Historical accounts show Lithuanian responsibility for mass murder

Someone brought to my attention your recent article by Rob Katz contrasting Lithuania and Poland in 1941 during the Holocaust.

The destruction of Lithuanian Jewry was so devastating and complete that you may find the following paragraphs of interest:

In the eight months after Germany’s June 1941 invasion of Lithuania, a Lithuanian Jew’s best chance of survival was to flee to the Nazi-occupied areas beyond the control of ethnic Lithuanians. This is noted in accounts in the Yizkor/memorial books for Eišiškės and Valkininkai.

In the English translation of the Yizkor book for Valkininkai (Polish: Olkieniki), survivors report that, against all odds, they survived by making their way through the woods beyond the areas controlled by the Lithuanians. Places that today are in Belarus, such as Lida, Voronova, and Radun, were under direct Nazi control and no mass murders occurred there in 1941. The English translation is online, and the in-print version of the books should be printed in the next eight to 10 weeks.

There are two reasons for this. First, Nazi Germany itself had no policy of mass murder in 1941. Second, in June 1941, the Germans restored ethnic Lithuanians to the civilian and police positions that they had held immediately prior to the June 1940 Soviet takeover of Lithuania. In the second half of 1941, well-established ethnic Lithuanian officials had day-to-day control in the purple-shaded area, Generalbezirk Litauen (the General District of Lithuania). Nearly all Jews in the purple-shaded area were murdered well before December 1941 (Karl Jaeger Report). Significantly, the Germans did not have the manpower in Lithuania to kill every Jew methodically in the country.

Map here – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reichskommissariat_Ostland#/media/File:Reichskommissariat_Ostland_Administrative.png

The Germans took control of western Poland in September 1939, and did not subject the Jews to mass murder. This policy continued in the part of eastern Poland that Germany took from the Soviets in June 1941 – outside of the Vilna area, which the Lithuanians controlled. Jews who lived in the brown-shaded area, Generalbezirk Weissruthenien, weren’t subject to mass murder until about May 1942, in other words, after Nazi Germany’s 20 January 1942, Wannsee Conference. By then, the Jews in the brown-shaded areas would have at least heard reports of the massacres in the Lithuanian-administered areas, and many were able to make plans to evade round-ups and escape to the forests.

Some of the accounts from the Yizkor books are below:

Eišiškės vs. Radun, Rosh Hashanah / September 21-23, 1941

Kalman Farber, Valkininkai p. 125, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val111.html

“The imprisonment of the people and the abuses of the gentile devils of the workers broke the spirits of the inhabitants of the town. Some spoke about escaping to the forest, or about leaving the borders of Vilna district, which was included in Lithuania. It was still quiet in the towns of Belarus, near Lida at that time. When acquaintances came and told us that all the Jews in the towns of Lithuania had been exterminated.”

David Rybak Valkininkai p. 129, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val128.html

The Shaulisim (the “shooters”, an organisation of semi-military volunteers), the Lithuanians came to capture us but did not find us because we had evaded before.

Avraham Taiken, Valkininkai YB p. 153, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val152.html#Page153

“On the Sunday morning before the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, all of the townspeople gathered at the house of the fire brigade named after J Piłsudski[9] in front of David Rybeck’s house. Not a single German was there. Only the people of the surrounding villages: from Posulcha [Polish: Posolcze; Lithuanian: Pašalčis]; Draznik, Chizney [Polish: Czyżuny; Lithuanian: Čižiūnai]; which is located about half a kilometre from the town; Mishtoni [Polish: Misztuny; Lithuanian: Mištūnai]; and others. They surrounded the town at night. The farmers were dressed in civilian clothes and armed with weapons.”

Meir Kinbrom, Valkininkai YB p. 195, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val194.html

On 22 June 1941, in Vilna, “The radio was tuned to [a station broadcasting from] Königsberg, from where the voice of a Lithuanian fascist was heard, inciting his people to beat and murder Jews and communists.”

Monish Fein Valkininkai YB p. 198, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val194.html

He was among the few who were saved on the day of the extermination in Eishyshok, and managed, with great difficulty, to reach Radun, which belonged to White Russia[3] and wasn’t yet subject to the laws of Lithuania regarding the extermination of the Jews.

Miriam Ben-Shamas-Ribak

Pages 238-239, ValkininkI YB, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val237.html

On 22 June 1941, when the war between Russia and Germany broke out, I lived in Lithuania, in a small shtetl [town], Butrimonys. Twenty-four hours after the outbreak of the war, the German tanks arrived in the shtetl without any opposition. Jews who had left in the direction of Russia had to return because the Germans had already taken all of the roads. As the front had moved further to the east and the German military were no longer in the city, the Lithuanian administration took power. They began to issue various edicts against the Jewish population. They designated forced labour for women with husbands and children, and everyone had to wear the yellow mark [Star of David].

… what did I have to lose at the time in Butrimonys, when they would take entire groups of people, young and old, every night, and send them in an unknown direction? I did not want to wait any longer. And my Polish acquaintance had agreed to take me to Olkenik. We knew that there still were Jews in Olkenik. I disguised myself as a Christian, dressed in Christian clothes. The Christian masked the wagon a little and took me as a friend of his, a sick one, to a doctor [a sheptun – whisperer – who warded off illnesses with magical formulas]. If the police stopped the wagon, they would not recognise that he was taking a Jewish woman. On the road to Olkenik I went through the shtetl, Hanishak [Onuškis]. The shtetl was cleared of Jews. It is located approximately 21km from Butrimonys. It seems that the Lithuanian murderers from Hanishak hurried with the slaughter of the Jews living there, even before Butrimonys. Experiencing great fear on the road, I arrived in Salos-Desznike. Many residents of Olkenik were in Salos because Olkenik was completely burned. As my parents had lived in Olkenik, I left Salos on foot for Olkenik. This was 14 days before the cruel slaughter. Our Olkenik Jews were completely naïve and did not believe what I told them about Butrimonys and about the nearby Lithuanian shtetlekh [town]. I already knew what awaited us and that our fate was a terrible one.

