Sally Feldman

On March 26, 1925 in Skarzysko, Poland, Haskiel and Rucha Laja Herszenfus excitedly welcomed me to the world. My parents Haskiel and Rucha Laja proudly followed Jewish tradition in naming me Sura after my late grandmother Sura Puzanter Feldman. They hoped that Iwould emulate the virtues of my late grandmother whose strength and optimism helped her create a large loving family of six children all raised in Jewish tradition.

I joined four older siblings in a warm and loving household. My brothers Aaron and Mendel and sisters Judas and Esther adored me. They couldn’t wait to introduce me to their eight aunts and uncles and seventeen cousins who lived nearby in their hometown. They were also excited to introduce me to our relatives from Sosnowiec Poland who spent the summers with them. Our extended family was large but close knit. There were so many cousins to play with and aunts and uncles that spoiled them.

My immediate family lived on Pilsudski Street in a three floor house with a rather large property. We were proud to live on the street named for their Polish President, Jozef Pilsudski.   As far back as one could remember, my family lived in Poland.

Upon entering my house, your nose perked up and your mouth started watering. My mother was literally always cooking delectable treats and hardy meals. My family observed Shabbat and shared a traditional Jewish meal following services at their synagogue.    My hometown actually had two synagogues and about 2200 Jews (14% of population).   All the town’s residents knew each other and where everyone lived.

At home I helped with the housework but escaped doing a lot of the work because she I the youngest. I attended lots of family mitzvahs at my local synagogue and frequently got together with my extended family. In winter my cousins and I went sledding and during the summer we swam together.

My parents owned two grocery stores, both named Herszenfus Grocery. One store was on the first level of our home and the other was in the nearby town of Skarzysko Koscielne. My mother and older sisters worked in the store on the first floor of our home and my father worked in the other grocery store.   The shelves of both stores were always stocked with wonderful treats plus all the products one needed on a daily basis.

I had a happy childhood. I attended the local Polish public school near my home and excelled in math. I had lots of girlfriends at school with whom I shared stories and laughs with each day. Jews and non Jews were my friends at school. In fact, I never experienced anti-semitism before the war began.   My home was in walking distance of my school and I would skip to and from school with my classmates. I attended school daily until eighth grade when suddenly Jews were forbidden from attending school any longer.   Life as I knew it was about to change forever.

In September of 1939, at the age of 14, German warplanes dropped bombs on Skarzysko. Relatively little property damage was caused during the first raid but fear was stirred. The Nazi’s took over the ammunition factory located in my town for their own war effort. The Nazi’s immediately passed laws placing restrictions on the Jews.   Jewish children like me could no longer attend school. All Jewish property and businesses were confiscated and Jews were forced into slave labor.

Shortly after the Nazi’s took over Skaryzkso, I endured a very personal tragedy. On Passover of 1940, my mother experienced a stroke and died. At the age of 15, I had to learn to have strength and resilence.

On May 4, 1941 the Nazi’s established a Ghetto and ordered the Jews of Skarzysko to move there. My family and I had to leave our beautiful home and move into the crowded and dirty Ghetto. I was heartbroken to leave the only home I knew, but relieved I could remain with my family members and that we would not be split up. Always an optimist, I knew together we would find a way to manage the Ghetto.

Before the war, I knew of the ammunition factory located in my hometown and several Poles from my community worked there. These Poles were not Jewish because Jews were not allowed to work at the factory.
However, once the war started, the ammunition factory taken over by the Nazi’s became an integral part of the Nazi war effort. Newly controlled by HASAG, the ammunition factory was turned into a Forced Labor camp for Jews. Jews who were once forbidden from stepping foot in the factory, were now forced to become slave laborers who worked 12 hour shifts every day.

Starting at age 16, I was forced to work a 12 hour shift in the ammunition factory for no pay. I would march over two hours every morning from the Ghetto to HASAG and would retrace the same two hour march each night back to the Ghetto after my 12 hours shift. I was violently pushed towards my destination by Nazi guards and yapping German Shepherds. If anyone slowed down or fell out of pace they were attacked and killed. The daily march and forced labor was an exhausting and frightening existence for me. I dreaded the walk and the work each day.   To my worst fears, this daily routine eventually became an even worse nightmare as one day the guards no longer let me and my fellow workers return home. From that day forward, I became a permanent inmates of the camp.

On that day, exhausted from my 12 hour shift, I got ready to leave the ammunition factory, but this time the guards and their German Shepherds, forcefully pushed me and the other girls in a different direction. They violently marched us through a muddy backyard somewhere near the factory to a place that contained several barracks. The barracks were wooden dilapidated structures.

They forced us via gunpoint into these barracks. The whole area had barbed wires all around it. We began to cry and scream at the top of our lungs “ Please take us home…. We don’t want to be here. “ The guards snapped back at us to stop carrying on like this otherwise we will shoot and kill you. I looked around and realized how awful the barracks were. The barracks were dark and black and smelly.   All the barracks contained were bunk beds made from boards. Each bunk had a few single strands of straw. Some beds contained a dirty black blanket with lots of holes. The guards screamed that these were the beds and that all the girls were to settle down or they will kill everyone.

