Stephen Shooster
1942
The Judenrat was the committee designated to disseminate the German orders to the Jewish population enforce the laws using the Jewish police. It was a tortured organization because all the news and tasks were bad. The committee would meet in the now-empty home of Dr. Kohn, next to the beautiful Grybow Park. It was a good location because it was spacious and conveniently located near the train sta- tion. Being near the station would make it easy for the Germans to visit the members of the committee. The Judenrat was made up of senior community members, but to the Germans, they were a powerless, pathetic organization, something to be viewed with derision. One day an insidious request was issued by the Gestapo. They said that by the end of the day they wanted the Judenrat to produce one hundred people to be deported to work camps. This request left the committee in disarray. They had no mechanism to choose one hundred individuals, let alone one person. The way they saw it, there was only one choice. They had to tell the Gestapo it was an impossible request or stall for time. So, when the Gestapo returned later that day, and asked, “Where are the people we requested?” A committeeman replied, “I’m sorry, but no one will volunteer.” The Gestapo became incensed with an outburst of shouting and violent scorn. Shaken, one committeeman made a brave but futile gesture, knowing it might be his last, by saying, If you want volunteers you will have to go house-to-house and get them yourselves. What the Nazis did next sent shivers through the entire community. Outraged, they took the entire Jewish Committee to the park next to the house and executed them all. I heard the shots from my home, knowing only that they were close by. Shortly, after the shots were fired, the Jewish police, represented by my old friends Eisen and Reinkraut, knocked on our door and approached my father. They were obviously shaken when they said, “Mr. Schagrin, there has been a tragedy. We need your help to bring the bodies of our committeemen to the cemetery. They are all dead.” The news landed on our family like a bag of bricks would hit you in the face. This was horrific news that would almost certainly lead to the death of my father as well. We feared that once my father brought the bodies to the cemetery, he would be killed as a cover-up for the event, a common practice. The Jewish police left. I heard them too, and without discussion turned to my father, “Father, I will go with you.” But, I actually had a different plan; I could not let him go at all. I thought I had a better chance to survive than him. I was betting they would be less likely to kill a
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