The Long Night

By Max Drubinsky

The events described in the book are largely based on the facts told to the author’s father by eyewitnesses after the liberation of the Belarusian city of Bobruisk. A significant part of the Bobruisk population before the German occupation was the Jews. In the center of the plot is a family of close relatives of the author, all of whom were killed in the hell of a mad catastrophe of the twentieth century. The piercingly moving history of the main characters inevitably intertwines with the burning themes and questions that torment the thoughts of contemporaries. Why did the majority of the Jewish population of Bobruisk remained to stay under German occupation? The author gives some reliable facts that reveal the causes of this tragedy. The narrative also includes the theme of the policy of state anti-Semitism in the USSR, who manipulated the public opinion of people in different countries, and the topical issue of the desperate situation of the prisoners of the Jewish ghetto due to the impossibility of successful resistance and imminent doom to death.

The lyrical story of the German officer’s love for the young Jewish beauty Anya is accompanied by fascinating episodes of extreme danger and risky, courageous, unequal struggle. The author painted the mutual relations of the young heroes so vibrantly as if holding a fragile, transparent ball, protecting the young souls inside it from vulgarity, rudeness, and radical judgments. The end of the narrative is logically tragic and difficult. However, a brief epilogue pierces him with a searing ray of hope and faith that “the dead remembered live just as if they did not die.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 4, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984557889

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Max Drubinsky.

ISBN:                  Hardcover                  978-1-9845-5790-2

                           Softcover                   978-1-9845-5789-6

                           eBook                         978-1-9845-5788-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/03/2018

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

From Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I WANT TO EXPRESS thanks to my wife Jane Drubinsky, my daughter Fieena Zvenyach, my sister Julia Ginzburg, and our friend Hazel Helgerson for their help, advice, and patience.

Special thanks to Mary Vesperman for editing The Long Night.

Max Drubinsky

The Long Night

"All is forgiven, to shed innocent blood never be forgiven.

TORA

CHAPTER 1

T HIS EARLY WARM June morning did not promise any changes in the weather. There had been no rain for a long time. The air temperature at noon rose to 35-37C and no wonder: for many days no clouds were seen in a bright blue sky. Anya woke up very early and looked out the window. The leaves on the lilac bushes were heavy with the remnants of more recent blossoms; the fragrant bunches were not even moving. The emerging day was on its way to becoming scorching again, and it was hot in the house, despite the open windows. A happy smile played on her face. Today was Saturday, June twenty-first, the last day of school, the day of graduation!

Anya had graduated from high school! It was both a happy occasion and a little sad. Anya loved her school, teachers and, to confess, when she came to school, she was pleased to catch admiring glances, not only from the boys but also the girls. And last year the tenth grade was special because she became an adult, almost eighteen years old. Grandmother and Mother reminded her about this all the time. Anya had felt superb this last school year. Maybe it happened because of Fima. She felt happy. She liked everything: her friends, acquaintances, her home, their neighbors, and the street where she lived for as long as she could remember.

Everything caused her to smile, and sometimes she would break into a song, dance, and often, when she was alone in the room, Anya would spread her hands, whirling and laughing happily.

How many times, as if in slow motion, with her heart in her mouth had she imagined this long-awaited night of the last school ball! First Joseph Ignatievich, the principal of the school, would congratulate all students, and then two or three graduates would make a response. They would say how grateful they were to the school, the teachers, the Party, the Government of the Soviet Union and Comrade Stalin personally. She, of course, would be one of the speakers. But how could she put into words her overwhelming feelings of love and gratitude to the teachers, the school where she had spent ten years that she knew and loved as her home? Oh, it would not be easy. And then dancing would start. As always, the girls with sinking hearts would wait for an invitation to dance. But as always the boys would stand up against the wall, as though they were propping it up, and the girls would dance with each other.

Then, still in bed, she again recalled yesterday’s event. During the day they, the former tenth-graders, were awarded their high school diplomas! She loved just thinking about it! She was no longer a high school student; she had graduated! What would be next? How cool would it be to go to the Minsk University or Pedagogical College to become a teacher of mathematics! She discussed it many times with Mother but not with Father. He was so busy working, coming from work late and exhausted. She and Mother finally decided to talk to him today.

But last night! What terrible events she had heard yesterday!

