Letters to Rose Read online

  I never knew if this was a real story, as we presumed it to be, but I have never forgotten the lesson my father taught me about truthfulness.

  Mom and Dad had different ideas on the importance of education. Dad wanted me to read, to learn everything I could. Mom thought I needed to learn the practical things that would prepare me to be a wife and a mother, a woman’s destiny in life. When I was ten years old, my mother wanted me to learn dressmaking in the afternoon after school. But I could not imagine myself sitting the whole afternoon, stitching on and on.

  I begged Mom to let me try to work in a library. My school teacher said she would give me a letter of recommendation. My mother was not convinced that this would be a proper job for me, but, for a while during the summer, she let me try. I concentrated completely on my new job.

  At that time, I had a very close friend who was much older than I and belonged to a Jewish organization, Shomer Hazayet. One Saturday afternoon, she took me along to a meeting of this club. Later on, she tried to help me become a member of the organization. My parents did not want me to join. Since I had a job, I could not do as much at home.

  Binne had taken over my household duties. I saw that Binne handled everything efficiently and still managed to have some free time left for playing. Nevertheless, I was obliged to help at home and to decline joining my friend’s club.

  Binne was invariably with other children from families like ours. In spite of her young age, she already was coquettish and surrounded by both boys and girls. I myself loved her dearly, but I have to admit, I was also a little jealous of the constant attention given to Binne and a tad resentful of the sacrifices I was asked to make.

  Summers with the Grandparents

  When school ended each year and summer vacation began, we alternated spending our summers with the maternal and paternal grandparents. Both lived in the country, my father’s parents, the Shermans, in Jedlinks and the Volbergs, my mother’s parents, in Kozenice. Vacationing with my grandparents on both sides was always a special time for me as well as for my siblings.

  At the Shermans, we swam, played, and ran to our hearts’ desires. The summer of 1936, while in Jedlinks, I ran into an old gentleman, who turned out to be a neighbor of ours in Radom and a close friend of my parents. By coincidence, he and his wife were on vacation in the same place that we were, and they took a liking to me.

  The bond continued once we all returned to Radom. The couple opened a new world to me of movies, theater, plays, a magical time for a nine-year-old. My sister Binne was then seven and had a bunch of her own friends, which made my friendship with the couple even more special to me.

  In 1938, Grandfather Sherman died and Grandmother felt utterly alone. Once again, it was our time to visit my father’s side of the family. Grandmother likely needed that visit more than ever. It is impossible to describe that wonderful day when Father loaded us on a two-horse cart, which carried us into the country. From the moment we left the city, I didn’t do anything else but admire the beauties of nature. I saw a gorgeous sunrise.

  Later, I vividly recalled the trees, meadows, fields of periwinkles and other wild flowers, even the songs of birds. How lovely was the freshness of the air and the smell of the blossoms! I witnessed for the first time how peasants tilled the soil and how the women with big aprons threw the seeds into the freshly plowed earth.

  Oh, it was grand to be in the country, to breathe the fragrant air and to run about in the fields and meadows. While certainly not the first time that we spent the summer with our grandmother, this trip proved especially memorable, perhaps because it ended up being our last. Grandmother came to live with us not long after.

  The next summer, the summer of 1939, my parents sent us to our maternal grandparents, the Volbergs, a well-to-do couple who had farms and horses in the countryside near Kozenice. Including uncles, aunts and other family, the Volbergs consisted of maybe fifty or more people. My uncle put up tents for us to sleep in the woods. The camp was near the castle of King Casimir the Great, a Polish king who had lived in the 13th century. What an excursion that was and what a beautiful summer for a twelve-year-old, surrounded by so much love from my uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents.

  As often said, all good things must come to an end. Finally, one of my uncles took us to the railroad station to go back home where my parents were waiting for us. I returned to the library and got my old job back. At the same time, I began to prepare for my sixth grade at school, a grade I would never enter by the decision of Fate.

  The radios, newspapers, and posters all around the city began to spread the ominous news that Poland was about to enter into a war with Germany.

  Dear Mrs. Williams,

  I want to tell you that your story has changed me. I have been praying lately for a sign of hope, and here you are with your message of forgiveness and life. I know that you are the sign I was waiting for. I will continue to tell your story and carry on your name. It was truly a blessing to meet you.

  With love,

  Darby Lewis

  Dear Rose,

  Let me be the millionth to say I’m glad to be writing to you again. It truly is an honor, and I’m sure you’re doing wonderfully. Looking back on my first letter after the first time we met, I feel immense shame since I couldn’t write more, but it was all that could be expressed at the moment without conveying the same message as others-- essentially being honored, in tears, shocked, or some other reason I wouldn’t know about. Something better than the schlock I wrote almost a year ago. In a sense, this should serve as a second chance, another opportunity to say how incredible it was to meet you. Now, even though I speak highly, like I am about to write a Samuel Coleridge poem, there isn’t much I would ask or say that hasn’t been done before by others. Though there is only one burning question that persists in the reaches of my mind: How are you able to tell such a harsh story with so much courage, something that most would be afraid to tell?