Eventually we settled down in the barracks and I attempted to close my eyes. How I longed for the comfort of my bed with clean sheets that smelled like flowers and soft blankest I would wrap myself in. Before we knew it we were awakened by loud shouts from the Nazi’s who were beating anyone not awake with clubs. They told us to get out and go to work.

Before the war, the workers in the factory always wore protection while working with the toxic ammunition materials. However, we were not allowed to wear face masks or actually any type of protective clothing.

Over time, my fellow workers and I became known as the “yellow people”. Working with picric acid, the dangerous ingredient in the ammunition, turned ones skin, nails and hair a yellowish color.   Even after scrubbing oneself, which was only possible when I still lived in the Ghetto, the stains from the picric acid could not be removed.   My fellow slave workers and I were constantly beaten and abused on a daily basis.   The guards in charge were savages who had atrocious behavior towards the slave laborers. The smallest error, know by the prisoners as “smaltz” was considered sabotage and resulted in immediate death.   There were daily ammunition quotas and failure to meet these quotas was also a death sentence.

Unfortunately and not surprisingly, the dangerous chemicals in the ammunition started to poison my body, poison that would stay in my body long after the war. The poison would continue to slowly chip away my body, causing me to die at a young age of lung cancer, having never smoked a cigarette in my life.

October of 1942, an aktion took place in the Skarzysko Ghetto and the Ghetto was liquidated and all remaining Jews were sent to Treblinka to be exterminated upon arrival. Although it happen so quickly and felt surreal, I said a “last goodbye” to some of my family members before the liquidation. In the HASAG camp, there was guard in the barracks whose girlfriend’s family remained in the Skarzysko Ghetto and her father upon hearing that the Ghetto was going to be emptied out, begged his daughter to obtain permission for the prisoners from Skaryzkso to go to the ghetto after work to say a last goodbye to their families. The guard requested special permission from the Commandant that Skaryzsko prisoners go to the Ghetto.

I was one of the lucky few allowed permission to march back to the Ghetto one final time. My memory of the incident was blurry and full of tears but I probably was able to meet up with my father and brother Aron. I might even have seen my sisters and their families. The experience of attempting a goodbye at the same time the guards were hollering “time is up” and threatening extreme violence, was surreal and confusing. I looked at my family and terrified I hugged each of them trying to cling on to the goodness and strength of each one.   Words were not exchanged out loud, just love.

It only took a few days for the Nazi’s to clear Skarzysko of Jews. It was said that the Jews were sent to Treblinka in cattle cars. Skarzysko had a main train station and the Nazi’s brought cattle cars there and loaded the remaining Jews of the Ghetto into them.   When I heard that my family and others might have been sent to the Treblinka extermination camp in these cattle cars and subsequently killed upon arrival in a gas chamber, it didn’t make any sense. Why would the Nazi’s kill my father? Why would they kill my brother and sister and baby niece? Who would create something called a gas chamber? What did my family ever do to the Nazi’s? Why and how could this happen?

After hearing about the Treblinka extermination camp, I dedicated myself to the single aim of staying alive. I kept myself alive in order to tell the world what the Nazi’s did. I needed to carry on for my family and the future world.   I focused on helping my fellow prisoners survive this ordeal.

I felt comforted knowing that my older brother Mendel was also in HASAG. Mendel was adventurous, strong willed, determined and full of courage. Though I didn’t have an opportunity to see him in the camp, I still felt his presence around her. I hoped to emulate his strength and fearlessness.
Mendel’s forced labor at HASAG was in the “work colony”. His job was to paint the houses that the German officers lived in.   Other prisoners in the work colony included one cousin Yechiel Feldman and two acquaintances from Skarzysko.

Mendel and his friend decided to concoct a plan of escape. Mendel did not share his plans of escape with his cousin Yechiel. Yechiel believes Mendel did not tell him his plans because he knew Yechiel, whose wife was also in HASAG would not leave.

One evening while the non Jewish Polish workers were leaving the HASAG factory to go home to their families and warm houses, Mendel and his friend succeeded in crawling over the wall and disappearing.

Several days later, Mendel’s friend in the “work colony” received a note from his brothers stating that Mendel has succeeded in arriving in the nearby Ghetto of Szydlowiec. They acknowledged that Mendel had shared information about the terrible conditions at the HASAG camp and wrote that the situation in the Szydlowiec Ghetto was better than HASAG. They enclosed 100 zlotys with the letter. Unfortunately, this letter was their last contact. A few weeks later on January 8, 1943, the Szydlowiec Ghetto was surrounded by Nazi troops and all the Jews remaining were marched to cattle trains to take them to Treblinka. Among them was likely Sura’s brother Mendel.