As always at sunset on Friday, the whole family gathered around the holiday table to celebrate Sabbath. Anya, of course, had a particular condescending attitude toward this ritual. What kind of God could they be worshipping, who could make it all up? And, in general, it was well known that religion was the opium for the people. The Bolsheviks never made mistakes. They knew what was best for people. But because Grandmother was old, already sixty, it was better not to argue with her. Over time Anya got used to these solemn, candlelight dinners, but she never talked about them. She was afraid that her friends would laugh at her, though she believed that in many of her classmates’ homes, people also solemnly celebrated Sabbath.

Last night three of mother’s brothers promised to come to them - Uncle Boris, Uncle Isaac with their wives and children and the younger brother - Uncle Ilya. Grandmother Yocha and Mother cooked Shabbat dinner, cleaned their small house, and when Anya ran home after school, already at the gate she smelled the enchanting aromas of baked goods. Grandmother Yocha, bobele, - the cook from God, - cooked borscht as nobody else could! And when on holidays, she stuffed fish or made zuerer Kugel with prunes and raisins, or esikfleys - sweet and sour meat, then a mere whiff could make you go crazy, and obtain a voracious appetite, even if you were not hungry. While Grandma cooked, Anya and her younger brother, Lev, stayed in the kitchen most of the time trying to get something tasty. Of course, Grandmother smiled, sending them from her domain and even called them mamzairim - bastards.

Anya quickly went into the house. It was all cleaned. Grandmother and Mother were tired but happy, carefully examining her high school diploma. Grandma even shed a few tears - her first grandchild graduated from high school. Before Anya, only Uncle Ilya had earned a high school diploma, served in the army, and even graduated from Minsk University. He worked as an engineer at the plant for two years. Grandma grumbled all the time: he was almost thirty-one but had no time to get married. At the same time, everyone knew that he was her favorite.

After dinner, Uncle Ilya sent all children outside to play and asked the adults to stay. Anya cleared the table, wiped the tablecloth and was also ready to leave, but to her surprise, Uncle Ilya asked her to stay, and for some reason, closed all the windows. Anya’s Mother looked at him in surprise and wondered what he was doing when it was so hot in the house. Uncle Ilya came up to her and put his arms around her shoulders.

It is necessary, Esterke, be patient.

Then he sat down. He hesitated, as if he was debating with himself, and then began to talk quietly. He started with a warning that no one could say a ward to anybody about tonight’s conversation.

"We gathered here today at my request, and with the kind permission of our mother and Esther, because I want to share crucial information with you. In my opinion, you need to know about these extremely important events.

Almost a year has passed since I assembled a little shortwave receiver. It is a primitive receiver, it’s nothing special, but using it I can listen to Warsaw and Berlin.

I know the Polish and German languages well. So, since 1940 I often heard the Polish radio broadcast from England. Supposedly the exiled Polish government operates in England. From those broadcasts I have learned what was going on in Poland and other countries of central Europe.

More than other news, of course, I am interested in the fate of the Jews in these countries. They say that all Jews have been rounded up into specially fenced areas, the so-called ghettos, which are guarded in Poland by the German and Polish police. Nobody is allowed to leave the ghetto for fear of execution. Jews are being driven to work under escort. Conditions in these ghettos are just unbearable: people become sick and die from typhus epidemics, hunger, crowding, and cold.

At first, I did not believe all these broadcasts. You never know when politicians slander one another. Transmissions from Berlin, especially Hitler’s and Goebbels’s speeches, sound like a nightmare. They call for the physical destruction of European Jewry. Germany, as they claim, has been cleared completely of the Jews already. To listen to their speeches is disgusting and creepy at the same time. As you all know, the Soviet Union and Germany signed a Treaty of Friendship and non-aggression. That is why I asked you from the beginning not to tell anyone anything about this conversation. You understand that if the NKVD (people’s committee of internal affairs, later NKGB and KGB) became aware of this, we would be dead.

For a while it was silent at the table.

Who knows what propaganda can tell? Uncle Boris broke the silence, how is it possible just to kill people? I can’t believe that.

Are we talking about the war with the Germans? Uncle Isaac turned to Uncle Elijah. Why do you even start this conversation? If I am not mistaken, TASS (Telegraph agency of the Soviet Union) published the report last Saturday, which referred to the friendly relations between the USSR and Germany.

What is it, the Germans - fiends? Grandmother Yocha supported him. In 1918 they were in Bobruisk. They are like everyone else, very polite, cultural; we even traded with them.

