We talk here only of the German occupation of Poland. The Russians treated it no better. But that is another story....
LODZ GHETTO
(From The Pianist)
SANOK TOWN IN POLAND
HITLER'S PLANS FOR POLAND
HANS FRANK WAS VIRULENTLY ANTI-JEW
As far as the Jews are concerned I want to tell you quite frankly that they must be done away with in one way or another I know that many of the measures carried out against the Jews in the Reich at present are being criticised. Before I continue, I want to beg you to agree with me on the following formula: We will in principle have pity on the German people only and nobody else in the whole world. The others too had no pity on us. As an old National Socialist I must say this: Jews used as slave labour in Poland This war would be only a partial success if the whole of Jewry survive it, while we had shed our best blood in order to save Europe. My attitude towards the Jews will therefore be based only on the expectation that they must disappear. They must be done away with. Gentlemen, I must ask you to rid yourselves of all feeling of pity. We must annihilate the Jews wherever we find them and wherever it is possible, in order to maintain the structure of the Reich as a whole.
Source
ASKARIS
The collaborators. Polish policemen under German rule
The Warsaw Ghetto after the Uprising. 1943
THE WARSAW GHETTO UPRISING
(From Ushmm)
The destruction of the Warsaw ghetto. Poland, in 1943.
WARSAW GHETTO UPRISING
The forced resettlement of Jews in urban ghetto at Lodz. March 1940.
A middle-aged Jew being arrested in Warsaw. Poland had a large Jewish population. After the invasion the Germans quickly started isolating it.
(From The Pianist)
Jewish youth loiter on the Nowolipie Street in the Warsaw Ghetto. 1943
Mockery of the Jews in the Lodz ghetto - they were forced to stand with a poster that said "We want war." The inscription on the cart says "The Jews are our misfortune"
A German officer instructs children from the Lublin ghetto. December 1940. "Do not forget to wash every day."
The Poles view a German poster. On the orders of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels Warsaw was plastered with posters depicting wounded Polish soldier pointing to the ruins of the city, and saying: "The English, this is your job". In November 1939 alone, two women were executed for the destruction of the poster
Public executions in Krakow. June 26, 1942
Jewish children from the ghetto in the Polish city Shidlovets (Szydlowiec). December 20, 1940. During World War II. The Germans founded two ghettos here, with about 16.000 Jews gathered in them in total. In September 1942 about 10.000 Jews were taken to the extermination camp in Treblinka. In November 1942 the rest of them were taken there.
(From The Pianist)
A German executioner squad (Einsatzgruppen) questions Jews who survived the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising during April-May 1943. Second from right is Josef Blosche, the infamous killer during the Ghetto Uprising
WHO WAS JOSEF BLOSCHE?
The famous photo with Josef Blosche in the right
Summer 1941. A vegetable stall in the Warsaw Ghetto
Firewood being sold in the Ghetto
Shoes for sale in the Ghetto
This Jewish baby died of hunger
Welcome! Time for tea.
A corpse lies unattended on the sidewalk in the Ghetto. Life had no value.
