Providential Preservations
A
Memoir of God’s Grace in the Life of Anna Shmaiger
Kinovsk
I was 16 when the horror began. My well to do, Orthodox
Jewish family lived in the district of Lubar a town about
120 miles southwest of Kyiv. Before the war it was
considered a Jewish town because the majority of the
population, about 7,000, was Jewish. That number was
decimated in the aftermath of WWII. My brother and I were
only two of three Jews in the region’s ghetto who
escaped and survived Hitler’s “final
solution.” Our preservation and coming to faith in
the Lord Jesus Christ is a fulfillment of God’s
merciful promise to deliver a remnant of His people and
return them to Jerusalem:
“Turn, O backsliding children, saith the Lord; for I
am married unto you: and I will take you one of a city, and
two of a family, and I will bring you to Zion.”
(Jeremiah 3:14)
Before 1941
Our home life before the Second World War was a happy one.
My learning began in a Jewish school but after only a year,
we moved to Velikovolitzeh, a town 12 miles from Lubar.
There I was enrolled in a Ukrainian public school. When I
reached my teenage years, I became a member of the
Komsomol, the communist youth organization. Although I was
Jewish I easily made friends with the Ukrainian students. I
was amazed to watch most of those friendships quickly erode
in the ensuing weeks.
1941
When the German invasion of the Soviet Union became
imminent, I along with other Komsomol members were called
on to help dig trenches and erect tank barricades. For this
reason my parents stayed behind when many other Jews in the
community fled for their lives. The invasion came on June
22 but the defense was no match for the German military
machine and in a very short time, our communities were
overrun. Many Ukrainians actually welcomed the German
forces because they saw the Nazis as liberators from the
detestable Bolshevik system that had dominated their lives.
I remember my first teacher stating that he had waited a
long time for this moment.
The new system proved
much worse however as the Nazis wasted no time in
undertaking their program of ethnic cleansing.
Inexplicably, a majority of Ukrainians chose to remain
silent or cooperate fully with the German authorities. Many
eagerly enlisted in the new police force that was created
for ridding society of a common enemy – the Jew. New
laws went into effect. One law required all Jews to wear
the yellow Star of David on their clothing. Then came the
massacre in Lubar. The strong men were the first group to
be executed and then the old, the women, and the children
were slaughtered.
Some managed to hide temporarily
from the initial executions. Another new law soon
facilitated their arrest. Any home found to be hiding Jews
would result in having the whole family executed. Many of
my school friends participated in exposing Jews. Some
appeared to be very proud of doing it. Those who were
exposed together with the Jews in the outlying areas of
Lubar and not yet affected by the initial pogrom were then
rounded up and confined to a ghetto.
The area
selected for this internment was a large complex of
buildings on the outskirts of Lubar, which had served as a
convent before the 1917 Russian Revolution. In the violence
of the communist takeover, many children were bereft of
parents. Coupled with the forcible shut down of religious
institutions during that period the complex was turned into
an orphanage. Today the same buildings house a technical
institute. Those who study there hardly know what terrible
atrocities took place within those walls.
It was
early August 1941 when they came for us in Velikovolitzeh.
My family and me were among the 1,000 remaining Jews in the
whole district. At first our expectations were raised when
the Ukrainian police approached the Jewish families in our
community and offered to send us to Palestine. It was only
a ploy however to make their job easier. I shall never
forget the road and the convoy of wagons that hauled us
away to the ghetto.
Life in the Ghetto
Living conditions in the former convent/orphanage were
brutal. We were confined to small rooms or cells where
people had to sleep standing. As many as 80 to 100 hungry
people were “canned” into these cells. There
were no wash basins. I would often use the condensation on
the windowpanes of our cell to wash my face. Feeding us was
never a concern of the police guarding us. The common
attitude among them was “Jews never eat anyway,
it’s unthinkable.” Occasionally a peasant would
come to the ghetto and deliver a bucket of potatoes. It was
never enough of course and so there was always a mad
scramble just to get hold of one.
The beauty of
autumn could not alleviate the crying, hunger, misery and
death that enveloped our once happy and prosperous
community. Our presence in the ghetto became something of
an attraction for the townsfolk. They would come to the
courtyard and gaze at us as people do when they visit a
zoo. One of the pleasantries I did experience was a weekly
visit by a dear childhood friend of mine, Nina. She had not
collaborated with the new regime and walked the 15
kilometers from Velikovolitzeh to bring me some food of
toasted bread. This was considered food, as it was all that
most common people had to eat in those days. She is still
alive today and we maintain contact.
Children in the
ghetto were sometimes allowed to leave the ghetto and
scavenge for food. One day as I went begging from door to
door I walked by the superior of the ghetto police. He
followed me for awhile and then stopped me as I made my way
to the ghetto. He told me he wanted me to come out to him
that night. I spoke to him as though we were on the same
level and firmly rebuffed him. At this, he threatened to
use violence and take me out by force. I assured him it
would be violent.
