Saving your own human dignity and the dignity of others – the account by Bronisława Folusz

The Szczupaks lived in the nearby village of Kolonia Poniatówka, in the Wojsławice Municipality, in the Chełm Lubelski County. Mister Szczupak was named Azyk, his wife Gitla and their children were called Szlomka, Berko, Srulek and Hana. The family was always keen to help inhabitants from other villages. Mr Szczupak’s wife would come to us to help with the chores. We gave her fodder for cows in exchange. We got on very well with each other, without any racial or religious prejudice whatsoever.  I was fully aware that the Szczupaks were Jewish, which did not change my attitude towards them in any way.

In 1942, Nazis intensified their repressions against Jews in our area. Escapes of Jews from German round-ups and shipments to death camps began on a massive scale. The Szczupaks had to run for their lives as well. Mr Szczupak joined the partisans in the forest. He fought under the pseudonym of “Gwiazda” (The Star). His wife and children went into hiding in various places nearby. Their house was taken over by a family who had been moved by Germans from elsewhere.

In the Fall of 1942, I took Mrs Szczupak and her children to my house. I was aware of the risks attached but I felt the need to give them a helping hand. They were my friends and neighbours after all – what else could I do? There was an underground dungeon for storing potatoes near our house. Mrs Szczupak and her children hid there. They remained there during the day but she came to our house for dinner in the evening. We gave her food to take for children. Her eldest son Szlomka lived with us at home. He stayed on a bread oven in daytime hours, and left his hideout in the evening. This continued for a few months.

For fear of a risk of a denouncement by neighbours we moved on. Mrs Szczupak decided to change her hideout and found a shelter in a nearby quarry, where she stayed for some time. That year, winter was quite severe. Gitla came to my house in the evenings. We fed her and gave something to her children whenever we could.

There is one traumatic occurrence that I remember particularly well. One day, Gitla came to our house. Despaired, she told us that her two children had disappeared from the quarry. I can still see a vivid picture of her grief and despair. When Mrs Szczupak was away, a complaisant informer kidnapped the children and took them to Wojsławice, where he handed them over to Germans.

In the Spring of 1943, Szlomka decided to join the partisans. We lost touch completely then. We would see Azyk once in a while when he came with other partisans to our house. We hosted them.

When the German occupation came to an end in our area, the resettled family left the house of the Szczupaks. Gitla moved in again with her teen-aged son Srula and a little child who must have been a few months [it was probably delivered while in hiding – editor’s note].

In the Spring of 1945 at night, someone broke into the Szczupaks’s house and killed Gitla and her children. The house was torched. On the following day, my mum went to the smoldering ruins. The scene she found at the site went beyond comprehension. She found scorched remains of Gitla, embracing the burnt body of her little baby, with Srulek’s body close to her.

Mr Szczupak was in Hrubieszów at that time. I have not heard from him after the war. The only thing I know about him is that he has re-married. His surviving son Szlomko remained in Poland and changed his name for Edward.

This is the end of the story I witnessed. I am not sure how much I helped others to save their lives. However, I have a feeling that I have a tiny share  in saving my human dignity and the dignity of others.

English translation: Wanda Jóźwikowska