Leon Kopelman's War Memories: The 1944 Uprising and Liberation

When the uprising broke out in August 1944, the Germans decided to move us from Pawiak to Gęsiówka. Before the uprising broke out, we had no idea it was coming. We had virtually no warning signs. The first signal we received was when the Germans led us from Pawiak to Gęsiówka.

We weren't sure if they really wanted to transfer us or if they were planning to liquidate us. We knew that on the road between Pawiak and Gęsiówka there was a square where the Germans carried out executions, killing Polish prisoners. We knew the entire area and the route from Pawiak to Gęsiówka. We agreed that if we reached the spot leading to the square where the executions took place, we would all disperse there. Everyone would run in a different direction; whoever was supposed to save themselves would save themselves. However, if we took the road to Gęsiówka, we would walk peacefully.

It turned out that the guards had brought us to Gęsiówka. At Gęsiówka, there were Germans and Greek Jews brought here from Auschwitz. They were collecting all the valuables from the houses of the former ghetto, which was now completely abandoned. All the Jews had been deported. The Auschwitz prisoners wore striped paper clothes. The Jews were freezing in them, because the weather was so varied and they had no other clothing. They went to work every day, working very hard. The Germans made their lives as difficult as possible, forcing them to carry bricks to work. Understandably, they gave them almost nothing to eat. We helped them a little; our conditions were relatively better.

A few days later—I don't remember the exact date—Pawiak was occupied by the Home Army. Then they came to Gęsiówka with tanks and infantry and liberated us from Gęsiówka. We were very happy, but the insurgents took our guards, both Ukrainians and Germans, prisoner.

At the outbreak of the uprising, one of my fellow prisoners, a lame locksmith, had made his way through the sewers to the city through a tunnel he had previously dug from the carpentry shop. Another friend of mine, Mr. Bielecki, who now lives in Israel, hid in a bunker in the Old Town after the liquidation of the ghetto and lived there for several months until liberation. When he emerged from the bunker, he already had a large beard, as there were no facilities to shave there.

My schoolmate Fredek Ajdelbaum also survived . After the liquidation of the ghetto, he and his entire family were sheltered by a Pole, Józef, whose surname, unfortunately, I don't remember. During the 1944 Uprising and after its end, he hid in a bunker until the Russians liberated Warsaw.

We broke into German warehouses. We took German military uniforms and weapons – rifles. I don't remember exactly what kind of weapons they were, I think they were small, short machine guns. We dressed in German uniforms – camouflage uniforms. We immediately volunteered for service in the Home Army, with whom we later fought in the Old Town. We were in a unit called the "Zośka" Battalion . The insurgents had two tanks they had captured from the Germans. We were with soldiers from "Zośka" in the Old Town, which was under heavy German fire with Nebelwerfer shells. These were incendiary shells, destroying houses and starting fires. They were a terrible weapon.

Unfortunately, I don't remember the names or nicknames of the people who were with me in "Zośka's" platoon. I only remember the names of the Jews from Pawiak who were with me. Among them were Wiśnia and Filar . Filar died as a soldier in the Uprising and was decorated for bravery. Mr. Wiśnia stayed in Poland after the war, where he died a few years ago. However, I clearly remember that there was a young lieutenant there who was wounded by shrapnel. He had multiple wounds, from which blood was pouring. A friend and I grabbed a wheelchair, put the wounded lieutenant on it, and took him to the temporary hospital in the Old Town. Because of our weapons, we fought in the Old Town as soldiers, not medics or couriers.

Heavy fighting continued for some time. Finally, we realized we were surrounded and had no chance of escape. One night in late September, we walked through the sewers from the Old Town to the city center. The journey was, understandably, very unpleasant. The sewers were dark, the smell was unpleasant, and we walked without really knowing where we were going. We had a guide with us, who likely knew what he was doing. This went on for several hours, and we finally emerged from the sewers in the city center. If I recall correctly, it was on Nowy Świat Street near Warecka Street, but I'm not certain.

Life in Śródmieście was completely different. It was still completely peaceful there at the time. The Germans hadn't attacked Śródmieście at all. They first took over the Old Town, only then moved on to Śródmieście. Meanwhile, various so-called offices were set up in Śródmieście. A provisional government, a provisional city hall, and various offices were set up; the atmosphere was very good. We arrived from the Old Town very tired and dirty, carrying weapons, which were rather scarce in Śródmieście. Śródmieście received us very warmly.

As a curiosity, I remember going to my house at 7 Krucza Street, where I lived before the war. There I met my friends, colleagues, and neighbors from before the war. When they saw me, they were overjoyed and said, "Lolek, you're still alive?" It was hard for them to believe that I had survived, was still alive, and, on top of that, I was carrying a weapon and wearing a uniform as a Home Army soldier.

After eliminating the Old Town defenses, they began attacking Śródmieście. We moved from Śródmieście to Czerniaków. Heavy fighting resumed in Czerniaków. The Germans began shelling, bombing, and attacking us with tanks. An interesting incident was an encounter with a unit supposedly of the Red Army, but actually it was the Polish Army, whose soldiers had been recruited in Russia, the so-called Berling Army. They sailed across the Vistula River as an airborne force. Eventually, we all concentrated in one place, defending a house in Czerniaków. Red Army officers were also there with us, directing artillery fire from Praga via radio while the tanks attacked us, to eliminate the tanks.

