THE FATE OF SOME OF THE SOBIBOR
SURVIVORS
The odds were stacked against the
escapees. It is estimated that about one-third of the escapees survived the
liberation. The general conditions in occupied area provided formidable
obstacles. The situation of a Jewish escapee stood in sharp contrast to that of
a Christian escapee. The latter could simply mingle with the rest of the
population and be safe. Not so the Jew.
At the end of 1943 there were no
Jewish communities to which the hunted could return. The Jewish hamlets and
small towns — once vibrant with Jewish life were now empty. In addition,
harboring a Jew meant certain death to the person or family brave enough to do
so. For the Jews, Sobibor had meant certain death; the Polish countryside or
city raised the odds for survival only slightly.
Stories of treachery by the
indigenous population were common. Berl Freiberg tells what occurred to large
group of survivors after the escape:
“On the third day we were
sitting, binding our wounds, when we saw an armed Gentile suddenly come out
into the clearing… He came near us and began speaking. He questioned us and
decided to take us to his group. Then he asked us if we were hungry and said he
would bring back some food.
He left and came back with a whole
gang of armed villagers and gave us some bread. We were sitting around and
eating, and they asked us if we had guns, or gold. They told us to hand over
our guns. That is how it’s done, they told us; later they’d return the weapons.
Though we knew we shouldn’t, we gave up the few light weapons we had… They
started shooting at us point-blank. We were trapped! We had nothing to return
fire with and it ended in tragedy. We came out of Sobibor to be gunned down by
the likes of these...
“
Fifteen-year-old Berl managed to get
away
______________________
Only days after the revolt, Shlomo
Szmajzner and a group of twenty-one escapees were unexpectedly surrounded in
the forest by supposedly friendly partisans. Shlomo’s rifle was taken, they
were robbed, and most were murdered. During the shooting, Shlomo fell and
pretended to be dead. An excerpt from his writing portrays his story:
“One of the Poles who seemed to
be their leader, ordered us to raise our hands for him to inspect us. What happened
next was actual looting. Those who still had some gold or valuables lost
everything… Then I realized we had fallen in the hands of hostile guerrillas.
At the same time, I said to myself ‘we are done for’ The first shot came. Quick
as lightning I threw myself to the ground while the salvo was intensified.
While I lay there pretending I was dead the bandit’s left, since they thought
their atrocious task was ended. When I realized that only silence was around
me, I slowly raised my head and saw that there was no one else in sight. To my
immense surprise, I noticed that both Majer and Jankel the old tailor had done
the same. The others were all dead ...it had to be a miracle, my being sill
alive, since the shots had been fired point blank
Terribly frightened we left this
sinister place immediately, now that there were only three of us Leon and the
other boys were already in Eternity. They had survived the German tyranny and
not even Sobibor had finished them off. However, they had met death at the hands
of their Polish countrymen...”
______________________
Even those escapees lucky enough to
find shelter with the Poles often found themselves in grave danger as this
entry from Tom Blatt’s diary reveals: “…One day Bojarski appeared in
our hiding place, saying: “The Germans are looking for partisans in our area;
they are searching in all the farms close to the woods. I’m afraid they will
search mine as well and so I’m going to put you four in a more secure shelter a
few days.” Later in the night we were led behind the barn to a patio-like
roofed storage area. Close by I noticed a two-wheel cart. In it lay a large
object, round and gray. He held us each by the armpits and lowered us into the
ground through a narrow hole dug in the earth. We asked for the kerosene lamp
so that we could arrange ourselves in our new quarters. He gave it to us
without a word and closed the opening by tightly pushing in straw. I looked
around. We were in a small dugout, about four-and-a-half feet long, three feet
wide, and three feet high. Along the “ceiling” there was a strong pine pole and
across it some smaller pine poles covered with straw and branches. On top of it must have been soil. The small, round
entrance in the corner of the roof was now jam-packed with straw.
While wondering where the air vent must be, we heard footsteps above,
then the sound of something heavy being rolled In a moment, an object fell with
a great thud over our heads and the main pole began to crack slowly in the
center to form a V.
Szlomo immediately supported the pine pole with his shoulders so that
the ceiling would not collapse upon us, while I tried to push the straw away
from the opening in order to call the fanner. It was impossible. I began to
pull out big dumps of straw, and found that something else was blocking the
entry! “What’s wrong?” Szlomo cried out. “It’s blocked! It’s blocked!” I
gasped. The kerosene lamp began to flicker and waver, and finally went out. We
could not panic, I told myself… we mustn’t panic. I tried to light it again.
The match lit for a few seconds and went off. “Why the hell doesn’t it burn?”
my mind screamed. The answer came instantly: there was not enough air. We
couldn’t see each other in the dark. Panicky and struggling to breathe,
perspiration poured down my forehead into my eyes
It was very dark and cramped. Without oxygen we were exhausted; close to
fainting and trembling with fear. Finally, with superhuman effort, Fredek
managed slightly to move the heavy object blocking the entry hole, shifting it
a little towards the crack of the bent ceiling. A stream of fresh air quickly
revived us all, and we squeezed out. As we stood there, it flashed through my
mind that there was a change in the surrounding scenery. The two-wheel cart
wasn’t on the side as before, but partially over our new hiding place. The
handles stood high up and the body of the wagon was slanted down to the ground.
