Chajka Klinger could not wait to set one off.
*
Indeed, a spirit of rebellion was in the air. That autumn of 1942, the nearby town of Lubliniec was the site of an impromptu revolt. One afternoon, Nazis ordered all the Jews to gather in the market and undress. Men, women, the elderly, and children were forced to peel off their clothing, even their underwear, on the pretext that the garments were needed for the German army. Nazis stood over them, brandishing whips and sticks. They tore clothes off women’s bodies.
Suddenly a dozen naked Jewish women attacked the officers, scratching them with their nails. Encouraged by non-Jewish bystanders, they bit them with their teeth, picked up stones, and hurled them with their trembling hands.
The Nazis were shocked. Panicking, they ran away, leaving behind the confiscated clothing.
“Jewish Resistance in Poland: Women Trample Nazi Soldiers” was the headline in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency’s report of this incident, filed from Russia and published in New York City.
After that, many Jews from Lubliniec, including the women, decided to join the partisans. It was right around this time that the first armed Jewish resistance erupted—right in the capital of the General Government.
Chapter 10
Three Lines in History—A Krakówian Christmas Surprise
Gusta
THE AKIVA PLEDGE
I pledge to engage in active resistance within the framework of the Jewish Fighting Organization of the Halutz Youth Movement.
I swear by everything most dear to me, and above all by the memory and honor of dying Polish Jewry, that I will fight with all the weapons available to me until the last moment of my life to resist the Germans, the National Socialists, and those in league with them, the mighty enemies of the Jewish people and of all humanity.
I pledge to avenge the innocent deaths of millions of children, mothers, fathers, and aged Jewish people, to uphold Jewish spirit, and to raise the flag of freedom proudly. I pledge to shed my own blood fighting to achieve a bright and independent future for the Jewish nation.
I pledge to fight for justice, freedom, and the right of all human beings to live in dignity. I will fight side by side with those who share my desire for a free and equitable social order. I will serve humanity faithfully, dedicating myself without hesitation to achieving human rights for all, subordinating my personal desires and ambitions to that noble cause.
I pledge to accept as a brother anyone willing to join me in this struggle against the enemy. I pledge to set the seal of death on anyone who betrays our shared ideals. I pledge to hold out to the end, not to retreat in the face of overwhelming adversity or even death.
October 1942
Gusta Davidson arrived in Kraków, the capital of the General Government, exhausted. She had been on the move for days, waking at dawn, walking for miles, constant nervous tension, constant danger. First, she’d helped her family members, who were trapped in a town surrounded by police. Then, the sleepless trip back to Kraków involved endless logistical quagmires: connections, horse and buggy, droshky carriage, motorcycle, and hours of waiting in train stations.
Gusta’s swollen legs now dragged her into her city and to the Jewish Quarter, a small area of low-rise buildings on the south bank of the river, far from the city’s red-roofed, grandiose castle and colorful, winding medieval center. Before the war, sixty thousand Jews lived in Kraków, or a quarter of the city’s population; the old Kazimierz area hosted seven historic synagogues with magnificent architecture dating back to 1407.
She approached the ghetto, her normally glossy lips and high cheekbones unusually pale. Black bags lingered under her eyes. She was overcome by fatigue. But as Gusta neared the barbed wire and heard the purr of the busy streets, of crowds “wafting the hum and buzz of their existence into the surrounding buildings,” as she recognized faces she knew and noted those she didn’t, she felt energized, ready to hug them all. The ghetto had been formed more than a year earlier but was constantly changing. Jews fled, then refugees came, as if it was a safe haven. Like Gusta, everyone had been on the run, from one besieged city to the next, fleeing in circles until they ran out of money or strength, or an Aktion caught them by surprise. She felt secure, even belonging, in her very homelessness. She was tempted to ask each Jew she passed, “Where did you escape from?”