International Holocaust Day • Mosiah from Stalin Street • A short story by Naftali Laban-Overhand

On Saturday 27.1.24/27.1.1945/2, the world marked "International Holocaust Day", which was decided upon by the UN institutions. On XNUMX/XNUMX/XNUMX, the Auschwitz extermination camp was liberated where over XNUMX million people were murdered, the story "Mosya from Stalin Street" brings the story of the friend My first was right after the Holocaust, when refugees and Holocaust survivors were waiting in a (former) German city to immigrate to Israel during the War of Liberation.

Even today, we Jews in Israel are in one of the most difficult wars for our existence in a world hostile and full of hatred towards us. As if time is not doing its part, the anti-Semites are multiplying all over the world and are not giving us rest. This story is the first of the 15 chapters in the book "To the Little Mansion" which describes the journey of Jews to the State of Israel, to the neighborhood of Ahuza in Haifa and contains pictures of the lives of the residents of Ahuza when it was still a small and special neighborhood of its kind.
For those who are interested in obtaining the book - you can order it at "Yodan Books" Horev 16 Haifa.

Musia from Stalin Street

The former city of Waldenburg, now Wałbrzych, is located in western Poland, 70 km from the big city of Wrocław. The city was under German rule until 1945, when it was occupied by the Red Army, which handed it over to the Poles. It was settled by refugees, among them many Jews who came from the East.

The history books say that in the distant past, Poles lived in the city, and according to the slogan used by the settlers: "liberated territory will not be returned", the Poles began evacuating the German residents from the city, with the aim of moving them to Germany.

The candidates for deportation sat on their suitcases and waited for the transfer. They were not "transferred" as the Nazis did to the peoples they expelled, along the lines of: "Take a knapsack, take a stick, and go to hell!" The German residents left the city bit by bit and in small groups, facing Germany. The main problem that bothered them was whether they would be transferred to East Germany or to the West.

At the end of the war, Germany was divided into four occupation zones: the eastern part was under Russian rule, and the west was divided into an American, British and French zone. The contribution of the French to the war effort against the Nazis was marginal and controversial (collaboration with the Nazis during the Vichy government).

At the end of the 40s, Valbzhich was full of refugees who had recently arrived from Russia and Central Asia, including Holocaust survivors and refugees. The survivors who experienced firsthand the horrors of the Nazis and their assistants, had to go on with their lives.

Here and there food packages from America began to arrive, with "Care" written on them. The senders were our Jewish brothers from the USA, who helped the "wrecked vessels", who had just been freed from the Holocaust - the greatest disaster in human history.

The former German city began to return to bustling life. Trams passed through the streets, as well as buses, trolleybuses (electric buses) and antique taxis. A private car was only for the "best of all" communist party secretary.

My father found a job as a worker in a glass factory and I liked to visit him at his place of work. It was a huge factory. There were blocks of bluish-greenish glass in the yard. Inside the factory was a hot furnace, which emitted sheets of clean, transparent and shiny glass. My mother returned to her previous profession - sewing quilts. Here and there she managed to sew a blanket, and earn a few zlotys. We, the children, did not feel how difficult it was for the parents. We had a good time, a real paradise compared to the hunger and wandering that were our lot during the war years.

The Jews at that time had not yet decided what they wanted to do. Some of them crossed the open border into Germany and continued from there to France, the USA or Palestine. The Jewish state had not yet arisen, but was about to arise at any moment... The Jews waited patiently for the Arab "Intifada" to end.

The radio constantly announced the "victories" of the Jews: "In the battles that took place between the Arabs and the Jews, ten Arabs and one Jew were killed." What joy in the heart! Ten Arabs against one poor Jew. Too bad for him, but it was worth getting rid of ten enemies. What we don't know is that the whole world is against us. We suffered and were destroyed, and here we are now victorious!

At that time, the Jews in the city of Valbzhych were divided into several groups: a small group returned to the sources. Her friends returned to the synagogues, grew beards, wore black coats and wore hats under which long wigs peeked out. Another part of Jews gathered around a strange kibbutznik, a messenger from Eretz Yisrael, who beat them to Zionism.

The kibbutznik did not know any Polish or Yiddish, or any other language except Hebrew. The main training he gave to the Jews was how to make great omelettes, fried in butter (margarine was not yet discovered in Poland at that time).

The Jewish youth organized into communes or kashrut and led a kibbutz life for everything. I visited such a "kibbutz". There were teenagers there aged 16-17. They spoke Yiddish and a little Hebrew and sang Hebrew songs. Every now and then, some of them would disappear from the city, and their worried parents would tear their hair out of their heads with worry. It turned out that the kibbutzniks qualified for Palestine and landed in Cyprus.

We saw in the kibbutz emissary a person who represents the Hebrew warrior who fires a Sten (an improvised submachine gun used by the partisans), with the power to drive the Arabs away.