Next to it on the now broken roof was a huge millstone. We didn’t try to figure
out what it was all about. Fredek went immediately to inform Bojerski of the
accident. In a minute he was back “Bojarski’s getting dressed and will be right
out.” And, grinning, he added, ‘You know, when he saw me coming towards him,
for a second he stared at me like I was a ghost. Then he clasped his head and
yelled, “How did you get out?” We laughed. It still hadn’t occurred to us that
he had actually tried to bury us alive, and that the two-wheel carriage with
the millstone was expertly prepared to seal off the entrance and make any
escape impossible. It had been the sudden force from the edge of the fallen
millstone that had broken the main support of the roof forming a slide, which
made shifting the weight possible. This saved us from death. There was no way
we could have been able to move it off had the roof been straight. We watched
Bojarski’s huge figure advance towards us in the murky night. “Well boys,” he
said, “you’ll have to return to the old hiding place. We’ll think of something
else later.”
The fatal day on the night of April 23, 1944 we were lying quietly,
hungry and resigned; when we heard faint footsteps about the barn. We
recognized Bojarski’s tread perhaps he was bringing us food. We heard him stop
before the board barring the entrance. Fredek stretched out on his belly and
edged towards the opening in the straw. We heard the hatch open and the board
move. A moment of silence, then a flash and the thunder of a shot.
I heard Kostman scream, the rest was a gurgle and then a mutter The
board was hurled back and now we heard only Fred’s hoarse deathly gasp. Szlomo
and I were sitting against the wall. In his final convulsions Kostman threw
himself about, spraying us with his blood. After the initial shock and
confusion, we realized that he was dead and it was our turn. Still we felt it
was a nightmare, a kind of bad dream. But Fred’s body was only too real.
To reach us through the regular
opening one had to crawl flat on his stomach; but now we could be too dangerous
for the murderers. So they decided to disassembly the hiding place. We heard
the straw covering the shelter being pushed away. We knew this was our last
moment. Cramped and without weapons, we felt like rats in a trap. Szlomo
crawled to the other corner where he burrowed into some thick straw. I followed
him. We waited. The last straw was removed uncovering the big table - our
hiding place. Then the thin layer of straw covering me was removed. “I got
him,” shouted a young fellow happily. I begged him not to shoot and to spare my
life. Holding a lantern, he looked straight into my eyes. I saw his face and
the muzzle of his rusty pistol. “Where is the first one?” he asked me. I
replied. “He’s dead.” “And where is the second?” “Next to me.” I heard the
report of the pistol and felt a sharp, burning bite of the bullet under my jaw.
My ears rang. Instinctively and fully conscious, I took a deep breath, dosed my
eyes, and slid down. Seconds passed I felt no pain. I wasn’t sure whether I was
alive or if this was life after death. I opened one eye slightly. In the dim
light, I saw the man who had shot me. He was talking in a low voice with
someone. Now I knew I was alive. At the same time I wondered if I should ask
him to shoot me again? If he left me, I would only suffer and die later. Or he
would bury me alive. But I did not move.... I felt a noose around my feet. They
pulled me outside; evidently I was in the way of their reaching Szlomo. I was
put down in the mud. The night was cold I was nude and it was raining. I opened
my eyes and watched in the dark, silhouettes of the men in front of our hiding place. I heard steps and lay down again. A man approached,
stopped and said “Might be better to give him another bullet.” I froze,
recognizing Bojarski’s voice. Someone put his hand over my mouth, I held my
breath. At the second when I thought my lungs would burst, he removed his palm.
He then felt my fingers in the dark probably looking for rings, and said to
Bojarski “Lets not waste a bullet; he is already stiff”
Suddenly I heard a scream from
Szlomo: “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I want to live!” There was a shot, then
another. Again a scream from Szlomo, a last muffled shot, then complete
silence...
They returned to and pulled me
inside the barn. After more poking and shaking of the hay they left, while one
said to the other, “We’ll bury them tomorrow; they won’t rot until then, and we
can search more thoroughly in the daylight.” When they left I crawled out, and
ran to the woods.”
________________
Ironically the destiny of the the leaders of the revolt
ended tragically. After surviving the hell of Sobibor Leon Feidhendler was
killed soon after the liberation by anti-Semitic Polish countrymen. Sacha
Pechersky with his brother spent years in a Soviet prison. They did not believe
his story and he was accused of cooperation with the Nazis. Was released when people from abroad were asking about him and his story is verified. His brother
died in prison. Sasha died in January 1991
Sources: “Sobibor, The Forgotten Revolt”,
by Thomas Blatt “Beizec, Sobibor, Treblinka, The
Operation Reinhard Camps”, by Arad Yitzhak Intervievs with Sobibor survivors lnterviev with Sobibor SS
Oberschartuerer Frenzel Archival documents from Poland,
Germany, Israel and Russia Documents from Sobibor court
proceedings, and other sources. |
Some Survivors of Sobibor
Ilana Safran Hela Weiss (Felenbaum) Zelda Metz (Kelberman)
Eda Fiszer (Lightman) Rywka Feldman (Zielinska) Selma Wijnberg (Engel)
Esther Terner (Raab) Simha Bialowicz Jacob Biskubicz
Josef Cukerman Chaim Engel Chaim Plotnikow
Josef Duniec Szlomo Alster Moshe Goldfarb
Zyndel Honigman Chaim Lejst Samuel Lerer
Kurt Thomas Chaim Treger Aleksy Wajcen
Abram Wang Chaim Kornfeld Berl Ziss
Philip Bialowitcz Alexander Shubayev Szymon Cymiel
Yefim Litwinowski Arkady Wajspapier Szlomo Alster
Chaim Powroznik Siemion Rosenfeld Aizik Rotenberg
Chaskel Menshe Moshen Szklarek (Bahir) Shlomo Szmajzner
Yehuda Lerner Abraham Margules Itzhak Lightman
Josef Herszman Berl Freiberg Shlomo Podchelbnik
To The Murderers | Home | To The Painful
Experience