pdf available - Multiple Choices

Jews have already been taken." But the dog
approached me. I saw it clearly through a slit in
the board. A cold sweat covered me, buta
miraclethe dog went back!
Quick as a flash I climbed out of my cell
and reported to the others what had happened
below. Mother did not let me go down into the
room and I remained in the attic, near the
window.
On Simchat Torah
A fine Simchat Torah day. Peasants were coming
in large groups from their villages. I saw peasants
entering some homes and carrying out whatever
they could.
At 2 p.m. I heard a strong wail and the cries
came ever nearer. Suddenly my eyes beheld something
I shall never forget: The soldiers were driving
a group of about 500-600 Jews, including a
cousin of mine, as well as her husband and their
children. At their head was Shmuel-Avrom Eltster,
with his beautiful white beard. He walked quietly,
serenely, followed by mothers with their little
babies in their arms and young children of
various ages. On each side of this group the
Ukrainian police marched, rifles at the ready and
big sticks in their hands, with which they beat the
innocent heads. Behind them marched Gestapo
men with machine guns.
The same dreadful scene was later repeated
with another group of Jews.
Such was the end of the life of our beloved holy
community in Libivne: such was the eternal end of
the history of a Jewish population that went back
hundreds of years.
Over the Holy Graves
After many transformations and the most inhumane
experiences, I returned to Libivne on June
22, 1944. First of all I made a pilgrimage to my
mother's grave. The grave was already covered
with grass. After spending about an hour there, I
went back to town. I heard loud sounds of shooting
from the direction of the river Bug. It was
Russian heavy artillery, shooting toward Chelm.
I began to walk toward Libivne together with
some other Jews. We tried to reach Koleyova
(Railroad) Street, but there wasn't any such street!
THE ANNIHILATION 259
There were no more Jews! Empty! Many houses
were in ruins. The military power was evident
throughout the town. Another mobilization was
in progress. But Jews no longer participated in it.
Streets were empty, hacked to pieces.
I went by the former Talmud Torah. Once we
would hear the voice of Moyshe-Yitshak, the
melamed, and the voices of small children. Now
everything was still. The windows were boarded
up. When we reached the synagogue, the same
sight met our eyes. The windows were broken and
the eastern wall had a big hole in its door. It was
now a car garage.
Not a stone was left of the bet midrash. A
place that had served its holy task for hundreds of
years; where for hundreds of years Yiddish was
heard; where many generations of Jews would
gather to pray to God; it now lay in ruins. Thorn
bushes and wild grass covered it.
In the evening, the few of us who survived,
the broken-down bodies, the Jews that were left
alive, met. Each of us repeated his own experiences.
And we decided to visit the mass grave
near the brick factory at the village of Boris.
The next morning all of us went there. A
horrid scene met our eyes. The graves were
filled with garbage. The gentiles had made the
place a garbage dump. Cows grazed there. We
immediately appealed to the Soviet authorities
to forbid any encroachment on this holy place.
They agreed and even offered to fence the
place in. But we did not wait for their help. We
raised funds among the shearit hapleyta (survivors).
We brought some wooden posts and
wire and fenced in the mass grave. We also put
up a tombstone and made a gate.
Today in Kvutzat Kinneret
Today, as I sit at Kvutzat Kinneret (Israel), writing
these lines about Libivne, I cannot believe that I
have lived through all this: that I saw everything
with my own eyes; and that I struggled between
life and death for so many years!
To all of my dear people from Libivne who
are going to read these lines, this is what I wish to
say to you: Do not pay attention to my simple
expression and my simple Yiddish. I have only
written what my own eyes saw between 1939 and