My concept of God at this time was
the one taught me by my mother. I strongly believed He was
all-powerful and Someone to be feared above all men. Even
so, back in the convent, I was very despondent and fearful
of what would come of this. Standing before a corridor
window that evening, I paused to ponder at the nighttime
sky. My eyes caught sight of two shooting stars streaking
simultaneously towards each other. I envisioned that
somehow God would bring me through this ordeal and that I
would survive the ghetto together with someone else. That
night I fell asleep crying on my mother’s lap. Upon
awakening the next morning, my mother informed me that
during the night a man had come into the cell with a
flashlight looking for someone but after some time gave up
and left. To this day, I cannot comprehend God’s
goodness in sparing me the humiliation I expected. As the
Psalmist wrote,
"Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I
cannot attain unto it." Psalm 139:6
Other young women were not so fortunate. Every day one or
two were taken out, beaten, and raped. I can still hear
their screams even now. These horrible screams were the
results of so-called experiments or “exams”
that new police recruits had to take before passing on to a
higher office. One day one of them grabbed a hold of me and
ordered me to strip naked. When I warned him that he would
be wise to leave me alone as I had a terrible disease, he
hit me with the butt of his rifle. I lost consciousness and
was carried back into the cell.
Another experiment
had one man in solitary confinement. He was kept inside a
small utility closet and periodically taken out and beaten.
The experiment was to see how long a person could endure
such treatment. Within three months, half of the Jews in
the ghetto perished because of these experiments or from
starvation or disease.
Police stationed in the long
corridor of our crowded cells were often drunk. As they
sang and laughed people died. Apparently, they were not
paid enough by their employers so they looked to us as an
additional source of income. They would shuffle prisoners
from cell to cell and confiscate any valuables they could
find. Whenever this was done, prisoners were stripped of
their clothes so they could not conceal anything. As the
end of October approached, thtime came for the rest of us
to be eliminated.
On October 31, a police force from
another region arrived to help the local ones carry out the
genocide. Early in the morning, around five or six
o’clock, the men were taken to a location about three
miles away and forced to dig a massive grave. When the pit
was prepared they were shot on the spot and dumped inside.
My father Izik was one of those victims. By nine
o’clock, it was our turn. My mother and 5-year old
brother were at the head of the line when we were all
ordered out into the corridor for the death march. My other
brother, Fischel, and I stood close behind them.
Escape from the Ghetto
There was no place to run and hide. Police, every five
meters apart, guarded and ordered our every move. Once they
were emptied, all the cell doors were locked. However, one
just next to me had been overlooked. It was cracked opened
very slightly and without a moment’s hesitation I
seized my brother’s hand, pulled him inside, and
locked the door behind us. Perhaps it was the commotion at
the time that enabled us to slip away unnoticed. Looking
back it was more like a miracle from the hand of God
– He had heard my cry!
There was just one
small opening on one side of the room. My brother of 13
years had no trouble squeezing through but for me at my age
it was nearly impossible. After quite a struggle, I finally
pushed through. The police never expected anyone escaping
in this manner and so we found ourselves in the empty
garden of the compound. With no one around, we darted away
as fast as we could.
Before long, we reached the
small river of Sluch, a tributary of the Dnieper River. We
waded across and took one of several paths that led to a
village. Sickly and filthy in appearance we looked for a
poor peasant home that might take us in. On the street,
however, a blond woman met us and kindly invited us into
her home. It was one of the nicer ones in town. Inside I
expected to see icons and images on the walls but there I
only saw verses from the Bible! I was astonished by the
words on the wall. One verse declared:
“…the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye,
and believe the gospel.” Mark 1:15
From that moment on I began to associate the Messiah of
Israel with the Lord Jesus Christ. How else could a
non-Jewish family
take us in when the Nazi police offered a 500 DM reward for
turning in a Jew or risking the execution of his whole
family for hiding one. The parents of this home had four
children of their own but they were not afraid to help us.
We were washed, clothed, fed, and even given the warmest
sleeping quarters – a large space over the
oven/fireplace, which was used for baking, cooking and
heating their home. Our “little room” covered
by a curtain doubled as a convenient hiding place.
God’s providential care for us during this
time became even more evident when we came to realize that
on either side of this home were houses belonging to the
police. This family, the Saneviches, however had a firm
faith in the Scriptures and a deep trust in the great
Creator. Every day we would hear the Gospel. In time, God
used their witness and the Scriptures on the wall to bring
my brother and me to faith.
1942
After three months of hiding in this lovely home I decided
we had better move on and head for Palestine. For this
journey, the Saneviches helped us prepare documents that
concealed our Jewish identity. Thus my name, Buzya
Shmaiger, was changed to Anna Moyeeseva Ilchuk. The family
name with the Jewish stem “Il” (God) was made
up, the middle was a common Ukrainian name and my first
name “Anna” I took from my host which I have
kept to this day in memory of her. My brother Fischel took
the same middle and family name although we were advised
against it since my brother was circumcised. If he were
caught then both of us would be exposed as Jews. I insisted
on keeping the same names however. We would stay together
whatever the consequences.
Having been provided with
food, money, and other necessities, we embarked on our
journey. After several kilometers, we unexpectedly
encountered an “old friend” of my
father’s. He recognized us and understood that we
were running away but showed no sympathy for our plight.
