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14
22ndJuly 1942
Tata left with Adam Czerniaków early in the morning.Nacha watched them leave from her bedroom window.She pressed her nose to the glass and followed them with her gaze until they were out of sight.Adam gesticulated wildly with his hands as he spoke, the sound of his voice echoing down the street even though she couldn’t make out the words.
Something was happening.Her father had looked unusually worried, his normally stoic expression replaced by a palpable fear as he strode mechanically beside his long-time friend.TheJudenratwas meeting urgently to discuss something of importance—that much she’d gathered from their frantic discussion at the front door.But what could it be?
Life in the ghetto had found its own rhythm.There was school to attend, although it was sporadic and poorly resourced.The latest outbreak of typhus had claimed many lives, but her family had managed to escape its reach yet again.Jan brought them regular supplies and so they were able to live, however humbly, on more food than most had.
The Council, run by Adam Czerniaków, had established a semblance of a functioning community.Even with the amount of death surrounding them, the ghetto had swelled in size over the years, and according to Tata’s estimation, it held around 460,000 Jews.Nacha’s family’s apartment was already crowded to capacity, but every other apartment or home in the small ghetto district housed almost ten people per room.
The ghetto was cramped, but it was also an escape from the worst of the violence.The Jews within its walls were sick and starving, but they had each other and even though they no longer spoke of it, Nacha knew they carried the hope of liberation in their hearts.
Nacha had grown accustomed to the constant police presence and the unmarked dead bodies carried by families to lie in the street so they could continue to collect their loved ones’ meagre rations for as long as possible after they died.She understood the rhythm of the ghetto and how to survive in the midst of it.
But something had changed, and she knew Tata wouldn’t talk about it with her.He rarely told her anything he thought might worry her.He still seemed to think it possible to guard her innocence, although why he believed that, she couldn’t say.Her innocence had died the day the Nazis occupied Warsaw and torched the synagogues with the rabbis still inside.
Nacha wanted to see for herself what it was that drew her father from the warmth of his bed so early in the morning.She dressed quickly and quietly and hurried downstairs without disturbing Babcia, who was in the middle of hershacharit,morning prayers.
Nacha knew she should also be sayingshacharit,but God would forgive her this one omission, since she couldn’t let her father and Mr Czerniaków get too far ahead or she’d never catch them.She could guess where they were headed, of course.To the room above the barber shop where the council always met.But she didn’t want to risk the possibility of them going elsewhere.
So she skipped out the door, pulling it softly shut behind her, and then ran down the street after her father and his friend, tying her scarf in place as she went.
The sun rose slowly over the buildings to the east, warming the ghetto as it went.The scent of decay and rotting corpses rose with it and she steeled her empty stomach against it, slowing her pace to clench her nostrils shut with her fingertips.
Soon she passed the smell and was able to run again.And before long she saw her father and Mr Czerniaków up ahead.She resumed a fast walking pace, keeping her eyes glued to the men as they wove through the foot traffic that had begun filtering into the street for the morning rush to soup kitchens and the market after prayers.
She followed the two men to the brick wall surrounding the ghetto and separating it from theUmschlagplatzat the train station.TheUmschlagplatzwas the area adjacent to the train station where Jews were assembled for transportation to Treblinka.
Nacha didn’t know exactly what Treblinka was, or what happened to people when they arrived there, but she’d heard the whispers.It was some kind of camp, and according to women in the line at the soup kitchen she’d overheard months earlier, no one ever returned to the ghetto if they were sent there.
Nacha had stayed away from theUmschlagplatzsince then.But now she was close to it, and a glimpse through its open gate sent a shiver up her spine.She continued walking until she could look through the gates directly, and what she saw turned her stomach.
Hundreds of Jews from the ghetto were seated on the ground.They wore layers of clothing in the heat of the summer morning.Beside them or in clenched hands were suitcases and satchels.Children squatted by their parents or lay quietly in their laps.
The murmur of voices carried to her on the breeze.Her father and Mr Czerniaków marched up to the gates, and her breath caught in her throat.What was Tata doing?They might arrest him and send him away as well if he wasn’t careful.
Mr Czerniaków spoke to one of the guards, and the man spun on his heel and walked away.He soon returned with a Gestapo officer dressed in black with riding pants tucked into long, black boots and carrying a walking stick that he held tucked against his side.His black cap was pulled low over his eyes, and his stomach protruded over his pants.
She tiptoed closer and pressed herself to the wall, willing the guards not to see her.Then she peeked around the edge of the opening where the wide gate led to the train yards.
“We ask that you cease this transportation.Our people wish to stay in the ghetto,” Mr Czerniaków said.
The Gestapo officer addressed him politely.“Of course.I understand, Herr Czerniaków.But unfortunately, the orders come from above.You understand.Everyone must do their part.There is a war on, after all.”
“But we can manage here.We’re not causing any trouble.”
“The resettlement to the east of the entire ghetto’s occupants will continue as planned.You have nothing to fear, Herr Czerniaków.I assure you we will take every precaution necessary to transport your people to their new home.The ghetto has become overcrowded.We’re doing what we must to make certain of your safety.”
Mr Czerniaków hesitated, his voice trembling when he spoke again.“And what is their destination, Herr Müller?”
“I can’t say, I’m sorry to tell you.But I do know they’re going east.Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get moving.I have a lot to do if I’m going to manage the task set before me.”The man offered a half-heartedheil Hitlerand was turning to go when Mr Czerniaków addressed him again.
“I apologise for the intrusion, Herr Müller, but one last request.”His voice wavered.“The children.May they remain behind?”
“The children?Surely not.Who will care for them without their parents?”Herr Müller barked.
“What about the children in the orphanages?Will you let them remain behind?They can care for themselves, or their carers could stay with them.”
Herr Müller’s brow furrowed.“It’s not possible, Herr Czerniaków.I have my orders.You will follow the directions of my men.I give you my word, that is the best way for everyone.”
The officer marched away, deep in conversation with one of his subordinates.Nacha watched as Mr Czerniaków and her father exchanged words in voices too low for her to hear.Tata’s face was pale.He had aged badly over the past two years and had lost a lot of weight.His pants hung low around his hips, and his shirt billowed around thin arms.
They returned to the ghetto and Nacha watched them, her stomach churning.They would all have to leave.If the rumours were true and the train took them to Treblinka, they would never return.
She scanned the ghetto, taking in the familiar faces on the busy street.The rickshaws riding by the shops selling their wares, the soup kitchens and the schools, the hospitals and doctors, the musicians who held the occasional secret revue—all would be gone.The ghetto would be a ghost town.
