I remember this as if it happened yesterday.\u00a0<\/p>\n
We were from a small isolated forest village near the Vistula.\u00a0 Our village was so small that it made other small villages look like cities.\u00a0 Maybe that\u2019s why they didn\u2019t send a lorry for the few of us, just two guards with mausers<\/i> left over from the Great War, and two kapos<\/i> with small truncheons.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The feldwebel<\/i> who wore an ill-fitting uniform stinking of dirt and sweat and whose breath reeked of cheap spirits, formed us into a line of march.\u00a0 It became clear that we shared something strangely in common.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t want to be assigned to this duty taking us from our homes.\u00a0 And we didn\u2019t want to leave our homes.\u00a0 That didn\u2019t stop the feldwebel<\/i> from carrying out his assignment.<\/p>\n
We were each allowed one small grip and we began our walk to shouts, insults and beating.\u00a0 The kapos<\/i> were intent on showing a servile gratitude to the feldwebel<\/i> by conducting their beatings with added enthusiasm and cruelty.\u00a0 We walked and walked in the early morning light.\u00a0 The late March air was fresh and encouraging.\u00a0 We fell into silence, only the sound of our heavy breathing, an occasional cough and trudging footsteps mixed with the sound of spring birds.<\/p>\n
Now I could hear the nearby brook running over the rocks. I have always loved early spring days.\u00a0 The brisk feel of the morning on the skin, winter in retreat and the hope of warm weather ahead.\u00a0 Hope.\u00a0 I glanced to my left, the rising sun throwing shafts of light through the stand of birch trees and pine that framed the brook.\u00a0 I could see patches of lingering snow clustered in the shadows interspersed with fresh green bursting from the ground. \u00a0And the birds. Flying from limb to limb, tree to tree. In song and flying free.<\/p>\n
The sound of the brook again.\u00a0 I know that stream well. Swelled with winter run-off, icy cold.\u00a0 I would come to the stream with my father on a day just like this.\u00a0 A young boy with only one thing on his mind.\u00a0 My father would hoot at me as I ran to the edge of the stream.\u00a0 I would pick out a perfect rock to stand on, take off my boots, roll up my pants and step onto my rock perch in the racing water.\u00a0 The water would sting my ankles and I would begin to count\u2026 one, two, three, four.\u00a0 My father would be holding his belly laughing. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen\u2026 I would concentrate on keeping my balance on the smooth rock.\u00a0 Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three\u2026 how long could I remain in the water? Maybe I would set the record?<\/p>\n
To this day, I can still hear my father laughing.\u00a0 The memory of his laughter faded as we walked deeper into the wood and away from the brook.<\/p>\n
We walked and walked, no rest, we stumbled, felt a hard kick and endured the heel of a mauser<\/i>.\u00a0 Then a rifle\u2019s report. Our blood stained the melting snow.<\/p>\n
The gripping pain, I could not cry out.\u00a0 And I heard my father say, \u201cDo not fear.\u00a0 You will soon find yourself in paradise<\/i>, you will sit at the table with all your loved ones, see their smiles and you will know adonai<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
— translated from the original in Polish<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I remember this as if it happened yesterday.\u00a0 We were from a small isolated forest village near the Vistula.\u00a0 Our village was so small that it made other small villages look like cities.\u00a0 Maybe that\u2019s why they didn\u2019t send a … Continue reading ![\"birch](\"http:\/\/www.summerofjim.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/birch-trees.jpg\")
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