Raoul Wallenberg becomes Australia's first honorary citizen

Remembering
the uprising
Kitia Altman OAM
Kitia Altman, photographed by her
boyfriend Willie in Bedzin
It is not much of
a memory, as
memories go.
It is a Sunday, a day
free of work.
A Sunday in April.
Beautiful, tranquil –
almost normal. The
mellifluous air is gently
caressing the grass in
the field. You feel like
kicking off your shoes
and lifting your face
to be kissed by the
sun. Just softly. The
silence is pleasant and
relaxing. Soothing. We
walk holding hands –
two young men, two
young women. We are going to meet two other couples. It
is so quiet and peaceful.
We walk through open space linking Kamionka to Srodula –
ghetto Bedzin to ghetto Sosnowiec. One of the young men
from the other group is coming towards us. He works in
the Judenrat and always has the latest news. He’s almost
running but not smiling or waving his arms as he usually
does.
‘Have you heard?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘Uprising in Warsaw, in the ghetto.’
Like a jagged knife plunged inside your brain, serenity is
now torn to shreds. Gone is the caress of hope. That brief
sense of peace seems ages ago. It does not belong to me
now. The now is reprisals. We’ve learned to think in terms
of individual crimes and collective punishments.
Moniek Meryn, head of the Judenrat, urges obedience.
He sees himself as the new Messiah who will lead the
remnants of Jewry to the Promised Land. Meryn did not
doubt the Germans’ intention to exterminate all Jews;
however, he doubted they would be able to accomplish it.
He knew of many who lived in hiding or on the Aryan side.
He wanted to be the one, when the time came, who would
gather them all and take them to Eretz Israel. He could not
afford a revolt in his ghetto. Meryn tried hard to win the
confidence of the Underground and cajoled its members
with bribes of food and minor information. He even offered
exemptions from transportation to labour camps.
He told representatives of the Zionist youth organisations
that he, Moniek Meryn, was spiritually on their side. It was
just that the politics of the time forced him to work for the
Germans.
They still mistrusted him.
The Underground had long realised the power of this ‘little
king’ and they feared him.
How then was he, Meryn, going to explain an uprising in
the Warsaw Ghetto to his SS bosses?
How was he going to convince them that his Jews were
different? People in the Bedzin-Sosnowiec Ghetto were
hungry, sure, but not as starving as they were in Warsaw.
There was no overcrowding. After all, this was the part of
Poland that was eingegliedert, integrated into the Third
Reich.
The unspoken question on everyone’s mind was our future
in the ghetto. And we were afraid.
In this our wonderful youth, we wanted to live and capture
whatever was left of it. We didn’t have a sense of destiny,
nor did we owe anything to history. Even the people in the
youth organisations, Hashomer and Hanoar, didn’t give up
on life. They didn’t say: ‘You have to die with dignity.’ They
said: ‘Fight to the end and try to kill one of them before they
kill you. Kick them with your feet, hit them with your fists,
spit in their faces.’
Beyond this, nothing was revealed about any resistance.
But there were rumours, all sorts of rumours. Some even
mentioned Alfred Rossner, the German chief of the uniform
factory, who was said to support the Underground.
Suddenly the mere word ‘uprising’ imparted strength. The
Germans had discovered that Jews could fight. Without
weapons, starved, desperate and decimated, the Jews of
the Warsaw Ghetto had risen to fight the German Army
with its armoured columns and tanks.
We’d do it too.
We returned home to rooms crowded with people and
furniture. We decided not to discuss it with our parents,
a wise and critical decision. Traditional family roles had
disintegrated in the ghetto. Young people became family
providers. They worked and so became heads of their
families. Parents whose children possessed a Sonderkarte
from Rossner’s shop felt safer than most elderly people did.
This card protected two family members: either parents or a
spouse and one child.
There was tremendous psychological pressure at home
from the terrified parents. We called it the three don’ts:
‘Don’t do anything illegal, say anything illegal, or even think
anything illegal.’
Sunken eyes constantly searched your face for a sign,
pleading with us young people not to cause trouble.
What was our duty? Were we the sole masters of our own
lives or were we duty-bound to our families? This gnawed
and tormented us at night, made us restless and irritable
during the day.
Bitter recriminating discussions took place all the time.
Words were said in anger and anguish. Accusations were
hurled around.
Days passed and in Warsaw they kept fighting. A week
passed, ten days. We became used to our fears. The older
generation started to relent. They could not help but admire
the tenacity and courage of the fighters. They took pride
in their determination, yet still feared their own children
getting involved.
Young people who had no parents felt free to make their
own decisions. Yet these decisions could impact on other
people’s parents.
Two weeks passed.
A Pole said the Warsaw Ghetto was burning.
‘Where are the people?’
‘Burning,’ he said.
14
JHC Centre News