Black Swastika, Red Swastika

By Alexander Askanas

This is a historical novel, a fi ctional story based on historical facts.



The book begins in the summer of 1942, in the Warsaw ghetto at the start of the great Aktion of deporting the Warsaw Jews to the death camp Treblinka.

A pair of young doctors, Leo and Rachel, with a 4 year old son Adam, tries desperately to escape the deportation and death. They are initially successful but eventually they are caught by the death machine and taken to the Umschlagplatz for the trip to Treblinka. They escape from the Umschlagplatz, and later from the ghetto , just before the ghetto uprising, to hide on the Aryan side .Adam is sent to a catholic family and Leo organizes the hospital at the edge of a huge forest near Warsaw, mostly for the partisans fi ghting against the Nazis. They all survive the WWII but Rachel succumbs later to the ovarian cancer .

The second part of the book starts at the end of 1952, under a communist regime, when Leo is already a Professor of Cardiology and treats prominent Polish politicians. At that time in the Soviet Union 14 members of The Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee were executed and many prominent Jewish Doctors were arrested in the trumped up case of The Murderers in the White Coats, accused of trying to kill Soviet politicians, including Joseph Stalin.

Leo is called to Moscow to treat visiting Polish Prime Minister, because all Russian doctors, terrifi ed by the arrest of their colleagues, are afraid to treat him. When in Moscow Leo is entrusted with the secret mission to notify the West that Stalin and the KGB are planning to deport all the Jews to Beribidzhan in the Eastern Siberia.

He meets Tanya a young doctor, a daughter of the most prominent Russian lady scientist, who is now exiled to Kazakhstan for her membership in The Jewish Anti- Fascist Committee. Tanya looks like the younger sister of his late wife, Rachel and Leo and Tanya fall in love almost immediately.

Leo is interrogated brutally in Moscow by the KGB but is released with the help of Polish Prime Minister. He returns to Warsaw and shortly later attends a Cardiology conference in Switzerland. There he is run over by a truck driven by the KGB agent but escapes with only broken arm. Afterwards he drives to Paris where he goes to the US Embassy to report the KGB plans.

The Embassy offi cials dont believe fully his story but when the papers report the beginning of the court proceedings against the Jewish Doctors, his story fi nds a little more understanding.

He is received with more appreciation in the Israeli Embassy and is fl own to Tel- Aviv to report to the Prime Minister Ben Gurion on the plight of the Russian Jews.

As a result of his mission major US and Israeli newspapers report on the Stalins and the KGBs plans to deport Russian Jews.

Later Leo goes to Moscow, together with his son Adam, to rescue Tanya from the serious threat of arrest and the deportation. They get married and using false papers and big bribes they manage to return to Poland in a nail biting escape.

Stalin is seriously ill but he jailed his personal physician. He becomes more paranoid and threatening to one of his closest hangman, who decides to eliminate this danger. Stalins death ends all plans of Jewish deportation to Siberia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462810291

Alexander Askanas

The author is a Manhattan cardiologist recently retired. This is his third historical fiction novel in English. Black Swastika, Red Swastika was published in 2009. He Went to Hell, It Was on His Way was published in 2012, and in 2018, he had several short stories published in Polish in Midrasz, a Polish-Jewish cultural magazine. He emigrated from Poland in 1969 due to the anti-Semitic action of the Communist government. His early childhood was spent in the Warsaw ghetto.

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Copyright © 2009 by Alexander Askanas.

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Contents

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

PART TWO

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

FOR OLA

PART ONE

Black Swastika

CHAPTER ONE

The Time To Be Blond

This was the summer of 1942 in Warsaw, Poland, in the Warsaw ghetto.

This was the summer people would remember well, those few who have survived it.

Adam Berens

Adam was a good boy. Good in the sense the grown-ups expect little children and dogs to behave. He loved his parents, listened to his mother, and played nicely with his older cousin Ricky. He was four and blond, but his hair was getting rapidly darker at the most inappropriate time.

Oblivious to the dreary surroundings, he walked joyfully with his mom and dad along the drab Nowolipki Street to his grandparents’ for dinner. They lived only two blocks away. He was smiling and hopping along between his parents, happy to be out of the house. He skipped along with the happiness of a small child that he felt without thoughts and without words. This was such a rare occasion for him. He wasn’t allowed to go out much. It was not safe, his parents said. The family walked slowly. Hot July sun rays cut through the ever-present grayness of the ghetto, seemingly adding some shine and hope to this hopeless, godforsaken Jewish zone.

With the enthusiasm and cheerfulness of his four years of life, Adam smiled and looked with pleasure at the few anemic trees covered with stunted green leaves that quite unexpectedly graced the Nowolipki Street. Actually, the street was dirty and smelly, never cleaned. It looked like a place after a major catastrophe, which indeed it was. There were pieces of glass, pieces of broken furniture, torn books, and a deluge of dirty papers scattered around. Maybe there were somebody’s business spreadsheets, student’s school essays, pianist’s sheet music, or manuscripts of new books and poems. All stepped on by many feet, all unneeded now and dirty. Adam looked around and noticed there were throngs of people on the street. Where did they all come from? Why were that many people on the street? This crowd frightened him; he clutched his father’s hand a little stronger and right away felt better, more secure. He looked at all these people in wonder and disbelief. Why were so many walking barefoot? Why were some sitting on the bare ground, right against the walls of the houses, wearing nothing but shmatas (rags)? He did not understand why they were not wearing any shoes and their clothes were all in tatters. There were so many people that looked incredibly thin, especially so many children, so thin that they looked almost transparent.

They were sitting on the sidewalks, their faces gray and yellowish in color, often swollen and unspeakably sad. Their painfully thin, often-covered-in-wounds bare feet were sticking out of their raggedy clothes. Some had extended hands; others had no more strength even for that and were staring in space, motionless.

Some were saying something or chanting in Yiddish. Adam didn’t speak or understand Yiddish, but their thin, bony hands were extended in a gesture that he could well understand.

He stopped hopping and stopped smiling too, looked around again as if expecting that something else may happen equally disturbing or maybe even worse.

He noticed large brown sheets of papers spread on the sidewalk, covering some oblong shapes underneath.

Rachel, his mother, walked a little faster when passing these large paper coverings and held his hand a little stronger. She obviously knew what they covered and wanted to spare her son the unwanted view. She stopped for a moment to put some pennies in the hands of the begging children.

Rachel had black shiny hair, large dark eyes, and a pretty nose with this light curve that marked it as unmistakably Jewish. Maybe in Naples, Athens, or Marseille, people could not tell from which shore of the Mediterranean Sea she was from; but in Warsaw, nobody had any doubts: she was Jewish. She had the so-called bad look. In those times, it meant that she looked dangerously Jewish. Leo, Adam’s father, on the other hand, with his blond hair and blue eyes had a good look. Good look had nothing to do with being handsome or pretty. It meant looking Polish, not Jewish. Actually, Leo looked maybe even more like a German. He even spoke perfect German like a native. His blond hair was godsent. In all likelihood, his entire family owed their lives to this wonderful blond hair of his. That’s why Adam’s darkening hair became such a problem, and that’s why this was the time to be blond.

In the safety provided by the closeness of his mom and dad, Adam forgot for a moment about this frightful crowd of barefoot people and skeleton-thin children. He looked only at his parents and started again to hop along happily.

He was swinging up and down between them, holding their hands and enjoying their intimacy. He loved to visit his grandparents. His grandma was a good cook, always able to cook something tasty even though it was already very difficult to get any food at all. But that was not important to him. The main reason why Adam loved to go to the grandparents was that zaide (grandpa) had a large metal can full of multicolored candies. He let Adam take one after dinner; Adam was always looking for the white one that tasted like almonds.

He was swinging between his parents up and down. His father loved him very much but believed he was supposed to maintain discipline.

Adam, walk like a man.

His mother, of course, was more tolerant; she looked lovingly at her four-year-old.

Leo, he is only four, and do you know how long he will be able to play?

Gradually, heavy dark clouds covered the sun; the pervasive, ever-present ghetto grayness returned, and the wind started to blow dust and the paper debris all over the street. When the wind lifted the brown paper coverings, one could see the figure of a man under the cover; his face and bare feet were porcelain white with a blue tinge.

Mommy, why is he lying down on the street here? Adam sounded surprised and disturbed by what he saw.

His mother felt also quite uncomfortable and hesitated with the answer.

Maybe he is homeless, she said after a while in an uncertain voice.

Rachel, he should know, his father said with a solemn face.

Son, this poor man died of hunger or typhus.

Leo wasn’t astonished at what they saw. This was a common view. There were hundreds of people dying like that every day in the ghetto. The Burying Society was not able to pick up all the bodies from the street.

Adam stopped hopping and suddenly felt sick. At the age of four, he already knew the meaning of death but didn’t see yet its revolting face.