Uncle Ilya looked attentively at all of us.

I expected such a reaction from you. I couldn’t believe in this nonsense either, but unfortunately, last Tuesday I met Michael.

Who is Michael? Uncle Isaac asked him.

You must remember him, Isaac; we all called him a goy."

A goy? Do you mean Michael Khitrov? Uncle Isaac was astonished.

Yes, that’s correct. Uncle Ilya confirmed.

Wait, Wait, Grandmother Yocha interrupted them impatiently, but he has not been in Bobruisk for over twenty years!

He wasn’t, Uncle Ilya looked at everybody, and now he’s here, but this – don’t even mention to anybody. Last week at work, Tolya Khitrov came up to me and invited me to his home sometime in the evening. At first, I refused because of being busy and, also, it was inconvenient. We work in the same shop and unwanted conversations - gossip - could start, but he looked upset and said that his brother Michael was here and wanted to speak to me about something vital. Looking around I said: Nonsense, you do not have any brothers.

Also making sure that we were not overheard, Tolya replied,

Michael has been in Bobruisk for more than three weeks. He hides in our home and wants to talk to you.

Why to me? I asked him.

Well, you’re an educated man, you know everything, and most importantly, everybody will believe you.

Believe what? I became irritated somewhat.

When you come - you’ll know. He answered.

I visited them last Wednesday evening. What Michael told me sounded like a fantasy horror novel. I would not believe it if I had not looked him straight in the eyes. Nobody would be able to lie this way unless he had gone through all this himself. Not to mention this radio broadcasting!

Everyone was silent, waiting for the continuation of the story, but Uncle Ilya lit another cigarette and looked at the clock.

In ten or fifteen minutes the brothers Khitrov will come, and you’ll hear it all yourselves.

In fact, they arrived after a short time.

CHAPTER 2

T HE BROTHERS KHITROV took seats at the table, and Michael sat down so that he was not visible from the street. Everybody began to drink tea. Apologizing, Uncle Ilya then said to Michael:

I know, Michael, that it is hard for you to talk about it, but I ask you to repeat everything you told me last Wednesday. No one knows how events could turn; so to hear what happened to the Jews in Poland for the last one and a half years, and especially what you learned at the USSR border, is crucial for all of us.

Lighting up a cigarette and swallowing his tears, Michael Khitrov began his story.

"Talking about it is truly hard, but in fact I came to Bobruisk for this reason. Of course, I can’t tell you all that I had to endure for the past almost two years; it would take more than one day, but I’ll try to tell you about the main events.

At the end of September, 1939, a German squad entered our small quiet town Dubnyk, located not far from Krakow. They entered as if it were their own home, without any resistance on the part of the Polish army, without firing a single shot. Confused residents of our town saw how the Germans occupied the city government building, and very soon there was a new sign on the door: Commandant. Everyone waited for what would happen next. Our small town of about three thousand people, of whom more than half were Jews, stood waiting, hesitating. But there was no fear.

The next day, the Orders began to appear, one more incredible than the other. A curfew was announced. No one could be in the street after eight o’clock in the evening and before seven in the morning. All violators would be killed on the spot. All Jews must be registered in the commandant’s office and get a new ID card within three days. After that, any Jew without the new ID would be shot. All Jewish shops, undertakings and restaurants were declared closed. Execution would follow for all those who disobeyed. Jews would not be allowed to walk on the sidewalk - only on the pavement. When seeing a German, Jews had to stop and bow. All Jews, young and old, must wear a white armband with a blue and white six-pointed Star of David on the sleeve, and not go out without this. All violators would be executed. There were other orders as well, and for disobedience, execution would always follow.

As soon as Germans arrived, all the trash - drunkards, thieves, and hooligans - went to serve the Germans. However, not only these rascals went to the police. Ordinary people went to work also. They had to feed their families. Many jobs have disappeared, and the Germans at least paid something.

After a couple of weeks, the scary rumors started that the Germans had enclosed quite a large area with barbed wire near the old Jewish cemetery. Once there were good houses inhabited by people there, but then the area fell into decay, and the rest of the houses were without windows and doors, gradually being destroyed by time.

And soon this area would be prepared for all the Jews to resettle there. At first, no one believed it; they did not want to believe it. But soon orders were posted on the poles and fences demanding that all the Jews of our town must gather at the square near the commandant’s office at nine o’clock the next morning. Each family was allowed to take two suitcases of the most necessary and valuable things, all their jewels, and money.

