one life. People managed to stay healthy; the major physical maladies the group faced consisted of skin diseases – blisters, scabies, boils, and fungus infections. Because of its sulfur content, gunpowder was used as a disinfectant to treat infections. Always short of food, medicine, ammunition and weapons, the Bielski group developed ingenious methods of extortion, theft and smuggling, so as not to run foul of Soviet rules regarding expropriation from local populations. Yet the relationship of the Bielski brigade with both Soviets and locals was always tenuous.
The Bielskis’ success at rescue and survival remains a powerful story in the history of Jewish resistance; and this brief synopsis is not meant to be exhaustive. The micro-history of the brigade is told as a straightforward narrative in Peter Duffy’s The Bielski Brothers . This is a terrific account of this remarkable group; but Duffy rarely moves outside the historical story itself. In my interviews with Bielski survivors troubling ethical issues arose, ones that distinguish the made-on-the-spot ethics of the resistance groups from tradi tional moral constraints operating in the ghettos, which, if main tained in the forests, would surely have meant death. What the Bielski survivors argue is that radical reversals of ethics were absolutely essential to sustain life; yet while never directly question ing the Bielskis’ methods, some survivors remain troubled to this day by what they experienced and witnessed. Yet, they also are quick to point out that to have held on to a morality of humanism or hope that others might rescue them in the forests would have been suicidal. It is against the backdrop of this moral drama sug gested initially to me by Zvi Bielski’s account of his father, that I conducted my interviews in south Florida with a group of brigade survivors.
The Bielski survivors: the past in the present
It was hot in south Florida. The temperature broke records, a muggy moist heat enveloping you and not letting go. Only the air condi tioning dispelled it; but how long can you stay in chilled air after the coldest winter in the North in over a century? The heat felt good, but confusing, too much glare, too bright. I felt out of synch and had no idea how to navigate this place: tight, narrow roads, stop lights at every corner and a sky so blue it hurt the eyes. I was determined to find Sonia Bielski. I had directions to her apartment, south on 95, but Mrs. Bielski had given me the wrong exit, the old exit. I call her; she keeps saying ‘exit l,’ but exit l puts me on a road heading straight for a light industrial area.
My interview with Sonia Bielski, Zush’s wife of 53 years, had been set for the weekend after the worst storm ever in Baltimore, two and a half feet of snow, four days shut in. So, I cancel my plane reserva tions, call Mrs. Bielski, and reschedule the interview for two weeks hence. Three days before leaving, I call to confirm. ‘But I thought you were coming last week; I waited the whole weekend for you.’ I call her son, frantic; she had misunderstood me. But Zvi assures me: ‘She made a mistake … Just tell her when you will be down.’ I call again, apologize and speak of the difficulty of scheduling times. ‘Don’t worry …,’ she tries to make me feel better: ‘Just have a good appetite when you get here.’ Even on the phone, it’s hard not to be drawn to Sonia Bielski, a strong, determined voice, impatient and quick. She manages to scold and comfort at the same time.
It is with considerable anticipation that I look forward to my interview; the hotel clerk gives me directions to Interstate 95, and I’m off. Earlier, Mrs. Bielski had given me directions to her ‘house,’ so I assume she lives in a townhouse or a small single-family home. But I get lost; exit l takes me to the middle of nowhere, and after several convenience-store stops for directions, I find one of the thor oughfares near where she lives. I look up
The Bielskis’ success at rescue and survival remains a powerful story in the history of Jewish resistance; and this brief synopsis is not meant to be exhaustive. The micro-history of the brigade is told as a straightforward narrative in Peter Duffy’s The Bielski Brothers . This is a terrific account of this remarkable group; but Duffy rarely moves outside the historical story itself. In my interviews with Bielski survivors troubling ethical issues arose, ones that distinguish the made-on-the-spot ethics of the resistance groups from tradi tional moral constraints operating in the ghettos, which, if main tained in the forests, would surely have meant death. What the Bielski survivors argue is that radical reversals of ethics were absolutely essential to sustain life; yet while never directly question ing the Bielskis’ methods, some survivors remain troubled to this day by what they experienced and witnessed. Yet, they also are quick to point out that to have held on to a morality of humanism or hope that others might rescue them in the forests would have been suicidal. It is against the backdrop of this moral drama sug gested initially to me by Zvi Bielski’s account of his father, that I conducted my interviews in south Florida with a group of brigade survivors.
The Bielski survivors: the past in the present
It was hot in south Florida. The temperature broke records, a muggy moist heat enveloping you and not letting go. Only the air condi tioning dispelled it; but how long can you stay in chilled air after the coldest winter in the North in over a century? The heat felt good, but confusing, too much glare, too bright. I felt out of synch and had no idea how to navigate this place: tight, narrow roads, stop lights at every corner and a sky so blue it hurt the eyes. I was determined to find Sonia Bielski. I had directions to her apartment, south on 95, but Mrs. Bielski had given me the wrong exit, the old exit. I call her; she keeps saying ‘exit l,’ but exit l puts me on a road heading straight for a light industrial area.
My interview with Sonia Bielski, Zush’s wife of 53 years, had been set for the weekend after the worst storm ever in Baltimore, two and a half feet of snow, four days shut in. So, I cancel my plane reserva tions, call Mrs. Bielski, and reschedule the interview for two weeks hence. Three days before leaving, I call to confirm. ‘But I thought you were coming last week; I waited the whole weekend for you.’ I call her son, frantic; she had misunderstood me. But Zvi assures me: ‘She made a mistake … Just tell her when you will be down.’ I call again, apologize and speak of the difficulty of scheduling times. ‘Don’t worry …,’ she tries to make me feel better: ‘Just have a good appetite when you get here.’ Even on the phone, it’s hard not to be drawn to Sonia Bielski, a strong, determined voice, impatient and quick. She manages to scold and comfort at the same time.
It is with considerable anticipation that I look forward to my interview; the hotel clerk gives me directions to Interstate 95, and I’m off. Earlier, Mrs. Bielski had given me directions to her ‘house,’ so I assume she lives in a townhouse or a small single-family home. But I get lost; exit l takes me to the middle of nowhere, and after several convenience-store stops for directions, I find one of the thor oughfares near where she lives. I look up
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