His beloved young uncle Lewis, who liked to play with him and nineteen years old, was executed as a hostage by the Germans. Both parents of his father died a few months ago. His grandpa had stroke and grandma a heart attack. He saw them in bed when they were ill.

He did not, however, understand why many people said, It was such a blessing.

Adam did not understand that in those times of cheap life, common death, and wholesale slaughter, dying from natural causes was considered a precious gift.

Adam looked intensely at the dead man lying on the sidewalk as the brown paper blowing in the wind covered and uncovered his body with a loud snapping sound, almost like a recurring thunder. Gray clouds hanged low, adding to this stormlike, nightmarish horror scene.

Adam saw a dead body for the first time, and he was very upset.

Daddy, do something. You are a doctor and Mommy is too, do something, please, please  . . ."

Apparently, the irreversible fact of death was not that clear to his four-year-old mind.

Adam son, it is too late.

His dad usually talked to him like to a grown-up. Adam liked that, but Rachel thought that he could be a little less clinical.

If he is . . . was sick, he should be in bed. Adam remembered visiting his grandparents in their sickbeds. Why is he lying here on the street? Where are his mommy and daddy?

Adam was concerned and frightened at the same time. Why has this happened to this man? Could this happen to his parents? Could this even happen to him too?

His family had no money to bury him, so they put him on the street to be buried by the city, Leo again talked to his son as to a grown-up, but this time it was too much.

Adam was getting sick to his stomach. He stopped walking and suddenly vomited; his mother held his forehead and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

"A broch (disaster)! Leo, this is too much. Enough of this clinical education. He is too young for that," she said, looking reproachful at her husband.

Let’s go, Adam. She kissed him gently. Adam was still standing motionless, terrified.

He didn’t have anything to eat? Adam couldn’t believe it.

Do we have enough to eat? He was not only horrified by what he saw but also frightened that his family may also starve to death.

Adam, we are lucky to have enough food, said Leo; he wanted to say something more but stopped when Rachel looked at him fiercely.

Mommy, we should give some food to these poor children and shoes too. They have no shoes.

Adam, tomorrow we’ll take some of your toys and some food that we can spare and bring it to my hospital, decided his mother, bringing an end to this unhappy conversation. They remained silent for the rest of the walk. Adam walked slowly with his head down.

When they came into his grandparents’ apartment, Grandma kissed them all with great affection. She was short, plump, and sweet. Let’s sit down to dinner. Who knows when we would have a dinner together again? When will we be again together, she said, whether we will be around at all. Rachel, Adam, Leo, I love you.

Adam’s grandfather was tall, slightly stooped, white haired, and, as his wife said, stupidly generous. He picked Adam up, kissed him hard on the cheek, and allowed him this time two candies while searching in the jar for Adam’s favorite white ones.

After dinner, they went back home. Berens’s apartment had six rooms, but when the ghetto became more and more crowded, they occupied only two rooms. Two other rooms were given to a tailor with a large family. Another room they gave to an elderly German Jewish couple exiled to Warsaw from Berlin. The kitchen and bathroom were commonly shared. One of Berens’s rooms was quite large. That was the living room, the salon of better times. This living room had a concert-size Bechstein grand piano. Leo rarely played the piano now; he was more nervous, he smoked a lot, and drank a bit more vodka. Tonight however, he relaxed and played the piano.

Leo, I like it very much. What is it? asked Rachel.

This is Chopin’s Mazurka in A Minor. It seemed to be Leo’s favorite short piece.

For you, my son, this is another Chopin’s Mazurka. And he played this short, sad tune with familiar tones and the echo of old times that were so close to our hearts. "This mazurka, Adam, is called Little Jewish Boy, like you, my son," he said. Rachel’s beautiful dark eyes were full of tears.

They went to sleep; all family slept in the same room. Adam usually slept so hard that nothing could wake him up at night. Now he woke up and heard that his mother was crying; she was crying so very hard and was trying to dress up in a hurry. Somehow the grandparents appeared in the middle of the night in their bedroom. They were wearing coats like for a trip. Yes, it was for a trip, a trip to Treblinka, the death camp. That night, the Germans started Aktion. They cordoned off a part of the ghetto and taken out all the people living in the targeted area. This included the grandparents’ house but spared Berens’s house, which was only two blocks away.

The frontier between life and death happened to be there, right in the middle of Nowolipki Street.

Somehow, the generous and compassionate Wehrmacht captain Sigfrid Zeckenbauer allowed the grandparents to say farewell to their family. Later on, the friends of the family could not simply believe this act of generosity.

