Paul Chorowski

Paul Chorowski was born in 1913 and died in 1995. He survived the Zabludow and Bialystok ghettos.

While in Bialysok ghetto he had witnessed the rounding up of some of the 1200 Bialystok children in Pietrasze field (The “killing field” just outside the city) at the final liquidation of the Bialystok ghetto in August of 1943. He testified “Finally they brought us to Pietrasze field, a big group of Ukrainian hooligans forced us to run to a field, they tortured us, and beat us mercilessly…took off boots from the dead people. They pierced the women with spears; many choked for the oppressive and dense condition. If one person fell then the entire group collapsed on the person and tanks surrounded us. It was impossible to escape. All that night we were together in the field, my brother in law, his children, my cousins and their children, and all those who succeeded in hiding in the first action days (earlier massacres and deportations). The next day the murderous nazis gathererd all the small children in one spot, and whoever ran back to their parents was caught by his neck with a hooked pole and thrown to the ground… the screams of the children and their mothers still echo in my mind. They ran the children like a flock of sheep back to the ghetto, and kept them there for two weeks. These children were among those that left Bialystok on the 21^st or 22^nd of August 1943 bound for Theresenstadt in Czechoslovakia. They were accompanied by about 20 nurses and doctors from Bialystok who were later separated from the children and sent on to Auschwitz where they were immediately gassed and burned.”

After the ghettos, Paul was sent to and survived the Majdanek concentration camp, and then work camps in Germany.

He was liberated from a work camp near Dachau after a death march in which 80 of 2000 persons survived. In his written testimony in the Zabludow Poland Yizkor book, Paul stated “We entered at night to Agusbourd, the city that was bombed is lighted with fire flames with blazing fire. We dragged ourselves with our last strength to the train; we drove all night, lying crowded in the cars, pushed and squished to each other. In the morning I opened my eyes and saw; around me were lying a lot of dead people. Where are we going? No one knows. In the morning the airplane appeared, and stated shooting the train. We prepared striped fabrics, and we wanted to wave them, as a hint that the train has camp prisoners, but the train stopped because the locomotive was badly damaged. They opened the car doors and let us scatter in the field, we attacked the flower buds and picked and ate the green leaves.

We need to walk again. I made a few steps and felt that I was about to faint. Two people from Radom, a father and his son, supported me under my arms. They entreated me to make an effort to stay conscious. I didn’t have any strength. I needed and there was none. Suddenly, as if a miracle, I saw at a short distance, a river. I ran with my remaining strength to the river. I bent down to get water with my hat, but from fatigue I feel into the river. When they took me out, I was a different person. My strength returned to me. At the beginning of the march from Koennedorf camp we were about 2000 people. When we arrived at the Alach camp near Dachau, we were not more than 200 people. From those only 80 survived.

In the new camp we had a feeling the end of the war was near. But what kind of value does that event hold for me? I’m very sick…my hand is broken…and though they don’t take any more people to work, we see that the Germans are confused. Not far, a few kilometers from the camp, was Dachau- the death factory. The fear is great…we want after all to live. We know the most close and dear people are no longer alive. Despite all this I want to live and see the revenge on Amalek- let their name and memory be erased. I lay as if paralyzed without being able to move a limb. Many people walked around in the buns and searched for friends and relatives.

But I was very sick. They took me to the hospital and gave me a bath. They opened my bandage. The doctors determined that my arm bones had wrongly reconnected. They connected ita gain and cast my arm. The Nazis that still controlled the camp left me in the hospital. For the “healthy” ones there was still no rest. They continued to march them, this time to the swiss border. To our luck, some Jewish doctors were left in the hospital that took care of the sick. They were told that the Americans were very close…and the redemption was near…

On Saturday April 28, 1945- a day that I’ll never forget- we lay in bunk beds one on top of another. The Americans had attacked the camp and the German soldiers continued to show their resistance. The American artillery hit the hospital. Many patients were killed a few hours before the liberation. I fell from the bed on the floor and lay there till morning. The bunk was dark. The patients were crying. I comforted them with my father’s words ‘ Yeshuat Adonai k’heref ayiin’ – God’s redemption in a twinkling of an eye.

In the morning, Sunday April 29, 1945, the American army entered the camp victoriously. The soldiers saw us and stood in shock. . . Our situation was very bad… and we cried from joy… finally the torture and suffering came to an end. We are free. Many prisoners charged the food, got sick immediately and it was impossible to save them… I was very weak and skinny. One leg was think as a stick, the other one swollen. I was a skeleton. I was transferred by ambulance to the hospital in Dachau. They gave me small portions of food. They gave me blood transfusion. And slowly I recuperated. Dachau, of terrible notoriety still had a sign” ‘Arbeit macht das leben zies’ (work sweetens life). There Hitler (may his name and memory be erased) murdered hundreds of thousands of Jews. I saw piles of bodies that they did not have time to burn.

I lay in the Dachau hospital for a few weeks. Those who recovered were free and were able to leave, and even to go home. I was not able to stand on my feet. That’s why I was transferred to St. Autlian hospital near Landsberg. I stayed another full year in the hospital. They fed me like a small child until I could get back to myself. From the hospital I moved to Vildheim where I met with other survivors. These were the few like me, who were lucky enough o live and by a miracle were saved.

Some traveled to different countries: Israel, America, Argentina. Other Survivors traveled to Warsaw in hope of selling their possessions in the town. I didn’t go..I had nothing I possessed…Zabludow was burned to the ground. She was erased by the murderous Nazis may their names and memories be erased! There were no survivo0rs from those who were most loved…”

In Vildheim Germany, Paul met Mina Rucko. Mina was born Vilna Poland in 1917 and passed away in 2002. She was a survivor of the Vlina ghetto and numerous concentration and work camps. Between Paul and Mina, they lost four parents, numerous brothers and sisters, countless aunts, uncles and cousins. They immigrated to the United States to rebuild their lives and to have their two children.

When asked “How did you survive” Paul testified, “My story is witness and answer to the questions. That’s why I wanted to write in the Yizkor book all the suffering and hardships that happened to me and all my experiences so that they will be remembered to eternity. All the suffering and hell that the survivors experienced are very similar. People survived due to miracles. The golden chain should not be severed, but I remained a broken soul, ill the rest of my life. Our children should know and remember the order ‘ Remember what Amalek did to you.’ Remember what Hitler’s Germany did to us!”