The next morning the Jews gathered in the square, where they were assembled into columns and drove to the fenced area. Money and jewelry brought by people were seized during a search at the ghetto gates. Part of the local population and Germans plundered Jewish homes of all their possessions.

People somehow settled in old houses and barracks, hastily knocked together by the Germans. Many people began to go outside just to be among others and to learn the latest news. Nobody knew anything definite, what else to expect from the Germans. And, as always in these cases, speculations and assumptions were taken for the truth. All worried about their abandoned houses and property. Some had cows, goats, and chickens that had to be fed. However, to go beyond the fenced area was prohibited. Time passed, and soon it was necessary to feed the children. Someone found an old well with muddy, disgusting water. People began to settle and so the first day passed in the ghetto.

Early in the morning the next day all were awakened by a loud knock on the doors and windows. We were forced to come near the first hut, and there, a German officer declared that from now on, all Jews of Dubnyk would live only in this area. People would be organized into working groups. These groups would go to work under police guard. Everybody of ten years of age and older would be obliged to work. Each hut was to have a leader, an elder, through whom the Germans would pass the necessary orders and information. I was appointed a warden of our hut. The head position was excruciating for me: on the one hand, failure of the German orders meant the firing squad; on the other, it was torture to force children and the elderly to go to work at five o’clock in the morning.

In that year, after the hot summer, the cold came early. In October, it was freezing, the barracks were not heated, and people had to go to the fields from which the crop had already been harvested. We had to dig out remaining potatoes, beets and rutabagas with bare hands from the already-frozen ground. Some of those frozen vegetables were given to us for food. Then, when the frost bound the earth so it was impossible to dig with bare hands, we began to do entirely meaningless work. On the edge of the woods, we dug some ditches. And so it went on until mid-December. People began to get sick and die. Many children and elderly passed away. My wife also died, and as we did not have children, I was left alone. For me, her death was a hard loss. We had lived together for many years, and I could not bear not seeing her anymore, not hearing her voice, not consulting with her. I was broken-hearted.

One evening I went out of my barrack. As the elder, I was allowed to stand near the barrack alone to smoke a cigarette. It was freezing; the clouds were floating in the sky, revealing the moon for a short time. That year, everything was different, not as usual: It was the second half of December already and there was no snow. Our hut was located not far from the fence, maybe twenty to thirty meters, and I noticed that the guard was trying to attract my attention. It was quite dark. In the gaps when the moon was hiding behind the clouds, I was able to approach the barbed wire discreetly and hear the policeman call me by my name. He waved his hand, beckoning me closer. When I came close enough to the wire, I found Stefan. We had worked together for a long time in the carpentry workshop of Khaim Fishman. During the breaks, we smoked and talked, often going home together from work. He was a good and decent guy. Stefan whispered that tomorrow the ghetto would be liquidated. I did not understand what that meant.

Tomorrow all of you will be shot. Do you know the ditches you dug near the woods? Yes, I know, we dug them, I answered.

Those ditches will be your graves.

I was stunned. For a while I could not see anything or say a word.

What shall I do? I finally stammered

You’re alone and young enough; you could escape. I will be replaced in one hour and after another hour wait for me at the same place. Dress warmly and come, but so that no one will notice. After two hours be here, and now - go.

"I slowly returned to the barrack debating with myself: What should I do? What if it is not true? How could Stefan know what the Germans had conceived? And what if all of this was true? But what if it is not? What do I lose? I decided to run. I had to stay in the barrack for two hours! Those two hours seemed to me like an eternity. Every two-three minutes I looked at Khanna’s wristwatch, which we had hidden under our straw mattress. This wristwatch was the only valuable thing we concealed from the Germans, and it belonged to my wife.

Pulling on everything that I had, I was near the barbed wire in two hours. Stefan came a few minutes later. He threw me a small package and said, with God’s help, and then left.

I unrolled the bag: there was a piece of bread, a small piece of bacon, and wire cutters.

I hid the bread and bacon in my bosom and crawled to the wire. Very carefully I cut it in several places so that it was possible for me to crawl out, and got behind the ghetto area. I tore the six-pointed star from the sweatshirt and tried to get away from the ghetto as far as possible. I ran as fast as I could before I stopped to look around, navigate, and most importantly, to catch my breath and decide where to go. I did not have friends who could hide me. It remained for me to run into the woods.

