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14 WWW.UNWLA.ORG “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, БЕРЕЗЕНЬ 2017 school, four men in uniform stopped me quite un- expectedly. Later, I learned that two of them were Nazi Gestapo policemen, and the other two were local Jewish militiamen (working for the Judenrat , or Jewish Council, in the ghetto). The Gestapo asked me, “ Bist du eine Judin? ” [Are you Jewish?]. I knew enough German already to answer “ Ich bin eine Ukrainerin ” [I am Ukrainian]. But the Jewish militiamen kept insisting that they knew me and that I was definitely Jewish. I have no idea why the militiamen wanted to count me as a Jew; if a Jew was found outside the ghetto, a most severe pun- ishment was handed out, quite often death. The men in uniform started taking me with them, when a storeowner, where we often shopped, Mr. Rak (I don’t remember his first name), passed by. The Gestapo stopped him and demanded to see his passport; then, they asked him if he recognized me. He said that he knew my whole family, and stated my name and nationality (this was always a requirement with them). After several more exchanges of questions and answers, the Germans released me with a comment to Mr. Rak: “We filled our Ukrainian quota for the day, so you and the girl can go.” That is what he related later to my parents. This was my first brush with a threat of execution. The next day, Mother took me to the Stryi town hall to get my very own passport with a photo. Passports stated the nationality (e.g. Ukrainian, Polish or Jewish) and religion of the holder. As we were waiting for my papers to be processed, an at- torney working there, who knew my mother, came to say hello and invited us to his office, where citi- zens usually came for various permits. As we sat there, the man talked to us about a particular per- mit, and kept writing something and handing small pieces of paper to my mother, while at the same time indicating with his finger to be quiet. That attorney was aware that the Nazis listened to every word uttered there, so writing notes was the only way to communicate personal or secret infor- mation. I learned later, that in the notes, he pleaded with my mother to help another mother, who had a girl my age. He proposed a specific plan, which my mother would have to follow the follow- ing day. Mother agreed. At the end of the meeting with the man, I received my passport and was told to carry it with me at all times. I was very proud of it; certainly none of my friends had one! On the top page, the letter “U” (for “Ukrainian”) was dis- played in bold print, and inside was my photo- graph. The next morning, Mother unexpectedly asked if I would like to have a sister my own age. I was thrilled with the idea and eagerly replied that it was always my dream to have a sister. Mother then warned me that in order to make this happen, I had to do exactly as she would instruct me, be- cause it was wartime and we had to be extra careful what we were doing and how. Then we left to go to a pharmacy, which stood on the corner of two streets delineating the Jewish ghetto. The phar- macy was still open to all citizens. Mother told me that once we were inside the store, I would need to take off my coat and wait until a little girl (my fu- ture sister!) would put it on, and then she was to walk out with my mother. I was to follow by my- self, five minutes later, with no coat, but with my passport in my pocketbook. It was just like a weird game. I was dressed in a light spring coat. Once inside the pharmacy, after Mother exchanged a few words with the pharmacist, he told her that the mother of my “future sister” came to the arranged meeting a little early and informed him that she had thought it over, and that actually she lost her nerve, and could not part with her daughter, even though it possibly meant saving her life. She was very grateful for the risk that my family took, and as a gesture of gratitude, left us a grey umbrella with a white crocodile leather handle in the shape of a fox’s head. To this day, I think I can almost feel the slightly rough texture of that unusual white leather handle. For many years, through all the strange events that World War II brought on us, somehow I was able to hold on to that umbrella from the un- known woman. And I often wondered whether her little girl managed to survive the Holocaust. There were strict orders from the Nazis not to hide any Jews or other people for whom the Na- zis were looking. The punishment was death! This would also apply to the whole family of the person providing shelter! It took me several decades to comprehend the risk to our whole family that my mother took in trying to save that little Jewish girl, whom we never even met, whose name we never found out. Nevertheless, my parents felt that they had to do the right thing. One of every four Ukrain- ian families, whom I knew, also took such risks. But there are no known records of how many were successful, how many perished for doing this, or even how many were misidentified as being Jew- ish, just as I was on that day.
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