We were the “Children of War.” To save us from the advancing Germans we are evacuating on a train. We left behind our elderly parents, who would soon be burned alive. Everything we owned, all that was dear to us is left behind. Suddenly, bombs rain down from the sky. Explosions. Moans. Fire. Pandemonium. Everyone grabs their children and jumps out. The wounded fall, get up and run, stumbling over the dead. Blood… blood is everywhere.
We fall onto the ground, literally trying to meld into it, to be unnoticeable from above. We hear a burst of machine-gun fire. The German troops are combing the forest, finishing off those who were wounded who couldn’t run away. We lay in a ditch, afraid to breathe. There are two babies among us. They are ill. They want to cry loudly, violently. Their mothers are horrified and cover their infants’ mouths with their hands, but can’t manage much longer.
There is a young man among us, covered in mud from head to toe, but very handsome. (Only later did we learn his first name was Chaimka). He knows that for us to live, their mouths would have to be closed for good. All the mamas look down at their babies in silence, with horror in their eyes. Chaimka understands their horror. After all, he had his own mama somewhere. He crawls away on his stomach toward the gunshots. Raising our heads, we see the SS soldiers with Chaimka, pointing to the direction opposite from us, repeating only one word, “Yuden.” The Germans follow him away from us. A burst of gunfire – and then all is quiet. Chaimka paid for his bravery with his life. Having killed enough Jews for one day, the Germans considered their operation finished. They had done their jobs well and it was time to eat, to stuff their faces with food.
We crawl to our fallen hero and lay beside him for a long time, not moving. Only the earth moans, our group of people stay silent. Our savior didn’t even leave us his last name. Our Chaimka. Young, muddy, covered with bloody dirt from head to toe, so handsome, so bold, so dear – our Chaimka. He wanted to live as much as we did. We will remember Chaimka until our last breath. There is no last name, but there is memory.
Keep their memory alive. Remember their names:
