

One morning, rumors spread that the ghetto was surrounded and an Aktion was about to take place. I was at home and mother, resourceful as usual, found a pit in our yard and without checking what was inside, decided to lower the adults into it. She convinced the Katz family, Racheli and me as well, to jump into it. I didn't want to go down. I was convinced only after her entreaties and promises that she would stay at the top, and if it turned out to be a false rumor, she would make sure to get us out of the pit quickly.

I suffered many traumas over the years due to the hours I was imprisoned in that pit. Had we not been able to get out, it would have been a terrible death trap. The place was damp and dark, and more like a grave than a hiding place or a place of rescue. When no one came, I was sure my mother and sister had been caught, and I imagined a horrible death, dying slowly, without anyone knowing we were imprisoned down here, without food and water, and being unable to get out.

I tried every way to get out of the pit. But the wall was smooth and when I did manage to get to the door at the top, I slipped back. These were moments of utter despair. My mother eventually solved the problem with a ladder she had made with the help of my sister. While working on it, my sister injured her finger and this was the reason for such a long delay.

In the end there was no Aktion, but the atmosphere was very tense. In fact, all activity in the ghetto, important to the people, ceased. The school ceased to function and the youth club was no longer active. I kept in touch with my friends out of a sense that something must be happening.

On September 1, 1943, the ghetto was surrounded by Germans and Lithuanians. This time, too, their demand was for men only. At this point women and children were not touched. This time, too, in the morning I was given the battle slogan "Lisa Calls" and I quickly reached Strashun Street. The members of the Underground were already concentrated on both sides of the street. The houses were connected so that it was possible to walk along the street without being discovered. Arms were taken out of the "slicks", boxes opened, and I saw what they contained. There were light bulbs filled with combustible material meant to be used as anti-tank weapons. We stood by the windows and waited for the Germans to enter. But no German came close to Strashun Street. Did they know what was waiting for them, or was it Gens who knew about the organization of the FPO, and prevented the Germans' entry? I don't know. Even today I have no answers to these questions. I know of the frustration that accompanied the fighters' all their lives, and of the many accusations levelled at Abba Kovner, who seemed to have collaborated with Gens and prevented the revolt. I understand their pain, and I see them as heroes and my brothers in frustration. Even today I feel our helplessness in the face of German control. A great dream of revenge faded that day. Nothing happened for a whole day, and only in the evening was a shot heard from house number twelve. Dror's group was in that house. The commander was Yechiel (Ilya) Sheinbaum. I remember we were ordered to retreat quickly to the end of the street, and a huge explosion was heard. Ilya Sheinbaum did not have time to retreat; he and his men were buried there. They were the only ones killed that day. In the evening a census was conducted and Abba Kovner's words ring in my ears to this day. We all stood ashamed with bowed heads. Abba Kovner said (in Yiddish)," Cursed be the day we survived when other Jews died." I'm not sure that Abba Kovner did say that, but those words have accompanied me all my life.

The dream of rebellion and of fighting in the ghetto was over. The Underground made every effort to get the people out into the woods. So I decided to end the connection with the Underground and stay once more with my mother, Racheli and Perele; to go back with everyone, be a partner in the fate of us all. I didn't do this out of disappointment. I could no longer bear my mother's silences. I wanted to be with my family again. Looking back, I'm glad I did. I don't know how I would have lived my life if I had gone with the partisans and been left alone, not knowing what had happened to my family.

A sense that the end of the ghetto was near was already felt by everyone. People tried, in different ways, to join the two labor camps in Vilna: Kailis (leather-working workshops) and the HKP652 forced labor camp (a German service garage for military repairs). The illusion still existed that in these camps the Germans would not harm the Jews because it was important to them that Jewish professionals should continue to sew furs for the soldiers and make car repairs for the army. We knew about German defeats on the Russian front and the hope for liberation was great. People paid a lot of money to join these forced labor camps. We had no means or connections and the sense that the end neared was real.

Ten days before the liquidation of the ghetto, Gens was called to the Gestapo and did not return. I think a lot about this man who decided destinies for better or worse, who took on the role of God and decided who for life and who for death. I'm sorry for the man who deceived himself and us and thought he had the power to save Ghetto Vilna. I'm sorry for his Lithuanian wife and daughter who probably absorbed all the hatred of the survivors, from those who hold a grudge against him to this day. His intention was certainly good, but he did not grasp what Abba Kovner grasped as early as December 1941 - and perhaps here lies the great difference between the two leaders.

The last days of the ghetto were passed in anxious expectation. I imagined the days as a mouse trap with the mice trying to escape a sinking ship. It felt strange to act so calmly. The fact that the ghetto would be liquidated was no surprise to us. We just did not know how it would happen. When, on September 23, the ghetto was surrounded by Germans, Lithuanians and Ukrainians, it was clear to us that we would not be coming out; we were not going out. No, as long as there was a glimmer of hope that this was not a final elimination. I don't know who came up with the brilliant idea of ​​hiding under the beds. To this day, I am full of pride in our resourcefulness and the audacity not to give up as long as it was possible not to obey. We lay under the beds a whole day. The Ukrainians entered the house, lay on the beds, opened packages, cursed, not imagining that seven people were hiding in the same room. It was our little victory. Mom was proud of it and began to believe that we might not be deported. But the members of the Jewish police also abandoned their families and other members of the Judenrat began to leave as well. This was a sign that the end had come, and there was no point in continuing to hide.

The last night in the ghetto. Dawn broke. One last look. My mother looks at me and says, "Change clothes; wear your most beautiful clothes; do not forget the red ribbon." I don't understand: "Mom, don't you know where we're going?" My mother answered: "Don't argue with me; put on your nice clothes and put the red ribbon in your hair." This time I obey. We left the house I hated. We walked through the empty streets of Vilna. No one says hello. We arrived in Rossa (the transport square in Vilna - near the train station). Many people sit crouching over their bundles. Quiet, The quiet of the end. No one cries; no one shouts. I only see eyes. We were among the last to arrive. They started taking people out of the square. We go up a hill. The sun came out from behind clouds. In front of us we see a site: a gallows with four people hanging from it. Mom starts screaming. I reassure her: "Mom, I know them, it's Asia Bick, and it's Haboinik; they're from the Underground. They will not hang us; it will take them a long time, they have better methods." Where did the power to explain and reassure mother come from? We keep going. We go left. I am with my mother and Racheli. Suddenly I feel Mother's strong hands pushing me back to the exit. Where's Mother? Where did she go with Racheli? Before me I see two rows of Germans. Perele passes between them and is sent to the right. I don't see my mother anymore. We walk forward between the German ranks - a. girl in beautiful clothes with a red ribbon in her hair. They don't know where to send me - right or left? I don't know why I am being sent to the right. My sister stands among the young women and cries, "Mommy, Mommy." I want to shout but I can't. Something's dead in me. My heart has turned to stone and I do not even cry.

Written by Nehama (Nehemka) Rahav