We invite you to read the final part of Leon Kopelman's memoirs. A Varsovian by birth, he survived the hell of the Warsaw Ghetto. In early August 1944, he was liberated from Gęsiówka by soldiers of the "Zośka" Battalion. As a volunteer, he marched, armed, along the combat trail of the "Radosław" Group from the Old Town to Czerniaków. After liberation in 1945, he and a friend left for the ancient cradle of their nation – Palestine.
Around the beginning of June 1945, my friend Meir Bielicki and I set off for Palestine . First, we took the train towards Czechoslovakia. When we reached the Czech-Polish border, we had to get off the Polish train. We were questioned about our destination. With the help of a Russian officer, who said we were with him, we managed to transfer to a Czech train. This train took us to Prague.
There was a camp in Prague where all the refugees who wanted to go in various directions to their homeland gathered. We said we were going to Germany. But in Prague, those who wanted to go to Germany had to undergo denazification. They investigated whether they were truly Germans, and if so, they searched for SS men among them and took them away. We didn't want to go to that camp.
So we decided to take the train to Pilsen . The Americans were already in Pilsen, and the Russians in Prague. There were four zones then, divided between Russians, Americans, British, and French. We took the train. We were advised that when the American military inspection came, we were asked if we were Czechs, to answer "Ano" (yes). And so it was. We reached Pilsen. There was also a camp there.
There we met American soldiers, with whom we made a deal, and who took us towards Austria. In Austria, we reached Salzburg. There was a camp in Salzburg. After a short stay there, we rented an apartment and stayed there for about a month. We were looking for a way to get to Italy and from there, possibly find a route to Palestine.
There, we met a supposed guide who was supposed to lead us from Austria through French-occupied territory. He led us, then abandoned us in the mountains and escaped. By some miracle, we managed to reach Innsbruck, which was already the French occupation zone. In Innsbruck, we established some contacts with the military. We were given American uniforms, supposedly as representatives of the UNRRA. They were military uniforms, but without any insignia. In these uniforms, we managed to cross the Brenner Pass and from there we continued on to Milan.
In Milan, there was a shelter for Jews who had survived the war. It was located at Via Unione 5, which had previously been a police station. We stayed there only a few days. Then we rented a room near Piazza di Duomo. It was basically a higher attic, somewhat ruined during the wartime bombing. It had been renovated and looked quite decent. The owner, who, as it turned out, was German, showed it to us.
During our inspection of the premises, a funny story occurred. The room hadn't yet been completely cleaned up after the renovation, and there was some wood lying on the floor. While discussing this in Polish with a colleague, I said, "We'll have to take these boards away." The owner, who was listening intently, seemed a bit nervous. It later transpired that she'd picked up the word "Tedeschi" (phonetically "Tedeski"), which means "Germans" in Italian, from our conversation. She assumed we had some malicious intent towards her because she was German. I explained the misunderstanding, and we then calmly struck a deal.
We stayed there for several weeks. We were constantly searching for a way to get to Palestine. We learned of an organization that helped Jews in this regard. Soldiers from the Jewish Palestinian Brigade of the British Army collaborated with this organization. Representatives of UNRRA, an American institution helping refugees, including Jews, who were struggling to cope with the new reality, were also present in Milan.
One day, we learned that a kibbutz was being organized. It was an organizational structure similar to the Soviet collective farm. The kibbutz's purpose was to house Jews planning to emigrate to Palestine. This kibbutz was recruited from former partisans and former ghetto soldiers. The two of us also signed up as soldiers from the Warsaw ghetto. The entire group then left for the town of Aqua Santa (Holy Water). There were sulfur baths in this town, and a distinctive smell hung over the entire area.
We began preparing for our departure there. Among other things, we also underwent military training conducted by soldiers from the Palestinian Brigade. We were informed that we would be transported by ship. Hammocks would be installed in the hold of the ship, which was a merchant vessel. This would allow for a relatively large number of people to be transported on a single voyage.
One day, we were notified that we would be leaving for a concentration point the next morning. Indeed, we were transported in military trucks to the town of Ascoli di Piceno . Our group numbered a few dozen people, but Jews from other kibbutzim and beyond began to be brought there as well. In total, over 1.000 people gathered there.
One day, the expedition organizers confiscated all the documents we had with us: ID cards, various IDs, photos, etc. Our trip was essentially illegal. We were told that in case we were caught, it would be better if there was no evidence of where we had come from or when.
After some time, one morning, 40 military trucks arrived at the camp. Each one was packed with about 25 people. Among us, besides the men, were children and women, some of whom were pregnant. The trucks were tightly covered with tarpaulins, and we were told to remain completely silent.
Then the trucks reached a checkpoint, where they were stopped. After a while, they moved on. I later learned that a jeep with a high-ranking officer, probably a major, from the Military Police arrived at the checkpoint. I don't know how the matter with the major was resolved, or if he received a bribe. In any case, we were released, and the convoy moved on. We didn't know where we were going.
We arrived at our destination before evening. It turned out to be a small fishing port called La Spezia . As we began to unload our trucks, we noticed a large number of Italian police officers. A small ship called the "Fede" was anchored offshore, the ship that was supposed to take us to Palestine. An armored car with a gun pointed at the ship was parked on the shore. The police told us we were under arrest and forbidden to leave. Since we had no accommodations on land, we were allowed to board the ship for the night.
