Put off Refugee Train, Mozes Reveals in Saga of Escape from Poland

I must return briefly to the events before our train reached Czgemcha. The corridors of the train were indescribably crowded, but compartments were reserved for privileged passengers, who apparently did not realize that the trip was not a pleasure jaunt but an evacuation.

After the nightmare of hours’ travel, one of these passengers insisted that the corridor standees leave the train, warning that they would be thrown off forcibly if they did not leave in a quarter-hour. We were turned cut of the car and found place in another car, but were brutally treated there and forced to descend at the next station without luggage.

As the train began to leave we desperately leaped aboard and squeezed into other cars. The station at which we had descended, named Siemiatcze, was bombed and completely destroyed a half hour later, with more than 100 of the ousted passengers killed or wounded.

Escapes such as this were frequently our lot during the next six weeks of wandering from town to town and village to village. We were completely exhausted when the train left Czgemcha, but were comforted by the opinion of an expert that we would not be bombed for three hours since the Nazi planes had used up their bombs.

FLEE BOMBERS IN SWAMP

But only a few kilometers from the junction a new Nazi squadron, enjoying brilliant sunlight, heavily bombed the train. We jumped out on the left side into deep swamps, running in mud up to our knees. The children screamed, “We are sinking!” but we had to continue on.

I snatched the daughter of a colleague and ran, aware that a bomb explosion might bury us alive in the swamp. Finally we emerged from the swamp onto boggy ground and sough to hide from the Nazi pilots, stretching out full length amid the thundering of bomb explosions and whistling bullets. When the planes had departed we ran on to the village. After an hour’s roundabout journey we returned to the train where we were confronted with the horrible spectacle of those killed and wounded by bombs.

There were virtually no medical supplies available. We loaded the less seriously injured on the train, leaving the dangerously wounded in the care of their relatives. From noon we had survived three raids.

Nearing the station, the name of which I forgot, we again heard the roar of Nazi planes. We leaped out to the burning village, desperately shouting names and seeking one another. The plane dropped its bombs and flew off. The train whistle blew to recall the passengers.

Running through the main street of the village, both sides aflame, we saw only a few aged Jews standing before their burning homes and a desolate old Jewess leaning on a pillar.

COMFORTED BY PRIEST

An old Catholic priest approached her, bearing a crucifix, and said: “Trust in God, my daughter. Do not despair. All will be well.” I could not restrain my tears and grasped the priest’s hand, while my daughter, weeping, kissed his other hand.

We reached the train just as it was starting, but the enemy had not forgotten us. The fifth raid occurred near another village which had been frequently bombed and most of its survivors fled. The dead still lay in the streets.

Running for cover, we came on a group of about 20 Jews, all dressed in white prayer shawls, some carrying prayer books, all marching slowly out into the fields. I tried to find out where they were going, but they silently looked through me and marched on slowly.

After this raid we regained the train in a silence broken only by my daughter, who asked: “Who were the men in white? Were they angels?”

The raids continued and we were forced to run for cover. Stunned by the explosions during one raid and staggering on ground torn up by bombs I lost my daughter. Hurrying back to the train I heard someone shout that the girl had been killed a hundred meters away. I ran in the direction indicated, hardly able to stand but continuing to run. Suddenly I felt a small hand grasping mine. My daughter had sought and found me in the crowd.

18 BOMB RAIDS IN DAY

Eighteen times that first day of the nightmare journey we were bombed from the air and took refuge in fields. Gradually we became accustomed to the situation and aware of other developments.

Though fear was the dominating emotion, we became the prey of startling rumors which spread like wildfire from one car to another. One of these was a report of a great victory by the Polish Army at Poznan. Another was that the train was returning to Warsaw because the evacuation order had been revoked.

The belief in a changed situation was strengthened by the fact that there had not been an aerial bombing of the train for two hours. When a Nazi squadron flew into sight the train slowed up as usual to permit the passengers to scurry to cover, but the planes continued on.

So we only heard detonations and saw pillars of smoke and flames at a distance, later learning that 100 planes had bombed the railway junction town of Czgemcha, through which we had passed a few hours before, and completely destroyed it. Our optimism yielded to depression.

A rumor sprang up that there was a spy aboard the train. A spy psychosis gripped the entire train and every car had volunteer controllers examining the papers of each passenger dozens of times. It became impossible to look out a window without arousing suspicion that one was a spy signalling to the enemy.

The tragic gloom was relieved by minor incidents, such as the search for a “spy” signalling by waving a cloth from the window. The car controllers met and organized a search and finally discovered the “signal” — a diaper hung out to dry.

At night we reached Brest Litovsk, which was crowded with troops and military supplies. The station was pitch dark and even the lighting of a cigarette was forbidden. The troops gave us coffee and bread, which was the first food we had since leaving Warsaw.

We wished to continue the trip under the cover of darkness. This was also the intention of the train’s superintendent, who ordered us not to leave the train. The privileged passengers prepared themselves on couches for the night, disregarding women and children among the standees, including the families of foreign journalist.

Despite the promised departure the train remained at the station for hours amid our growing tension and excitement. Finally we learned the reason for the delay. Lublin was menaced by the Germans and a new capital had to be found.

At sunrise the train slowly pulled out of the station toward the town of Luck in Volhynia province. We were expecting a new day of horror.