The bounty for our heads mattered more to him than my
father’s past friendship. Fishel started crying as I
pleaded that he not turn us over to the German authorities.
Only after offering everything we had did he agree to let
us go.
We continued our journey but having lost
everything except our documents, we were forced to abort
our plans to reach the Black Sea. Perhaps the way to
Palestine was too hazardous, God knows. We detoured instead
to a collective farm in the village of Krasnopil, about
fifty kilometers from the ghetto. There we found work and
stayed for several months.
God’s hand
continued to guide our steps and preserve our lives. When
rumors in the village spread that we were Jews, I made up
the story that we had run away from home where our mother
had died and our father had married another woman. This
stepmother treated us very badly, beating us and insulting
us until we could bear it no more. Some remained skeptical
until one day as we were visiting a church in another small
community a passing merchant heard the story from the
villagers. He remarked to the villagers how similar the
account was to his own family history. He even believed the
children to be his own but he never came looking for us and
the rumors stopped.
God led us to become acquainted
with other true believers in the village and soon we began
attending church services regularly. Our faith was
strengthened as we grew in grace and in knowledge of our
Lord Jesus Christ. That same year my brother and I were
baptized.
While I worked in agriculture Fishel
worked as a shepherd for a woodsman. Fishel was glad to
share his knowledge of the Gospel with his employer but his
manner of speech was characteristic of Jews. Sometimes the
woodsman wondered if the boy could be Jewish but the issue
was never forced. One day, some youthful shepherds that
also suspected him of being Jewish confronted Fishel in the
field. They seized and stripped him to finally admit it but
again his identity for some reason was never
betrayed.
1943 - 1945
The following year Germans began mobilizing a Ukrainian
work force to help with the war effort in Germany. A
special transport train was used for this purpose and I was
one of the many women in the village that was drafted. My
brother was left behind. In Germany, I was assigned to take
care of an elderly couple in Shaktsdorf, a town 25
kilometers from Berlin. It was very easy for me to pick up
the German language as I had studied it in school and grew
up knowing Yiddish. Within three months, we were conversing
freely with one another.
There too, God’s hand
was over me. The old man I worked for was not convinced
that I was the Ukrainian girl that my documents claimed.
Although I felt much love in the home, I never felt free to
disclose my real identity. I once asked the couple what
their feelings were about the German treatment of Jews.
They said Jews had been good for the German culture and
that Hitler was a shame to the nation. They then took out a
picture of the former German Kaiser and shared that he was
their idea of a real man. One day the old man, Reinard,
came home and very happily said to me, “I have
observed you for two years now and I’ve come to the
conclusion that you must be German.” I breathed a
silent thank you to God. By now I could really identify
with the Psalmist who wrote:
“I love the Lord, because He hath heard my voice and
my supplications. Because He hath inclined His ear unto me,
therefore will I call upon Him as long as I live.”
Psalm 116:1,2
After the War
Fifty years passed before I finally arrived in Jerusalem.
After the war, I returned to the Ukraine and was reunited
with my brother in our hometown of Lubar. Most of the buses
were destroyed during the war so most people were conveyed
by transport trucks. While riding atop one of these, I
overheard a conversation by the passengers discussing the
story of some young Jews who escaped the ghetto andsurvived
the war. “Only the brave could survive such an
ordeal,” they said. As I heard this I could only ask
myself inside, “I am brave? I was close to death so
many times. Who else but God could deliver me through all
those experiences?”
I could never have
survived the war without turning to God. In Krasnopil my
heart was settled. It was there I consecrated my life to
the Lord and followed Him in believer’s baptism. As a
child, my mother had often spoke to me about the Messiah to
come. Now He lives in my heart.
My brother is in
Israel today and lives with his children in Beersheva. He
also dedicated his life to the Lord in Krasnopil. Although
very ill now he has strong assurance of entering the
Lord’s presence after this life is over.
Not
long ago, I returned for a visit to the Ukraine and
video-documented what was left of the places and people
that will be in my memory forever. Certainly, I could not
find my house for it was destroyed many years ago. Now
there is a young acacia tree on the property where my house
once stood. I broke off one of its small branches and
brought it back with me to Israel. On the common grave,
where my parents and 5-year old brother are buried, there
stands a monument. My video is now a testimony of that
period and God’s providence in preserving my life and
bringing me to Himself.
God is not without His
people in the darkest hours of human suffering. After the
war,
Yad Vashem,
The Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes Remembrance
Authority, recognized the “Saneviches” as a
family of “Righteous Among the Nations” (i.e.
righteous gentiles). On Nov 10, 1993, the Department for
the Righteous issued them certificate #5585. The parents
that took us in and sheltered us at the penalty of death
have gone to be with the Lord. However, three of the four
children, who participated in the clandestine activity and
because of the Yad Vashem decision, receive financial help
from a Jewish foundation in America. I still correspond
with Tatiana, one of the daughters, who is very close to my
age. "Slava Bogu" (To God be all the glory!)
“Whoever saves a single life is as if one saves the entire world”. Talmud