Photo: Leon Kopelman at the ship "Fede" (Leon Kopelman)
As I mentioned earlier, the ship's hold was equipped with "sleeping quarters." Numerous canvas hammocks were suspended on ropes from a special "scaffolding" made of pipes, one above the other, spaced 25-30 cm apart. We spent the night like sardines in a can. In the morning, we went out to port again. It turned out there were virtually no toilets or running water.
A press campaign began. The Italian press claimed that a group of fascists had been detained, trying to escape to South America. Other newspapers reported that they were Jews released from German concentration camps and wishing to go to Palestine. As a result of the publicity, the British learned of the case. Their representatives arrived in La Spezia and declared that we absolutely could not go to Palestine. A so-called certificate issued by the British was required for departure. It's important to remember that Palestine was under British mandate at the time.
One day, a large British naval vessel arrived in La Spezia. The English wanted to seize our ship and take us back to Germany. In response, our entire population began dancing a Jewish dance called the hora around the English. Dancing in a circle, we surrounded the British soldiers. We were in a state of desperation. The English didn't know how to react. Finally, orders were given, and the soldiers withdrew.
Time passed. After a few days, a civilian, probably a member of the British police, came to us. He went to convince the captain of our ship to voluntarily agree to return to Germany. Of course, that was absolutely out of the question. We had recently escaped that hell alive; we didn't want to go back there. Our destination was our homeland, Palestine.
The leader of our group, I don't remember his name, selected ten former soldiers from it. I was also in that group. He told us that if the Englishman disembarked the ship and made a gesture to his throat, we were to slit his throat and throw him overboard into the water. We waited anxiously for further developments. The Englishman left, but the agreed-upon signal was missed. The policeman safely exited the camp gate.
After a few days, we began a hunger strike. At the port gate, we hung a large white canvas banner, which stated in three languages: English, Italian, and Hebrew, that 1014 people were participating in a hunger strike and that we would starve until death. The banner featured a clock, on which we advanced the hand every hour. After several dozen hours of the strike, people were already exhausted, some fainting. It's important to remember that there were pregnant women among us. The strike lasted over 72 hours.
The action was widely publicized by the press worldwide. A massive scandal erupted. In Jerusalem, the Jewish Agency—the nucleus of the future government of the State of Israel—joined our action. Its representatives sat on chairs in front of the Agency building and, in a gesture of solidarity, starved with us. This made an additional impression and undoubtedly contributed to the successful resolution of our problems.
The secretary of the Labour Party, the ruling party at the time, Harold Lasky, arrived in La Spezia . He also tried to convince us to return to Germany, where we would be assured of good conditions, while he sought our exit certificates. We categorically refused his terms. Mr. Lasky returned to England and informed the government of the situation. An intense press campaign ensued. Finally, we received word that we had been granted 1014 exit certificates for Palestine. British representatives arrived at the port. They declared that the ship moored at the dock was far too small to carry so many people and that at least a second ship was necessary. Our organization provided an additional ship. We finally set sail for Palestine on these two ships. The first ship was called the Fede, later renamed the Dov Hoz, and the second was called the Fenice, renamed the Eliau Golomb. We stayed in the port of La Spezia for several weeks.
The journey took 10 days. The ship was stocked with food from the Palestinian Brigade, which they shared with us. Along the way, we encountered enormous waves. I remember that by Crete , almost everyone was seasick. Only a few of us, including me, kept our composure. We gave the sick water to drink; it was the only help we could provide.
Finally, I think it was May 20, 1946 , when we reached Palestine. We disembarked at the port of Haifa. My father and sister were waiting for me there. Unfortunately, my mother wasn't with us; she had perished in the Treblinka camp. My father remained a widower, with a very small apartment and a workshop in Jerusalem. Therefore, I stayed for a while with my sister, who lived in Tel Aviv.
One day, on Tel Aviv's main street, Alenbi , I saw a large, open-top, American-made limousine. Behind the wheel was an old Greek-French friend of mine from Milanówek. The limousine bore a Polish flag and the letters CD (Diplomatic Corps).
I contacted the Polish embassy and asked if he worked there. It turned out he did, acting as a chauffeur. I met him when I was in the army at the time. We struck up a friendly relationship.
It turned out he was planning to emigrate to Canada with his fiancée, who later became his wife. Before leaving, he offered to give me his current job. He worked for a large car company owned by his aunt's brother. The company was called Karaso. I ended up working for that company for 12 years, and then I started my own business. My company imported car parts.
Then I went to America to search for suitable car parts for my company. I wanted to establish various representative offices for American companies there, which I actually succeeded in doing. I also visited various European countries for similar purposes. All of this allowed my company to grow, and business was doing very well.
I've been retired for several years now. I have three children—two sons and a daughter. I have nine grandchildren—four boys and five girls.
I feel no hatred for the German nation for what it did to me and my compatriots. I feel no hatred, but rather pity for what a mad and cruel lunatic did to the Germans. They, too, paid a high price for the years of fascism. Then, with hard work, they rebuilt their war-ravaged country. I only wish that these terrible years of contempt for humanity not be erased from humanity's memory.
Leon Kopelman , born April 26, 1924 in Warsaw, survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto, volunteer soldier of the "Zośka" battalion of the Home Army "Radosław" group