These women try to sell something and earn some bread
This man is sick and emaciated
A Jewish family with a samovar
1943. Jewish Rabbi in the Warsaw ghetto
Jewish children beg for food on the street of the Warsaw Ghetto
(From The Pianist)
This kind man (He is Jewish too. Note the armband. All Jews were supposed to wear them) gives some food to the starving children
THE JEWISH POLICE
An elderly Jewish man in the Ghetto
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"THE PIANIST" THE BOOK
The Pianist: The Extraordinary True Story of One Man's Survival in Warsaw, 1939-1945
by
Wladyslaw Szpilman
"Remarkable . . . a document of lasting historical and human value."—The Los Angeles Times
"Historically indispensible."—Washington Post Book World
"The Pianist is a great book."—The Boston Globe
"Even by the standards set be Holocaust memoirs, this book is a stunner."—Seattle Weekly
"A stunning tribute to what one human being can endure, The Pianist is even more—a testimony to the redemptive power of fellow feeling."—The Plain Dealer
"Distinguished by [Szpilman's] dazzling clarity . . . Remarkably lucid."—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A striking Holocaust memoir that conveys with exceptional immediacy and cool reportage the author's desperate fight for survival."—Kirkus Reviews
"The Pianist is a book so fresh and vivid, so heartbreaking, and so simply and beautifully written, that it manages to tell us the story of horrendous events as if for the first time . . . an altogether unforgettable book. "—The Daily Telegraph
"Wladyslaw Szpilman's memoir of life in Nazi-occupied Warsaw and the Jewish ghetto has a singular vividness. All is conveyed with an understated intimacy and dailiness that render them painfully close."—The Observer
"It is all told with a simple clarity that lodges the story in one's stomach through a mixture of disgust, terror, despair, rage, and guilt that grips the reader almost gently. "—The Spectator
"Illuminates vividly the horror that overcame the Polish people. Szpilman's account has an immediacy, vivid and anguished."—The Sunday Telegraph
I was living with my parents, my sisters and my brother in Sliska Street, working for Polish Radio as a pianist. I was late home that last day of August, and as I felt tired I went straight to bed. Our flat was on the third floor ... The noise of explosions woke me. It was light already. I looked at the time: six o'clock. (22-23)
There was no panic. The mood swung between curiosity - what would happen next? - and surprise: was this the way it all began? (24)
The streets looked almost normal. There was a great deal of traffic in the main thoroughfares of the city - trams, cars and pedestrians; the shops were open, and since the mayor had appealed to the population not to hoard food, assuring us that there was no need to do so, there were not even any queues outside them. (26-27)
The declaration of war by France and Great Britain became a reality on 3 September. (27)
The streets, so clean only yesterday, were now full of rubbish and dirt. (31)
This was the one point on which the heroic city mayor Starzynski had been wrong: he should not have advised the people against laying in stocks of food. The city now had to feed not only itself but all the soldiers trapped inside it. (36)
During this penultimate stage of the siege the population's hysterical fear of sabotage reached its height. Anyone could be accused of spying and shot at any moment, before they had time to explain himself. (37)
I played in front of the microphone for the last time on 23 September. I have no idea how I reached the broadcasting center that day. I ran from the entrance of one building to the entrance of another. ... On that final day at the radio station, I was giving a Chopin recital. It was the last live music broadcast from Warsaw. ... That same day, at three-fifteen in the afternoon, Warsaw Radio went off the air. (37-39)
Warsaw surrendered on Wednesday, 27 September. (40)
At this early stage anger with the government and the army command, both of which had fled, leaving the country to its fate, was in general stronger than hatred for the Germans. (44)
The first German decrees carrying the death penalty for failure to comply were posted up. The most important concerned trading in bread: anyone caught buying or selling bread at higher than pre-war prices would be shot. ... Soon decrees applying exclusively to Jews were being published. (44-45)
In the second half of November, without giving any reasons, the Germans began barricading the side streets north of Marszalkowska Street with barbed wire, and at the end of the month there was an announcement that no one could believe at first. Not in our most secret thoughts would we every have suspected that such a thing could happen: Jews had from the first to the fifth of December to provide themselves with white armbands on which a blue Star of David must be sewn. So we were to be publicly branded as outcasts. Several centuries of humanitarian progress were to be cancelled out, and we were back in the Middle Ages. (54)