I thought then: where did the Arabs come from anyway? After all, the Land of Israel has been ours almost since the creation of the world. Everyone knows that! We are the people of the chosen land! And who appeared at that time? Communism in and of itself. Great slogans emerged about equality and work for all, saying that now there is no discrimination on national, racial or sexual grounds.

In short, everyone has the right to work, and usually also to starve. And in general, when you eat, you have to open your mouth, and if there is no food, your mouth remains closed. On the other hand, you shouldn't open your mouth too much, otherwise the "militia" (communist police) will blame you for speaking propaganda, and then you can continue to sit quietly - but in the prison.

However, Communism gave Jews an opportunity to integrate into government institutions. Jewish policemen appeared who were citizens of new Poland for all intents and purposes. One of the police chiefs in the city was a nice young Jew, who did not look at all like the bent Jews. He was upright, energetic and understanding. He lived with his wife and their only son Mosia (Moshe), who was a ten-year-old boy. His wife's sister and her husband also lived with them in an apartment on the second floor on Stalin Street, which was the main and busiest street in the city.

Musia was a spoiled child and very much loved by his parents and uncles. They were a pleasant bunch, which included two beautiful sisters (of a typical Jewish beauty), with brown hair, always well dressed, and both husbands were talented and successful in the recovering city. Musia was the family's talisman, with whom they went through the Holocaust.

Somehow they managed to save him and themselves from the horrors of war. Musia always looks well-groomed, short story and not so much like his parents. He was dark-skinned, of Spanish beauty. The parents guarded him to such an extent that they did not allow him to play with the gentile children in the streets, so that he would not be harmed, and went with him everywhere.

His family members befriended my parents and unanimously decided that I was suitable to be Musia's friend. Indeed, we kids bonded quickly. During the war and during the wanderings, none of us had almost any friends, and we were too young to be street children.

Both of us were our mothers' "Putskal'a Motzkal'a". We had a regular arrangement: I went to Musia once every two days to play with him in his big house, and he would come to me every few days. Musya liked coming to play with me more than staying at his house. Since Mosia and his family lived on a particularly busy street, it was not appropriate to play in the street. Usually, during my visits to his house, we sat by the big window and watched what was going on in the street.

On the other hand, it was real fun at our house. Our house was located in the center of the old city. It was a magnificent building, which was built in 1799 and used in the distant past as an international trading house for textiles. An anchor was placed on its roof, which symbolized the commercial connection with overseas countries. There were various shops near the entrance to the house, and it was "safe" even for small children to walk there.

There were shops there with great toys made in Germany, which had remained there since before the war. There were also toys made in Czechoslovakia that were the most wonderful I have ever seen, to this day.

The highlight was the patisserie, with great cheesecakes. Musia and I had a regular ritual: we would go to the patisserie and buy a square cheesecake from a metal baking tray. After enjoying our cake, we went back to the patisserie to buy "dessert". We bought sweet gum, similar to "Alma" gum in Israel, and immediately ate it with great appetite. However, they didn't bother to explain to us that gum is not swallowed...

As mentioned, Musia always came to my house accompanied by family members. In contrast, I was more of a brat, and I walked all the streets by myself, and I would also go to Musya's house by myself. On the way I would enter all kinds of yards and "sniff" here and there. I loved the hustle and bustle of the city. Sometimes I would disappear for many hours, and then my parents would have to start looking for me...

One day, a terrible disaster happened. The whole city was like a concoction - Mosiah was killed! The beautiful boy, with the dreamy eyes, came down from his apartment and stood quietly in the doorway of his house, staring at the surroundings as usual. Suddenly a trolleybus appeared, driven by a drunk driver. The trolleybus deviated from its course, disconnected from the electric cable connected to it and crashed violently into the entrance gate of the house. Musia was crushed and died on the spot.

It was a terrible tragedy for the Jews, and especially in our home. My mother explained to me that Musia died because of a drunken Polish driver. There were rumors that Musia's father, who served as the city's police chief, would take a gun and kill the driver. Of course it never happened.

I asked: "What does it mean that Moses is dead?" My mother replied: "That means he won't come to you anymore." I asked: "He won't come? So what, he always stays there... like the Jews who died in the Holocaust and stayed there and won't come anymore?" "Yes," my mother answered, with tears in her eyes. It wasn't clear enough to me, and I asked: "And what about his parents? What are they doing?" She answered: "They are sitting in their 'Sheba' house and crying."

The next day, at four o'clock in the afternoon, I went as usual to Musya's house. I entered through the cracked gate of the house, went up two floors, passed through the dark corridor and arrived at his apartment. Beyond the gray door came a soft crying sound. I knocked on the door, which opened wide, and his mother appeared in the doorway. I asked: "Is Musia dead?" The family members burst into tears. I ran away from the place as long as my spirit was in me, when I was also bitter with tears.

The next day, my mother informed me that I would no longer go to school. We registered for immigration to Israel and were about to leave Poland. She added that when we reach our country Israel, I will continue my studies. Indeed, after that day, I no longer visited the Polish school.