I knew that about fifteen kilometers from our town there was the Old Wood. We went there to pick berries and mushrooms. But to get there, I had to pass through the entire town, and there were Germans! However, nothing came into my head. Hiding behind every pillar, every tree, bypassing homes with dogs, I was able to go through the whole town quietly, but it took a lot of time. After leaving the town, I began to run. The day was dawning when I stopped, completely exhausted. Not far away I could see a haystack. Somehow I ran to it, dug a hole, crawled in there, filled the hole and slept soundly.

Apparently, the escape and fatigue took its toll on me. When I awoke, it was dark. At first, I did not understand what had happened to me, what day it was, but then all the previous events lined up in my mind, and I realized that I had slept for at least twelve hours and perhaps longer. My wife’s watch for some reason had stopped. No matter how I shook it or blew the dust away, it did not work.

It was very dark; there were no stars. Apparently, it would soon snow, which would make things even more difficult for me now. Chewing a piece of bread with bacon, I decided that I needed to go as fast as possible away from Dubnyk, where I had lived for nearly twenty years, where people knew me, and meeting with any of them could end tragically for me.

I filled the hole in the haystack with hay and went into the forest. Once in a while I had previously heard guards talk to each other about the guerrillas. I did not know what forests they had in mind, but I hoped that guerrillas could be found in the Old Woods. However, either because I was walking off the road or due to fatigue or because I had slept all day and much of the night in the haystack, but when I approached the forest, the dawn was already beginning. I ran the remaining distance. I fell to the ground, trying to catch my breath. After a short rest, I went deeper into the forest, where I hoped to find partisans. Winter days are short and gray, and soon it was necessary to think about an appropriate place for an overnight stay.

Suddenly I saw a man, and not far from him was his cart on which he was loading logs. It was impossible for me to hide because he was looking straight at me. Fear gives you feet. I went to him. He was the same height as I, but probably fifteen years older. Approaching the cart, he grabbed an ax in his hands. I stopped ten meters away from him and said hello. He answered and asked who I was and where I was going. I replied that I was headed for Lublin, and since he was not familiar to me, I told him my name. I knew that I did not look like a Jew, and my first and last name should not make him suspicious. He looked at me carefully and said nothing, apparently deciding for himself what to do next.

Do you know how many kilometers it is to Lublin? He asked me.

Yes, it is somewhere around two hundred and fifty kilometers. I answered.

About three hundred, he stated more precisely. What are you doing alone in the forest?

I have no one. My wife died, bless her memory. God did not give us children. And when the Germans came to Dubnyk, another misfortune happened: My house burned down.

It looks like you do not care much for the Germans, the man said unexpectedly.

And why should I like them? My wife is dead, God bless her memory; there is no work, and even more, my house burned to the ground. And do you like them? I blurted.

The devil will like them! He spoke out angrily and, apparently remembering, he changed the direction of the conversation.

So, to Dubnyk is just thirty-five km. When did you leave Dubnyk?

Three days ago, I lied.

And then you walked just thirty-five kilometers?

You see, I don’t have my documents, everything was burned; and besides, I’m not in a hurry.

Well, well, and how do you sleep at night? That man continued to ask.

One night I slept in a haystack; yesterday I slept near a boon. With God’s help, I will not freeze to death.

What did you do for a living before the Germans?

I worked as a carpenter for more than fifteen years. Come on, help me with this log, he said after a pause.

We put the log on his cart, partially loaded the cart with wood, and he invited me to go with him.

I live near here, less than three kilometers away. You will help me with the wood, and at the same time spend the night under my roof.

Thank you, God bless, I said with barely disguised glee and asked, What shall I call you? What is your name?

Everybody has called me Adam for more than fifty years, he answered.

We walked silently for about half an hour when a small hamlet appeared in front of us. It was getting dark, but the buildings were clearly visible: the old house, patched with a straw roof, a fence in some places fallen, and a crib needing major repairs. The owner drove the horse to the woodshed. We unloaded the cart; the owner unharnessed the horse, led her into the stable and gave her some hay. Turning to me, he said,

Let’s go inside.

I knew that he must not suspect me of being a Jew; therefore, when we stepped into the house, I made the sign of the cross in the same way as