  This question holds much more truth in today’s age, especially when so many are quivering in fear about many things, including expressing their own voice in such a manner. It’s something not many can do, as the media and certain influences around them engulfs people in a hurricane of insecurities and cowardice that makes many run with their tail between their legs. Knowing that you went through hell and back (if you don’t mind me saying that) and share a shocking story that inspires generations is honestly just...I’m at a loss of words. I won’t pretend that I would even be close to understanding the torture you endured to be able to stand here today, in fact, I don’t, but I admire your efforts with the utmost respect. I’ve never met someone with such respect and admiration; it makes my spine tingle with glee. It should fill you with honor that you’ve made such a crowning achievement. Writing this letter as we speak fills me with a plethora of emotions ranging from giddiness to sorrow and even pride.

  If you were to ask what the most memorable part of your story, it would be your encounter with Dr. Mengele. It’s not the cheeriest moment, but it’s so impactful that it changes everything in a good way. The fact that you had lost faith at such a young age is one of many heart-wrenching moments that brings someone to tears. Every time I hear the story, it feels like I’m experiencing the emotions all over again. It makes me think of the kind of person I want to be someday. To not let the past cripple me to where I feel weak, but to let my experiences be a learning point to better myself and others.

  Oh, my bad, I went on a tangent about myself for a little bit. This is Letters to Rose for crying out loud, not my memoir. Though I think that is why you’re able to come out so boldly because you don’t let the past define you. In a similar fashion to a cautionary tale, you want the world to know what happened firsthand. You march out with a new outlook on, not the past or present, but on what the future has in store for you and those you love and cherish. Sure things may have been hard before, but that doesn’t define the woman tha
t is Rose Sherman Williams. Although only an on-the-spot theory, it seems plausible or something along the lines of what was just said. Your story moves people with a flurry of tears and cheers. A true blue role model is what people need in this current world of toxic behavior and beings. An inspiration to us all. Standing on a pillar of hope for years to come. You’re a piece of history that some of the likes of Mrs. Philbrick’s class could never imagine to have met, and we thank you for that, Rose. I thank you, personally.

  Sincerely,

  Cameron Mion

  Dear Mrs. Williams,

  As a German exchange student, I have found that learning about the Holocaust in a different country is interesting because the perspective is slightly different. In the U.S., we talked about it in high school for a few weeks and learned more about the human perspective. In Germany, we first learned about the Holocaust in 8th grade; then, it was a topic every year in history class. But we learned more about the facts and watched the filmed liberation of the concentration camps by the foreign military, not so much about the effects from the human point of view.

  That is what was missing and why I was moved by your story, by the imagery you shared. It has never been as real, and I could put a face to the horror. It is incredible that something as frightening as this actually happened.

  I was especially inspired by your words that we should tell our families that we love them because we never know when I will be the last time we will see them. I haven’t seen my family in a few months, so I will tell them I love them as soon as I can.

  You have taught us so much. I have a lot to think about because, after years of an objective education, it suddenly seemed so real. I feel honored to have met you.

  Sincerely,

  Mareike Kniggendorf

  Dear Mrs. Williams,

  I sat in the crowd and listened to your story. It was truly an amazing speech that I would love to hear again so that I could catch every detail and learn as much as I could from your first-hand experience of this world’s darkest moment in history. What inspired me the most is that you had the strength to keep speaking, even after you shared some of the most excruciatingly painful moments. You demonstrated profound strength, courage and poise on the stage. It was truly an honor to actually meet a Holocaust survivor in person, something that many will never experience, because, as Mrs. Philbrick shared, we are the last generation who will be so honored.

  I intend to share your story with my family and, eventually, with my own children. From now on, whenever I feel that I’m in a bad position, or that things are not going my way, I will remember you and all that you have overcome. How you, against all odds, survived.

  Thank you,

  Peter Kershaw

  Chapter Two:

  War Comes To Poland

  From the outset of his rise to power in 1933 Germany, Hitler’s visceral antipathy for the Jews was not a secret. In fact, his post-WWI book Mein Kampf clearly established Hitler’s view of the Jews as untermenschen (subhuman) and the cause of society’s economic and political ills. Hitler envisioned not a war of nations but a war of races. His goal was the preservation of the superior Aryan race through a policy of lebensraum (land space) “to secure for the German people the land and soil to which they are entitled on this earth”1

  Hitler’s plan to expand Germany’s borders began with the annexation of Austria in 1938, followed months later with the occupation of the Sudetenland, part of Czechoslovakia. Despite warnings from England and France that further aggression would lead to war, Hitler invaded Poland on September 1, 1939. One week earlier, the Germans and Soviets had signed a non-aggression document called the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Poland would be divided between them, the line of demarcation being the Bug River.

