The unit is consolidated, the fighters devoted to the weaker members. Differences of opinion have not led to a rift. Moreover, our daily routine is strictly organized. Everyone agrees that without mental work the unit can become demoralized. Depression is one of our toughest enemies. A person thinks of his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, how they were snatched in sudden aktions—such a memory strikes like a bolt of lightning.
At first he doesn’t feel the pain, but slowly the images penetrate his body, and depression soon blackens his vision. The fighter, who only an hour earlier was ready and willing, collapses as if an unbearable load has been placed on his shoulders.
When a person falls into depression, the others cautiously try to talk to him, heart to heart. Sometimes the right word revives him, but usually words are unable to free him from the snare of despair.
One of the fighters once sank into a depression so deep it seemed he was finished. All attempts to speak to him failed. His face grew grayer by the hour, and he was on the edge of collapse. Finally, one of the fighters approached and, in a voice not his own, said to him, “In the name of your mother and father, I ask you to get out of the darkness you’ve plunged into; we cannot permit ourselves such a loss. Your father and mother ask us to protect the widows and orphans. Depression is the invention of the devil, who tugs us away from the truth and seeks to defeat us from within.” Miraculously, the words that this fighter mined from his soul took the man out of his depression, and he stood on his feet.
But success does not always smile on us. There are two fighters in our unit who suffer from prolonged depression. We keep a very close eye on them, never leaving them alone, and when we go on raids they are never in the rear.
Kamil, who is himself prone to moodiness, speaks from time to time about foul humors and depression, which impede decisive action. One must shake them off, defy them, and thwart the schemes of Satan.
“We have a great mission at this hour, to rescue the Jews from the talons of the foe and ourselves from despair. The world is filled with evil and wickedness and anarchy, but we, thank God, have not fallen into that trap. We will do everything that God has called upon us to do. The Ten Commandments are engraved in our hearts to guide us.” It’s scary to be around Kamil when he talks about our mission in this world. His eyes blaze, he grows taller, and he looks like one of the giants of generations past.
10
The rains limit our movement, but we’re not just sitting around. Patrols and ambushes continue every night. Progress into the forest is slow but at a steady pace. If, as it now appears, we’ll be staying here for the winter, we’ll have to build bunkers. The winter here is fierce and merciless.
Our meals are regular: morning, noon, and evening. The food is limited but tasty, and on Friday nights we sit up late and sing: folk songs and songs of the Bund and youth movements.
Ever since we brought the books and candlesticks, the spice box and Jewish National Fund box, these Sabbath evenings are different. We see our homes in a new light. True, in most cases Sabbath candles were not lit, but when we visited our grandparents, we saw how bound they were to the God of their ancestors.
As one of the fighters has remarked, we appear to need distance in order to see what we had not seen. Karl is willing to admit that the Sabbath is an excellent Jewish invention. Sabbath removes us from capitalist slavery, and that’s good enough. Any mystical component only damages this noble idea.
It now becomes increasingly clear that the controversies that raged on the Jewish street only a year ago had missed the point. No one imagined what lay in wait for us at every turn. Everyone was certain in his opinion, but no one, apart from a few pessimists, saw what was obvious. One comrade has warned us: “Don’t bring any ideas from there. This territory will not tolerate them. Let’s stick to what we now see and hear.”
* * *
—
THERE’S NO DOUBT that music is good for us. Music, as opposed to speech, elevates the purest part of ourselves, does not sharpen differences but heals them. Folk songs and workers’ songs blend together and instill the sense that life is not arbitrary, indifferent, or evil. Melody lifts you on its wings and takes you back to childhood. This sweetness revives the body, but one mustn’t become addicted. The enemy lies in wait for the opportune moment; he is wily and patient and will not let a single one of us get away.
Not long ago we saw from a distance a unit of Ukrainian gendarmes chasing after a Jewish child who had escaped. The boy was quick and managed to dart into a cornfield and hide there. The German commander did not give up. He brought in more Ukrainian gendarmes, who surrounded the cornfield completely.
In the end, they caught the boy and dragged him off by his arms like a hunted animal.
When Jews are involved, even elderly gendarmes turn into fighters. We stood helplessly, shaking with fury; we were too few to come to the boy’s rescue.
* * *
—
IT HAPPENS SOMETIMES that after a night of singing someone will stand up and speak exactly as his parents did, with the same words and intonation, as if again being the son of his father and mother.
Melodies lead to mysteries. And so, as I said, one must not become addicted. It’s better to chop down trees, reinforce the tent walls, clean the weapons. Activity is preferable to introspection. After an active day, a person drops onto his pallet of twigs and falls asleep.
In the past, my dreams were often full of color. Now I throw myself onto the twigs and I sleep, disconnected from everything that was once mine. When my shift comes, they wake me and I go on guard duty or patrol.
In Kamil’s tent a lamp is always burning. When he doesn’t go on a raid, he sleeps with the squad that’s on call. Truth to tell, he almost never sleeps. Sometimes he naps for an hour or two. He’ll allow himself this only if Felix is nearby.
After a night of action without casualties, everyone is happy, especially Salo. But the medical equipment is running low. We boil the bandages for repeated use, but the iodine and other disinfectants are almost gone. There is a pharmacy in one of the big villages, about ten miles from here, that had belonged to Jews. If it turns out that this pharmacy is active, we won’t hesitate to raid it, Kamil promises. One of the patrols has come very near that village but was unable to ascertain whether the pharmacy was manned and functioning. The village grocery is open, the coal depot is still in business, and there’s also a flour mill that is inoperative during the fall. All of these had been owned by Jews.
Kamil and Felix have mulled this over more than once, but not enough information has been collected yet about the village, its defenders, and their weapons; Kamil would like to capture one of the farmers so he can tell us about the village and the Germans. But as of now that idea has not been carried out.