At Passover about ten bandits came to us. The "guests" were very impudent. Whenever they saw a Jewish face, they mercilessly beat him. From the peasants we found out that they were getting ready to hold a Jewish massacre the next day. Then all the Jews left the place by stealth. My husband was 93 years old and I had to hunt for a cart for him. All the peasants to whom I applied for a cart refused, explaining that they had been strictly ordered not to transport Jews. My husband and I hid in a poor peasant's hut. At night I was informed that the Strukists had left. My husband and I returned home. About ten minutes afterwards ten bandits burst in and demanded that we tell them where our "communist"sons were. They began to beat us. My husband gave them our last 200 rubles, and the bandits left. We could not stay in the house any longer and decided to hide again somewhere. We had only gone a few paces when we saw the Strukists coming
UKRAINE
towards us. We tried to get into the barn; I succeeded in doing so. But they saw my old husband and took him to the nearest hut. I heard them demanding of him that he surrender his sons. The old man replied, in exasperation, that they should leave him in peace. One of them shot at him three times. He fell dead. Another soldier, when he was already dead, beat his head and cut his face. They undressed him, took the things, and went out of the hut. I heard them saying to each other: "We must find his wife, she must be somewhere about here. It would be a good thing to hitch her up and have her take her husband to the river, and then drown her." I don't know where I got such strength and skill. As soon as the soldiers left, I began to make my way across fences until I got to the end of the village. There I betook myself to the grain-fields, where I spent the night. Early in the morning I left the grain-field and went to a certain peasant who was very well acquainted with us. He was sorry for me but was afraid to let me into his hut. He took me into the barn with the potatoes and locked me up. I spent two days in the barn. On the third day, when the bandits left the village, the peasant brought me into the house. I fell in a faint, and was brought to. I lay abed several days. When I came to myself, I didn't even look at my house and started for Gornostaipol. Two of my sons are serving in the Red Army.
(Signed for Vasia Makovskaia, who is illiterate, at her request.)
Orony is a village of 300-400 huts, eight versts from Gornostaipol. Four Jewish families lived there. The name of the 93-year-old man who was killed was Benzion Mikhelev Oranik; he is buried in the Gornostaipol cemetery.
F KARAGOD ( F KIEV)
The village of Karagod, canton of Radomysl, 14 versts from Chernobyl, consists of approximately 300 peasants' huts. Fifteen families of Jews lived there. The village lies on the road from Chernobyl to Khabno. The Jews of Karagod had lived very peacefully with the peasants. When the gangs of Strukists began to operate in the region of Chernobyl and Khabno, misery began to be widespread. Many Jewish houses were destroyed down to the foundation. Peasants took part in this, in Karagod, as in a whole series of other villages. All the Jews of Karagod abandoned the places they had occupied, and fled. In Chernobyl
KARAGOD:
I happened to meet three Jews from Karagod. I must say things went off comparatively well there, since there were no human lives lost. Of three Jews whom I questioned, one had been considered the rich man of the place. He left the village in good time. On the way "soldiers" fell upon him, and took off his clothes and left him half naked. Now he is going tattered and hungry, and relies on people's charity, to escape death from hunger. Of the other two, one has his head bandaged; his skull was hurt. Sometimes he cries from pain in an inhuman voice. His face is nothing but a mass of livid wounds; from the bloated mass his eyes look out through little cracks. The other Jew looks better. His left hand is hurt and he cannot use it. I could not question them long, I could not bear to listen to their broken, hoarse words, full of sighs. I was simply not able to see the tears slowly wandering through the Jew's gray beard. Here, in brief, is what they say:
Zolotar, Nukhim Avrumov, 41 Years Old, Married, Tailor