  The Polish military was no match for the influx of over 2,000 tanks and 1,000 or more Luftwaffe planes. Poland fell within the month. Germany annexed its western and northern districts; the Soviets acquired territory on Poland’s eastern borders. The rest of Poland, including districts of Radom, Warsaw, Lublin, and Krakow fell under Nazi control in a territorial jurisdiction called the General Government, headed by Nazi leader Hans Frank.2

  Within the first couple of months, the German military killed about 20,000 Jews, bombed approximately 50,000 Jewish-owned business, and destroyed several hundred synagogues. Of the 3.3 million Polish Jews at the beginning of the war, about two million came under Nazi occupation, the rest under Soviet control.3 By the end of the war, ninety percent of Poland’s three million Jews would be murdered. On September 8-9, 1939, heavily bombarded, Radom fell under German occupation.4

  At the time of the Nazi invasion, Radom’s population consisted of about 30,000 Jews. The Jewish population quickly swelled as Germans expelled Jews from Poznan and Lodz provinces and sent them to Radom. Jews from Radom were also transferred, but, increasingly, the town filled with displaced, homeless Jews, many of whom simply begged on the streets. Additionally, German-desired Jewish homes were confiscated, forcing even more families to move to poorer quarters. The worst effects on living conditions would emerge later with scarcity of water, food, sanitary facilities, and living spaces once the Nazis implemented the ghetto system.5

  Nazi restrictions on Jewish lifestyle and behavior began immediately. Curfews, confiscation of businesses and desired homes, forced registration and labor, requirement of wearing the identifying Jewish armband, prohibition of virtually any exposure to education, entertainment, or travel, closure of bank accounts with the allowance of limited funds, and the forbidding of public religious ceremonies were just a few examples. Life in Radom became not only restrictive but terrorizing very quickly once the SS, Gestapo and others supplanted the regular German Wehrmacht soldiers in establishing authority in Radom.6

  • • •

  The Invasion

  We looked out of the window, horrified and desperate, and saw the Polish Calvary retreating heedlessly, the Germans not far behind them. From above, planes peppered the country with bombs. In wild panic, people fled to all sides, and looters made the most of the confusion by pillaging and robbing whatever they could.

  In shock, I left the house to see what was happening. I witnessed Polish spies giving signs to the enemy planes with the help of mirrors. I ran back and asked my father what all this meant. But he himself was so upset that he could not give me any sensible answer. “Now! Everyone! Out into the garden! Lie down flat, cover your heads!”

  We lay down under the trees and bushes, hoping that the planes would not notice us. Not far away, a bomb exploded. It was a miracle that I happened to see the collaborator’s signal and that Dad understood what it meant. The Sherman family might have been killed on that first day of German bombardment.

  After the bombing temporarily subsided, we saw people loaded with all kinds of goods they had robbed—-meat and live animals from the slaughterhouse, spirits, cigarettes, whatever they could get hold of. I was twelve years old yet understood that my beloved father could not manage without cigarettes. I tried to fetch him some.

  Unfortunately, when I reached the factory, only matches and bottles of vodka distilled there remained. Resolutely, I picked up a box of vodka bottles and later tried to exchange them for cigarettes. I hid the liquor under the bed, knowing that, if I told my parents, they would make me take it back.

  The incessant shooting and wailing sirens went on for the whole day and night. The next morning, German tanks thundered into the town, followed by the German forces marching into our city. Whenever the troops stopped for a moment, Polish women and children came running out of the houses to offer them small souvenirs of their country.

  German troops march through Warsaw, celebrating

  the conquering of Poland September, 1939

  Reprint permission granted by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration, College Park

  Je
wish Restrictions

  Shortly after the German army entered our city, life for the Jewish people became very difficult. Within a few weeks, the SS appeared, taking over administrative duties. The Nazis controlled the new General Government and brought with them harsh regulations and wanton violence. Early on, Nazis publicly debased Jewish leaders by burning their beards and such. Quickly, most Jewish leaders were executed.

  Nazis closed all schools, and no Jewish children could get an education. Then, they issued decrees designed to take away all Jewish civil liberties and to humiliate and isolate them from the Polish population. Jews could not own a radio and had to wear a Jewish star. Nazis forbade Jews going to our beloved cinema or to parks, museums, and libraries. Jews could not walk on the sidewalk but had to walk in the middle of the street and doff their hats to any German walking by, with one particular exception.

  The Nazis established their headquarters in a house on Zeromski St (abruptly changed to Reichstrasse). Jews caught walking on this street were beaten mercilessly and forced into sadistic games designed to dehumanize. The SS conducted surprise raids of synagogues and extorted money from business owners. They prohibited religious services and desecrated the Podwalna St. synagogue, destroying all its furnishings. Curfew laws prohibited Jews from leaving their homes between the hours of 9:00 pm and 5:00 am.

  Jewish businesses were publicly boycotted and “Jude” was painted across the storefronts. Jews could no longer own bank accounts. The Germans placed billboards with horrible antisemitic caricatures all over town expressing the sentiment that “Jews are our misfortune,” that somehow the war and all economic woes were our fault. Swastika flags hung from the buildings. Street signs went quickly from Polish to German. And, as might be predicted, within weeks, Germans confiscated Jewish businesses, including my father’s.