Adam was lying quietly without a word, his eyes widely opened with fear. He did not know what was happening but was frightened by this farewell. He knew better than to ask any questions. Intuitively, he understood that this was a terrible journey they were going. He felt that something awful was taking place. His grandparents kissed everybody and left. Rachel could not stop crying. Leo couldn’t console or comfort her. He was badly shaken too. It did not take long for him to make a decision: We have to move out at once. When the Germans start something, they methodically continue it until it is finished.

Rachel stopped crying and stared at the door, unable to move or even finish dressing; she knew she would never see her parents again. Her grief was overwhelming and the guilt of being alive when they went to their deaths became unbearable. Many hours passed before, by sheer willpower, she forced herself to act rationally.

Leo, I got these suitcases ready for you, she said the next morning in a flat voice. She sat down tired and resigned, uncertain where they would live and what would happen to them. She hugged Adam very hard, so hard that it hurt not only him but also her. Adam squeaked in pain like a squeezed kitten. She didn’t hear him; only silent tears were running down her cheeks.

Leo took the two suitcases, and at noon they left they the apartment, the furniture, the Bechstein grand, and almost all of Adam’s toys.

Leo would not play the piano for years.

Rachel would not sleep at night for months.

Adam would never again get a white almond candy from his grandpa.

Warsaw, July 1942

Captain Sigfrid Zeckenbauer woke up in his apartment as always at 7:00 AM, without an alarm clock. He was proud of his ability to train his body and mind so he could wake up at will. He took a bath and sprinkled eau de cologne all over his body. He got dressed and looked with approval at his shiny high boots properly polished by his orderly. He looked at the photograph of his wife at his bedside table, then he brewed himself some real coffee! This was a very unusual treat in this fourth year of the war. He was so long way from his family. He did not get a furlough this year. That’s tough. Of course, if he was a partei genossen (party member), it would be different. To tell the truth, he never had stomach for this. He was a teacher, not a Nazi Party functionary.

The war was going well. He got a promotion. He was a captain now. His wife, Marta, liked that. She was pregnant, a great present of his last furlough. Maybe they would let him go home when his child is born. But now they sent him to Poland. Probably better than the Russian front, now stalling and getting much tougher.

He was assigned to the cleaning of the Warsaw ghetto. Actually, it was rather cleansing, cleansing from people. He did not have stomach for that either. That was really a police action. It was called Aktion. This shouldn’t be an assignment for the Wermacht. Why, for God’s sake, did General Rossum picked him up for this dirty job? Well, that’s true that the general knew he was methodical and well organized. General also knew he was responsible and thorough, but damn it, this kind of dirty work should be done by the gestapo or SS.

Of course, he knew it was dirty but God forbid to say a word about it to anybody!

It was understandable that the Jews should be punished. They were money-grubbers. They exploited the Germans; everybody in Germany knew that. But to deal with them like that? Why did they have to send all the families in cattle cars to the concentration camps and children too?

He was a teacher. He had a soft spot for children, even Jewish children. They were sending everybody to the camps, pregnant women too, like Marta.

The tipsy colonel said something at a party that the Jews go up the chimney. What did he exactly mean? Let’s not think about it. You cannot change anything anyway. One has to do what is ordered.

Captain Zeckenbauer drank a small cup of coffee, prepared himself a roll with ham from a special store Nur fur Deutsche (only for the Germans). He ate, chewing slowly and methodically and then washed it with the second cup of coffee. At 8:00 AM on the dot he went downstairs, his chauffeur, of course, waited in the car as ordered. Rudi, take me to my office. His office was in the Stawki Street in a small building near the Umschlagplatz.

He went to his office and started his work: looked at the map of the ghetto. He divided it into the sectors and planned Aktion. Then he assigned the personnel and indicated the time of action. This afternoon we would start with the Nowolipki Street, he decided. He got up from the chair, stretched, and straightened his uniform. He called his sergeant on the phone, gave him his orders, and then walked downstairs to his car.

Rudi drove him to the Nowolipki Street.

Aktion started.

His soldiers cordoned off several blocks and closed all the exits as planned. Now they entered the yard of the first house. Their heavy boots were heard all the way to the upper floors. Captain Zeckenbauer stood there in the yard, looked at his watch, smoked a cigarette, and observed quietly how his plan was being executed. His sergeant called in German for everybody to get down. Then he gave the signal to the Yellow Jewish Police, called that because of the yellow bands on their hats. The Yellow Police whistled repeatedly and called all the Jews to get down. They yelled in Yiddish and Polish again and again. Their voices yelling commands were breaking sometimes and turning into a shriek, maybe from the excitement and the stress or maybe because of the guilty feeling, which they still had at that early stage.

