The Remnant - Stories of the Jewish Resistance in WWII by Othniel J. Seiden Page B

could be a test-a trap! How could he be sure the Germans weren't setting him up? He knew the consequences of trusting the wrong man. Arrest would be immediate. This could be one way the Germans could find out his true intentions...
    But Father Peter was at the limit of his endurance. Here was a chance to act. If it was a trap, then let it spring.
    Father invited Gregor into his personal chamber.
    Gregor lived at the edge of Kiev proper. He was the eldest son of a blacksmith and had apprenticed to his father. He was about four years older than Father Peter. The family business had made a meager living, but by Soviet standards they lived well. The family was large. Gregor had four brothers and two sisters, so the forge had nine to feed. The Kirtzof's were a religious family. The few Sundays they didn't show up, the church seemed more than a little emptier, especially when hymns were sung. Father Peter had known the family since he was a child.
    He closed the door to his humble apartment, two rooms attached to the rear of the church. He poured two glasses of tea and they sat down at a small table.
    "Tell me, Gregor, what is it like in the city?"
    "Terrible! Much worse than under the Bolsheviks. The Germans are not what we believed them to be. How can cultured people be so uncivilized? They have no regard for human life."
    "I hear shooting every day. Are they really killing so many?"
    "Yes, in the first two days they killed over thirty thousand Jews and since then, all the rest. They've killed ten percent of all Kiev, Father Peter, over a hundred thousand Jews-all dead."
    "But surely some escaped."
    A few may be hidden, but they would be very few. Any Kievites discovered hiding Jews are also killed. Their bodies are also stuffed into Babi Yar, but they are publicly shot first-in town where everyone can see. It sets an example. And always after a public execution, a number of Jews turn up, deserted by their benefactors." Gregor paused. "Who can blame them? Who would risk their entire family being executed to save-to save anyone else?"
    "So it is true. I can't believe it," Father Peter said.
    "It's not only Jews they kill. They take prisoners of war to the ravine, partisans, communists they discover, ex officials of the previous government who did not escape the city. And worst of all, the insane, lame people, severely ill-and people they round up at random."
    "You mean to tell me they just pick up people?"
    "Reprisals for breaking the rules!"
    "No questions? No trials?"
    Gregor laughed. "Trials? The nearest thing they have to a trial is interrogation and torture. That is reserved for partisans who might have information the Nazis could use."
    Father Peter sat stunned. He had heard it was terrible, but, like many, he had hoped that much of what he heard was rumor.
    "Once they swooped down on the Kreshchetik," Gregor continued, "and arrested the first hundred men they found on the street. They took them off to Babi Yar and shot them to pay us back for a German soldier who was found dead one morning. They might drive to an area at night; arrest all the people in an apartment building or in several houses. The sound of motor trucks and brakes terrifies people."
    "Terrible," Father Peter murmured.
    "It's not just the fear," Gregor continued. "What little food there is, is rationed. For a few ounces of flour or stale bread, we stand in line most of a day. All food stores and livestock, if we had any, were confiscated during the first days of occupation.
    Father Peter frowned as he wondered if his few chickens and food stores had not been claimed because of that same agreement between the Vatican and the Reich.
    "And food is not all they have taken. Radios, weapons, tools, good clothing and blankets-all have been confiscated." There was a short silence. "And there is the curfew. We must be indoors between six p.m. and five in the morning. If you're caught out on the street, bang! You're shot! I think the Germans consider it sport, like