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It hurt me that Mother was dead and that there were arguments at home. Finally, I had had enough. I heard that my friends were getting ready to run away. They also advised me to run away. I met with one of them and he said: ‘Listen, we’ll go to Malkinia.’ [204 km east of Lodz] I was still a boy; I didn’t know what it meant to go abroad. I thought this border was different. He explained to me all these train stations: ‘Then you have to get off at the station, there will be railroad tracks there, follow the tracks uphill, there will be a white house there, and so on…’ He explained, more or less, what it would be like. I got together with my friends, we started discussing. I told them we had to run away and that’s it. It was 1939, or early 1940. The weather was beautiful, there was no snow yet. And we decided to run away. We met on 9 Solna Street, near Polnocna Street, at a friend’s house. There were six of us and two or three girls.
I didn’t say goodbye to my family, I didn’t say goodbye at all. My family didn’t know anything, only my sister and cousins. My sister cried, she asked me not to forget her. She was nine years old when I saw her for the last time. I only stole a suit from my older brother – Wolf. A green one, thin. Used. I thought it would be necessary to bribe the customs officers. They all stayed in Lodz. Later, in 1940, they all moved back to Bodzentyn: Father with my brothers and my sister-in-law with her baby.
Why did I want to go? One of my friends had five brothers, they were all very strong, they lived on 42 Zgierska Street, they had a stall with soap. Their name was Waserman. One of them, when he came back from captivity – he was in the army and came back from the Germans – he said he saw a grave with my brother’s name in Warsaw, on Grzybowska Street. My sister-in-law had a baby. She was alone with the baby. My brother didn’t come back from the war. Some Jews, when they were coming back from camps in Germany, said they had also seen my brother’s grave, a military grave with a helmet, in Grzybowski Garden. I didn’t know Warsaw. I only knew I had a cousin there. Uncle’s son lived there, on Hoza Street. I had known him ever since I was a child. He visited us, brought us chocolate. I decided to go there, without announcing myself first.
We decided to meet in the morning. I remember how one day I walked out on the street in the morning, maybe at 5am, I ripped off this armband, I stood on the sidewalk, looked around, to the east, west, north, south and I said in Yiddish: ‘God, will I live, to walk on this sidewalk ever again?’ I then went to Solna Street. From Solna we all went to Kaliski Train Station. It was raining, we were all wearing galoshes. Cargo trains were waiting at the station, packed, full, people like herrings, standing up. And lots of galoshes next to the cars. [It was very crowded inside, there were no steps, so people pulled one another up and the galoshes fell off their feet]. We finally managed to smuggle ourselves out of Lodz. Without tickets, illegally, because you weren’t allowed to go anywhere. It took a long time. They locked us up in these cars. We couldn’t turn around. It was too crowded. Normally the trip by train would have taken three hours. We had no breakfast, no lunch, nothing. Locked up in the car, at night, we finally reached the Central Train Station [in Warsaw] at five in the afternoon. The station had been burned down. I think there had been a fire.
When we went into the station, it was full of people. A kid was standing next to the entrance, like on Baluty market, and a German. This German was segregating people: Jew, Turk, Gypsy. When we entered, this kid started shouting ‘Jude, Jude, Jude…’ at us. The German, when he heard it, said ‘Komm her’ and had me come closer. Those [friends] had somehow disappeared.
I didn’t say goodbye to my family, I didn’t say goodbye at all. My family didn’t know anything, only my sister and cousins. My sister cried, she asked me not to forget her. She was nine years old when I saw her for the last time. I only stole a suit from my older brother – Wolf. A green one, thin. Used. I thought it would be necessary to bribe the customs officers. They all stayed in Lodz. Later, in 1940, they all moved back to Bodzentyn: Father with my brothers and my sister-in-law with her baby.
Why did I want to go? One of my friends had five brothers, they were all very strong, they lived on 42 Zgierska Street, they had a stall with soap. Their name was Waserman. One of them, when he came back from captivity – he was in the army and came back from the Germans – he said he saw a grave with my brother’s name in Warsaw, on Grzybowska Street. My sister-in-law had a baby. She was alone with the baby. My brother didn’t come back from the war. Some Jews, when they were coming back from camps in Germany, said they had also seen my brother’s grave, a military grave with a helmet, in Grzybowski Garden. I didn’t know Warsaw. I only knew I had a cousin there. Uncle’s son lived there, on Hoza Street. I had known him ever since I was a child. He visited us, brought us chocolate. I decided to go there, without announcing myself first.
We decided to meet in the morning. I remember how one day I walked out on the street in the morning, maybe at 5am, I ripped off this armband, I stood on the sidewalk, looked around, to the east, west, north, south and I said in Yiddish: ‘God, will I live, to walk on this sidewalk ever again?’ I then went to Solna Street. From Solna we all went to Kaliski Train Station. It was raining, we were all wearing galoshes. Cargo trains were waiting at the station, packed, full, people like herrings, standing up. And lots of galoshes next to the cars. [It was very crowded inside, there were no steps, so people pulled one another up and the galoshes fell off their feet]. We finally managed to smuggle ourselves out of Lodz. Without tickets, illegally, because you weren’t allowed to go anywhere. It took a long time. They locked us up in these cars. We couldn’t turn around. It was too crowded. Normally the trip by train would have taken three hours. We had no breakfast, no lunch, nothing. Locked up in the car, at night, we finally reached the Central Train Station [in Warsaw] at five in the afternoon. The station had been burned down. I think there had been a fire.
When we went into the station, it was full of people. A kid was standing next to the entrance, like on Baluty market, and a German. This German was segregating people: Jew, Turk, Gypsy. When we entered, this kid started shouting ‘Jude, Jude, Jude…’ at us. The German, when he heard it, said ‘Komm her’ and had me come closer. Those [friends] had somehow disappeared.
Period
Interview
Jakub Bromberg
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