Faster, faster, get down! Nobody showed down in the yard yet.

The soldiers called again; they yelled commands at the top of their voices. They fired a few shots in the air to add significance to their orders. They got impatient and nervous.

Raus, schnell, schnell (Out, fast, fast)!

German soldiers ran up the staircases, knocked hard on the doors, kicked the doors open.

Out, out, faster! The ominous sound of the soldier’s boots on the wooden stairs reverberated like a drum, announcing their terrifying message.

There was screaming next door: Open the door, open the door. Get out, Jews, out!

The Jewish Police, tired of yelling at the top of their voices, kept whistling repeatedly. The loud sound of their whistles pierced the eardrums, producing horrifying cacophony.

The Jews went down slowly, carrying their small bags and their suitcases, carrying down their small children, helping their old grandparents. Many were wearing long coats in spite of the summer heat. Their faces were grim, full of resignation. They knew that this was a bad trip, but not all knew how bad it would turn out to be.

The soldiers ran into the open doors, checked the empty rooms. They opened the closets and the wardrobes and looked for the hiding places. They ran into the attics and the basements to flush out hiding Jews.

Pull them out, out with them. Go down to the yard! They found a family hiding in the attic, pushed them down the stairs, beating the old man who was walking too slowly with the butts of their rifles.

One young man standing in the yard started to run. He did not run far, but shot right away. Fell down dead. Nobody paid any attention to the corpse.

Aktion turned to the next house. The soldiers and the Jewish Police ran up the staircase and kicked the doors open. Now they were a little tired but also more brutal and more determined to get the job done and the Jews down. Now they did not wait long; they got quicker with using the wooden clubs on the backs of the people coming downstairs too slowly. They were quicker with pushing them down with the butts of their rifles and kicking them with their heavy boots. The Jewish policemen were breathing harder and faster; they felt their own blood pulsating stronger, and their guilty feeling disappeared somewhere. The violence and brutality became their normal function.

"Jews get down, get down faster, schneller, schneller." The Jews went downstairs, some terrified and others reconciled to their fate. They stood in the yard, waiting, their faces frightened, uncertain what would happen. Most were resigned to their plight and fate, but some still had a flicker of hope. Some people still believed in the official German pronouncement that they will be resettled in the East. They hoped they would survive there, living and working in the country. Others were hoping to be rescued out of the Umschlagplatz by their relatives working in the Judenrat (Jewish council) or in the Jewish Police.

Captain Sigfrid Zeckenbauer was standing aside, smoking a cigarette, and looked at his watch timing Aktion. He was satisfied: good planning, good execution.

It went well, time wise, he thought. We should finish soon.

This pair of old Jews came to him. He was tall, white haired, slightly stooped. She was short and plump. They did not seem to be frightened. Somehow they knew what would happen; they expected it and decided to face it. He spoke in fluent German with Yiddish accent. They wanted to go to the next house to say good-bye to their daughter Rachel Berens, her husband, and their grandson Adam. Just for five minutes to say good-bye forever. Please. They did not beg, just asked. Somehow they sensed that there is something human in him. He was surprised: they were not afraid of him. This did not make any sense, but he respected them; he felt that he almost liked them. Was he crazy to like these old Jews, to admire their pride? There must be something wrong with him. He let them go escorted by a soldier. Captain Sigfrid Zeckenbauer hoped that nobody would ever know about it, about his stupid emotional and sentimental reaction, so not German. He must have been cracking.

In the evening, with the bottle of a cognac standing on the table, he wrote slowly his letter to Marta, his wife, sipping the brandy.

Dear Marta, I have a lot of very responsible work. I cannot write any details, but everything was done well. You could be proud of me serving our great Fuhrer.

Then to himself, he said, Whom am I kidding, I hate this assignment. I have to ask the general for a transfer.

CHAPTER TWO

Rachel and Leo

Beautiful Rachel is what they called her in medical school. She liked to dance and had a lot of friends. She had a beautiful laugh, a sparkle in her eyes, and many admirers.

Leo Berens fell in love with Rachel the first time he saw her at the Warsaw University. They sat together in the bench ghetto. The term applied to the area where the Jews were sitting at the lectures. There was so-called social boycott of the Jews. Most Poles didn’t want to sit near the Jews. Some brave and open-minded souls broke this boycott. At the first anatomy lecture, Leo was directed to sit on the Jewish bench. He sat near Rachel and was smitten immediately and completely. He remained so all his life. He courted her for years and was ecstatic when she