Despite the loss of her brother Mendel’s presence at HASAG, my daily grind and unbearable conditions continued but I was alive. At one point, the Skarzysko factory was shut down and I was moved to the Czestohowa HASAG factory. The conditions in Czestohowa were even worse than Skarzykso. And the hunger was so big. The hunger was so terrible. My fellow inmates and I only talked about food.   The guards gave us one watery soup and a chunk of bread each day. The hunger made me feel the emptiness in my stomach.   The hunger nagged me with little pains all day long.

But throughout the war years, I kept moving forward.   Despite my daily struggles, she was determined to survive. Even in the worst situations, I found my inner strength and never gave up. I overcame my pain by helping my fellow prisoners survive, whether it be by words or acts of kindness. In HASAG, the guards gave the prisoners a daily ration of one piece of bread.   After a 12 hour shift and grueling day laboring in the ammunition factory, this small hunk of bread was a savior to me.   However, even in these circumstances where I was starving, I still had the clarity of mind to craft a plan. Each day when I received the bread, I would break the hunk of bread into half. I would place half of the bread under my pillow and allow myself to devour the other half. I would relish this tiny piece of stale and moldy bread. Of course the bread was not like any of the bread or other delicious food that my mother used to cook for me in our home, but I was starving and it is amazing what starvation does to your taste buds.

Every morning when I woke up, I would look under her pillow and every morning I would find that the half piece of bread I carefully placed under my pillow the night before was gone. I never knew if it was just that I was so hungry in the middle of the night that I ate the piece of bread in my sleep, or rather whether someone else stole it each night. But what I did believe is that if someone else stole it, then I knew that person needed the bread much more than I did.

Upon liberation I actually remained in the camp, a day or two before we even realized they were free. Through the barbed wire I saw Nazi guards running away presumably to save themselves. The Russians were bombing and the war was concluding. The Nazi guards started to take the ammunition and machinery out of the camp and load it onto the trains. On January 16, 1945 the guards woke me and others up in the middle of night and told them to line up and march to the railroad. My cousin Esther kept pushing me to back of the line. After the Nazi’s took the first 100 prisoners to the railroad and came back for more prisoners, my cousin kept moving me to the back of the line.   Thanks to my cousin’s efforts, I was never put in a line to march to the trains.    Eventually, my cousin and I went to the gate to exit the camp. Many stayed in the camp but I didn’t know why. This was the first time the gate did not have an armed guard.

We cautiously walked into the city and came upon Russian military tanks. I worried that maybe I should have stayed in the camp as I was afraid to be recaptured by the Germans. But the Russian military trucks in the town stopped me and asked “who are you and where are you going. “ I told them that I was a Jewish prisoner from the camp. The Russian soldiers told me to go to Germany. I had no idea why and also no idea how to even get there   My cousin and I decided instead to find shelter in a house because it was dangerous to walk around. We found an abandoned house to sleep in. As soon as the sun came out, I decided that she would make her way back to her hometown.

I haggardly walked back to Skarzysko.   I was anxious to get home and find out any definitive information about my family. Lists were put up everywhere stating the names of the few who remained alive.   Sadly, I learned all too quickly that none of my immediate family had survived the war. Through talking with other survivors I learned that my family members were likely sent to Treblinka and killed upon arrival.

Where does one go after surviving a concentration camp and finding out that their entire family had been murdered. I went to my home. The Herszenfus home was still standing but not a trace of my family remained. Seeing my home I rushed in hoping to find pictures, the chicken soup pot, her clean smelling sheets, the smell of Shabbat candles, any remnants of my past, something to cling onto and hold. Sadly, my house was in tatters and nothing at all was left. Not one shred of paper, not any pictures, nothing to hug tightly. My once warm and loving home was now a hallow structure. The sounds of laughter, the feeling of love and the smells of food, were left only to my imagination.

Despite this, I did not want to leave her home as it was the last remaining connection to her past. Though the house no longer held the smells from her mother’s food or the noises from her four siblings, it contained memories.   Memories of a large and loving family. Memories of delicious food that I would one day learn how to cook and teach my children and their children. Recipes that would now continue on through the new generations. Though my life was taken from me, I would reclaim these values and feelings from the past.

In July of 1946, there was a terrible pogram (a killing) in nearby town of Kielce and at least 42 Jewish survivors were murdered. Though I didn’t want to part with the last remaining physical connection to my lost family – my property- I feared for my life and recognized the necessity of leaving Poland.   I eventually resigned to selling my home and property. Reluctantly I sold the home and received the equivalent of $300.

Sadly, after the war, the Jewish Community of Skaryzkso was never reconstituted and only a plaque memorializing those killed remains. Despite this, I did not allow the Nazi’s to eliminate me from history. I mustered the strength and the courage to go on. I never forgot the love my parents and family shared. I met a man. We fell in love and married in the Feldafing Displaced Persons camp. We gave birth to a son. We decided to cross the ocean and come to New York.   We successfully learned a new language, started a new business and created a large and loving family.   My three children, seven grandchildren and young but flourishing generation of great grandchildren’s lives are a testament to my resilence.