Sergeant Adam Holender
On 1 December 1939 I escaped from Warszawa to avoid being persecuted and abused as a Jew. I left my mother, fourteen-year-old daughter, wife, and entire family behind.
On 10 December I came to Lwów and managed to get by using only the cash that I had on me up until 14 January 1940, when I was detained. On that day, while I was having breakfast at the “Teatralna” café, two cars with militia and NKVD drove up. Having blocked the entrances, the men started checking people’s documents. They took 92 out of the 150 people who were in this establishment – including me. We were all taken to the militia post. During the next morning I was transported in a group of 23 people to the NKVD headquarters. I don’t know what happened to those who stayed at the militia post. We were kept at the NKVD headquarters until 11.00 p.m. with no food. This is where our suffering began. We were called individually to separate rooms, each to a different one, and that’s how the initial investigation began.
First, I was supposed to state my curriculum vitae and sign it. Afterward, they started beating me, saying that everything I had said was a lie, and that they had an official note (they showed it to me, but did not let me read it – it included a photograph of a man whom I had never seen before). They said that I had given a false testimony, I was an undercover officer, and they had evidence to prove it. I denied it. Then they started to beat me until I fell to the ground, bleeding; they opened the door and threw me into the corridor, and then into some room, where I was alone. Everyone from the corridor had left. I was called out from that room at about 2.00 a.m. While I was still sitting in this room, I heard screams coming from various directions (the people screaming were probably my companions, with whom I had been brought there). At one point the doors opened and I was called back into the previous room. They apologized for having made a mistake regarding myself, but also said that they had solid evidence (which they would show me) that I was a spy sent there by the Gestapo on a mission, and that I must tell the truth or they would shoot me on the basis of their evidence. I replied that I was a Jew and that I had escaped from Warsaw to avoid the Gestapo, leaving my family behind. I was sobbing convulsively as I told them that. They hit me once again and said: “we will prove your guilt”, and then threw me out of the office and back to the same room as before. A gentleman who was now sitting there asked me where I was from, in Polish. I told him not to talk to me, for I was very shaken up. He said that they had beaten him too, but he was not one of those who had been brought there with me. At that moment the doors opened, I was called out and lead downstairs to a car with a dozen or so passengers inside, none of whom had been brought there with me. We were transported to Brygidki prison. I was incarcerated there in cell no. 45. Various people, numbering about 40, were detained there, but I do not remember their details. I was imprisoned there until 30 March 1940, when I was transported from Lwów to the Podzamcze station. We were loaded onto a freight train, 36 people per wagon, and we departed on the following day. We were given dry bread, a piece of sugar and some water. In the middle of April we were transported to Kherson, where we were all thoroughly searched, bathed and assigned to cells. I was detained in a cell with 254 people. Further investigations took place in that prison. At the end of July 1940 we were all assembled, and sentences ranging from three to ten years were read out. Then we were loaded into wagons again and sent to Kotlas, where the assembly point was located. After we were segregated again, we were sent to Ukhta, and from there to the infamous camps. I was assigned to one of the columns. I labored at earthworks, and after eight days I fell ill with bloody dysentery, a sickness that 90 percent of the camp population suffered from. Each day we were given 500 grams of bread and some very salty and watery soup, so no wonder everyone was sick. I was sent to the hospital, where I was treated for about two months, and then I remained in the hospital working at the pharmacy. I worked there until I was released.
Many people died in the hospital, but I only remember one man’s name, for I knew him from Warszawa. He was a Warsaw resident, Henryk Kuze, living at Nowolipie Street 58, at his own property. He was a former second lieutenant of the military police, and most recently the owner of a department store, “Kuzean”, at Długa Street 50.
I have described everything I could remember.
Official stamp, 9 March 1943