Finally, the last house there, including civilians, held out. They hung a white sheet as if we were surrendering. Eventually, we were all taken prisoner. Then the Germans took us to Szucha Avenue, where the Gestapo headquarters was located. We were held there for two days. I was afraid the Gestapo men, who knew me from my work in the garages in Dynasy, would recognize me. But somehow I managed.

From Szucha Avenue, we were led to the church in Wola. Among them were Jews from Hungary, who had been brought from Auschwitz to Gęsiówka some time ago. Two of them turned to the German, saying they were from Auschwitz and had nothing to do with the uprising. In response, the German stood them up against a wall and shot them.

From Wola, they transported us to Pruszków. In Pruszków, there were large hangars where selections were conducted. The Germans took prisoners from the Home Army to POW camps in Germany, young civilians were taken to work in Germany, and older people and children were sent in various directions to the General Government, which was under German occupation.

I felt a bit insecure. It was certain that if it were revealed that I was Jewish, I had no chance of survival. I appealed to the Home Army for help, if possible. They told me that the Polish commander of this hangar was a member of the Home Army and that he might be able to help me. I appealed to him for help. He told me that every evening, the Germans conducted a selection and sent all the young people in train cars to Germany, either to work or to captivity.

He told me he would hide me. There was a cell in the hangar where I was supposed to hide during the selection. In this cell, besides myself, there was a woman and two Home Army boys hiding. When the selection was over and the Germans left, the hangar commander asked me how he could help me. I told him I didn't have any ID. He then took me to his office and showed me various ID cards, in German, Kennkartes, and told me to choose one that would suit me. I chose a Kennkarte in the name Andrzej Białobrzeski . And from that day on, I became Andrzej Białobrzeski. I arrived in Pruszków from Czerniaków still in my German uniform. But then I changed into civilian clothes.

Then I was told to contact the camp doctor, whose name was Dr. Kiełbasińska . She was a Volksdeutschwoman and was looking for an alibi so she wouldn't be bothered after the war. Her husband was Polish. She went to the camp's chief doctor, a German, and got a certificate from him, supposedly for some slave, stating that he had consumption or tuberculosis. Then she told me that when she was going from Pruszków to her home, to the hospital in Milanówek, I could go with her. That way, she would get me out of Pruszków.

And indeed, that's what happened. She took me away, and we arrived in Milanówek. In Milanówek, she told me, "Well, now you're free; you can go wherever you want." And I told her I had nowhere else to go and would gladly stay in the hospital. It was Surgical Hospital No. 1 in Milanówek. The hospital's chief physician and director was Mr. Jan Matusiak . It was located in a villa called "Perełka." Many wounded from the uprising were treated there. They underwent various amputations and other procedures. I worked there ostensibly as a medic, but I also performed various other tasks. The sisters were Polish nuns. The hospital staff didn't know I was Jewish, perhaps some guessed. I spoke Polish relatively well, so people around me assumed I was Polish, not Jewish.

Once I was in Milanówek, I learned—I don't remember how—the address of the wounded lieutenant I mentioned earlier, who was in the Old Town. I went to see him and told him who I was and where we had met. He advised me to join the Home Army in Kielce. He even gave me a letter of recommendation, saying I was a good and brave soldier despite my… Jewish origins. I didn't particularly like the last part of the letter. I decided not to go to Kielce and stayed in Milanówek.

One day, while I was in the hospital, I was asked for help. They told me there was a prisoner of war lying there, probably a French soldier. Since I knew a little of the language, they asked me to communicate with him. I asked to be left alone with him in a room. When I did, I met this supposedly Frenchman. He was one of the Greek Jews I knew from Gęsiówka. His name was Ino Varsano, and he introduced himself as a Frenchman, Jean Vearsaneux . I asked him what was wrong with him, if he was really injured. He told me he was healthy and that I should help him.

I thought about what to do with him. Finally, I decided to send him to a village 14 kilometers outside Milanówek, where the hospital had a convalescent home. All convalescents who were almost completely healed after being hospitalized were sent there. I told him he had to be sent there because he needed to get some proper rest. The only means of transport between the hospital and the farmhouse was a horse-drawn cart. Every week, we sent food from the hospital to the farmhouse. That day, "the Frenchman" rode in the cart with the supplies and stayed in the farmhouse almost until the end of the war. From time to time, I sent him greetings through the cart driver. I didn't hear from him again after that.

In January, there was a Russian offensive. They liberated Milanówek and that part of Poland on their way to Germany. I immediately set off on foot to Warsaw. It was about 30 kilometers, I think. I reached Praga, because Warsaw's left-bank district was completely destroyed. In Praga, everything was as before. I met other Jewish survivors there. There was already a Jewish community there. They had an office and lists of those saved. I met other survivors there, and we lived in Praga until May 1945, when the war ended.

In Praga, after liberation, I met a Greek-French friend of mine. By then, he had learned to speak some Polish (Jews generally have a knack for languages) and was working as a chauffeur at the Wedel chocolate factory.