Months of bad winter weather set in, unheralded, and the cold seemed to unite with the Germans to kill people. ... I remember a whole series of days when we had to stay in bed because the temperature in the flat was too cold to endure. (54)
Instead, there was to be a separate Jewish quarter of the city where only Jews lived, where they would enjoy total freedom, and where they could continue to practice their racial customs and culture. Purely for hygienic reasons, this quarter was to be surrounded by a wall so that typhus and other Jewish diseases could not spread to other parts of the city. ... The gates of the ghetto were closed on 15 November. (58-59)
The reality of the ghetto was all the worse just because it had the appearance of freedom. You could walk out into the street and maintain the illusion of being in a perfectly normal city. (63)
Merely getting from the tram stop to the nearest shop was not easy. Dozens of beggars lay in wait for this brief moment of encounter with a prosperous citizen, mobbing him by pulling at his clothes, barring his way, begging, weeping, shouting, threatening. But it was foolish for anyone to feel sympathy and give a beggar something, for then the shouting would rise to a howl. That signal would bring more and more wretched figures streaming up from all sides, and the good Samaritan would find himself besieged, hemmed in by ragged apparitions spraying him with tubercular saliva, by children covered with oozing sores who were pushed into his path, by gesticulating stumps of arms, blinded eyes, toothless, stinking open mouths, all begging for mercy at this, the last moment of their lives, as if their end could be delayed only by instant support. (68)
Karmelicka Street was a particularly dangerous place: prison cars drove down it several times a day. They were taking prisoners, invisible behind gray steel sides and small opaque glass windows, from the Pawiak gaol to the Gestapo centre in Szuch Alley, and on the return journey they brought back what remained of them after their interrogation: bloody scraps of humanity with broken bones and beaten kidneys, their fingernails torn out. ... The Gestapo men would lean out and beat the crowd indiscriminately with truncheons. This would not have been especially dangerous had they been ordinary rubber truncheons, but those used by the Gestapo men were studded with nails and razor blades. (69)
A few steps ahead of me a poor woman was carrying a can wrapped in newspaper, and between me and the woman a ragged old man was dragging himself along. ... Suddenly the old man lunged forward, seized the can and tried to tear it away from the woman. ... Instead of ending up in his hands the can fell on the pavement, and thick, steaming soup poured out into the dirty street. ... The woman was speechless with horror. The grabber stared at the can, then at the woman, and let out a groan that sounded like a whimper. Then, suddenly, he threw himself down full length in the slush, lapping the soup straight from the pavement, cupping his hands round it on both sides so that none of it would escape him, and ignoring the woman's reaction as she kicked at his head, howling, and tore at her hair in despair. (74)
This was the winter of 1941 to 1942, a very hard winter in the ghetto. The poor were already severely debilitated by hunger and had no protection from the cold, since they could not possibly afford fuel. They were also infested with vermin. The ghetto swarmed with vermin, and nothing could be done about it. The clothing of people you passed in the street was infested by lice, and so were the interiors of trams and shops. Lice crawled over the pavements, up stairways, and dropped from the ceilings of the public offices that had to be visited on so many different kinds of business. Lice found their way into the folds of your newspaper, into your small change; there were even lice on the crust of the loaf you had just bought. And each of these verminous creatures could carry typhus. An epidemic broke out in the ghetto. The mortality figures for death from typhus were five thousand people every month. In the ghetto, there was no way of burying those who died of typhus fast enough to keep up with the mortality rate. (16-18)
These ghosts of children now emerged from the basements, alleys and doorways where they slept, spurred on by hope that they might yet arouse pity in human hearts at this last hour of the day. They stood by lamp-posts, by the walls of buildings and in the road, heads raised, monotonously whimpering that they were hungry. "We are so very, very hungry. We haven't eaten anything for ages. Give us a little bit of bread, or if you don't have any bread then a potato or an onion, just to keep us alive till morning." But hardly anyone had that onion, and if he did he could not find it in his heart to give it away, for the war had turned his heart to stone. (21)
In the early spring of 1942 human-hunting in the ghetto, previously a systematically conducted pursuit, suddenly stopped. (75)
That evening it was announced that curfew would be postponed until midnight, so that the families of those "sent for labour" would have time to bring them blankets, a change of underwear and food for the journey. This "magnanimity" on the part of the Germans was truly touching, and the Jewish police made much of it in an effort to win our confidence. Not until much later did I learn that the thousand men rounded up in the ghetto had been taken straight to the camp at Treblinka, so that the Germans could test the efficiency of the newly built gas chambers and crematorium furnaces. (78)
Meanwhile the SS had already taken a couple dozen men from the building out into the street. They switched on the headlights of their car, forced the prisoners to stand in the beam, started the engines and made the men run ahead of them in the white cone of light. We heard convulsive screaming from the windows of the building, and a volley of machine-gun fire from the car. The men running ahead of it fell one by one, lifted into the air by the bullets, turning somersaults and describing a circle, as if the passage from life to death consisted of an extremely difficult and complicated leap. ... The SS men all got into the car and drove away over the dead bodies. The vehicle swayed slightly as it passed over them, as if it were bumping over shallow potholes. (80-81)
The Germans hit upon yet another bright idea to ease their task. Decrees appeared on the walls stating that all families who voluntarily came to the Umschlagplatz to "emigrate" would get a loaf of bread and a kilo of jam per person, and such volunteer families would not be separated. There was a massive response to this offer. People were anxious to take it up both because they were hungry and in the hope of going the unknown, difficult way to their fate together. (94)
Another guest at the Sienna Street cafe was one of the finest people I have ever met, Janusz Korczak. ... Years ago, at the start of his career, he had devoted every minute of his free time and every zloty he had available to the cause of the children, and he was devoted to them until his death. He founded orphanages, organized all kinds of collections for poor children and gave talks on the radio, winning himself wide popularity (and not just among children) as the "Old Doctor." When the ghetto gates closed he came inside them, although he could have saved himself, and he continued his mission within the walls as adoptive father to a dozen Jewish orphans, the poorest and most abandoned children in the world. (15)
The evacuation of the Jewish orphanage run by Janusz Korczak had been ordered for that morning. The children were to have been taken away alone. He had a chance to save himself, and it was only with difficulty that he persuaded the Germans to take him too. ... He told them to wear their best clothes, and so they came out into the yard, two by two, nicely dressed and in a happy mood. The column was led by an SS man who loved children, as Germans do, even those he was about to see on their way into the next world. He took a special liking to a boy of twelve, a violinist who had his instrument under his arm. The SS man told him to go to the head of the procession of children and play - and so they set off. When I met them in Gesia Street the smiling children were singing in chorus, the little violinist was playing for them and Korczak was carrying two of the smallest infants, who were beaming too, and telling them some amusing story. I am sure that even in the gas chamber, as the Cyclon B gas was stifling childish throats and striking terror instead of hope into the orphans' hearts, the Old Doctor must have whispered with one last effort, "It's all right, children, it will be all right," so that at least he could spare his little charges the fear of passing from life to death. (96-97)
RELATED: Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, 1943
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FILM ON THE WARSAW GHETTO UPRISING
"THE UPRISING" (2001)
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1 comments:
1) I will be glad to know what kind of proof identified two man on this photo (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XpLacn-dSJg/TzyOu3QF1rI/AAAAAAAAINc/jqboNM-dac0/s1600/poland-german-occupation-ww2-ukrainian-SS-warsaw-ghetto-uprising-1943.jpg) as members of “Ukrainian” SS.
2) Absolutely not correct to say, that Nachtigall Battalion or 14th Waffen Grenadier Division Galicia “were either Red Army deserters or anti-communist peasants recruited from Ukrainian rural”. Battalion Nachtigall was manned primarily by occupied Poland citizens of Ukrainian ethnicity directed to unit by Bandera's OUN (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nachtigall_Battalion). 14th Waffen Grenadier Division Galicia was made up of volunteers from the region of Galicia with a Ukrainian ethnic background but later also incorporated Slovaks, Czechs and Dutch volunteers and officers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/14th_Waffen_Grenadier_Division_of_the_SS_(1st_Ukrainian))
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