Thus two weeks passed by. I was, understand, hidden because there was a threat of death for travelling from one shtetl to another.

On the night of erev Rosh Hashanah, we felt that something was being prepared for our shtetl. There were individual Christians who warned that we should escape to wherever we could, where Jews were still allowed to sit calmly. And we should leave in time and not wait for the last moment. Many Jews did not want to believe. Several said, “Where do we go, where should we run?” Others began to prepare for Rosh Hashanah.

And on the night of erev Rosh Hashanah, we actually did escape from Olkenik in the direction of the River Soltse [Šalčia].

Running through the shtetl in the dark, we wanted to go to the houses, to knock on the doors and say, “Jews, come, let us save ourselves and leave the shtetl!” But we already heard shooting from various sides. This meant that the shtetl was surrounded, so that no-one could escape.

There was great darkness that night. We reached the Solste River and arrived at Yekutiel, the salt seller’s, house. We wanted to knock on the window so that we could at least tell him and escape together. Suddenly, through the window, we saw the police who had come to look for him and tell him to go to the market immediately, where the Jews would be assembled and sent to work.

We avoided them and left along the river. We already could not cross the Soltse Bridge because it was guarded by policemen. We continued about a half kilometre from the bridge, and we noticed a wooden block floating in the river. This helped us a great deal. We could go the other side of the river more easily over the block of wood. Crossing the river, we heard rifle fire in the shtetl, which threw great fear on us. We were very tired and confused. Before morning, we entered a village where we sneaked into an open barn. When it began to dawn, a Christian entered the barn and saw us frightened and soaked-through. The Christian drove us from the barn and threatened to bring the police if we did not leave the barn.

When it became dark in the evening, we left the Christian and, in the darkness of night, we walked very far until we reached Radun. There we learned the bitter fate of our Olkenik and Eišiškės Jews. And we remained in Radun. Radun belonged to White Russia [Belarus] with a different area commissioner, with a provisional law different from the one in Lithuania.

“Berl Lipszic , Valkininkai YB 251”, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val237.html

And everyone looked at me with pity and also with fear. How I was looked at did not bother me. I went to the house where the Pole lived. I waited outside. It already was night when he returned. I saw on his face from afar that he was not bringing me any happy news. He gave me back the letter that I had sent to my wife. He had not found any of the women at the Eišiškės marketplace. They had shot all of the women and children. I developed a great melancholy. I did not want to live. The Radun Jews surrounded me but I could not speak a word to them. I could not look at anyone. I extracted myself from them.

The Radun rabbi, from the Khofetz-Chaim family – I no longer remember his name – sent a Jew to bring me to him at his house. The Radun rabbi was dignified in appearance and he spoke to me with nice words. He told me that I should be his guest, to stay at his house for as long as I wished and that he had a good bed for me. His nice words moved me and I broke into tears in front of him and I told him everything from A to Z and he spoke nice words to me and calmed me a little…

From Radun Ghetto to Lida, Valkininkai, https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val237.html#Page256

Page 247

“Here, two Germans drove into the square, German civilians. As I remember now, I saw that the two Germans had arrived to make themselves a little cheerful, have pleasure from the spectacle. The Germans called two Jewish girls from out of the crowd. These girls had worked as their servants. The Germans asked the girls, ostensibly with astonishment, what they were doing there. The girls answered that they did not know, they, the Germans, knew better. And they burst into tears and asked the Germans why we had all been driven together and what would be done with us. I listened carefully to what the Germans said to the girls. I wanted to catch a word to understand our situation. The Germans smoked cigars and heartily laughed, ‘So, will you shoot? Definitely not. We are not shooting people. This is not happening with us…’”

The girls asked them why all of the people from four shtetlekh – Deksznie, Leipun, Olkenik and Eišiškės – were driven at night toward this place?

They answered that they, the Germans, were not responsible for this, it was the responsibility of the Lithuanian commandant.

“But we will not shoot you. Do not talk foolishly, you are upset. What you are saying is foolish…”

These two German looked at all of us, strolled a few times through the entire marketplace, and left. Immediately after this, the guard was strengthened. Fresh Siaulistes were added with machine guns and the commandant, Ostrovski, rode on his motorcycle around and around the square and gave his shooters various orders.”

Page 256: Told by Levi Lipszic (Berl’s father) https://www.jewishgen.org/yizkor/valkininkai/val237.html

I escape from the hospital

I quickly left the Eišiškės hospital where the murderers killed my wife and child before my eyes. I looked, the entire city was surrounded by Siaulistes. I entered Yitzhak Buzgan’s house and spoke up, “Let us escape because it is bad.”

He said, “It is erev Rosh Hashanah. I will not run. What happens to all of the Jews will also happen to me.”

I grabbed a koshek (basket) with fork with which one digs potatoes, and I left for the field. The Lithuanian guard stopped me and asked, “Where are you going?” I said I was going to dig potatoes; I would be right back. They let me through. I went to the field, acted as if I was digging potatoes, and lay down the basket. The guard watched me for a time, but soon they no longer looked at me and I walked further and further into the field until I was out of their view. I threw away the basket and the potato fork and began to run. I ran the entire day between marshes and forests, without a road, and I heard shooting from Eišiškės.

I encountered a Lithuanian in the forest and asked him, “Where is the road to Radun?”

Page 257-258:

“They are killing Jews in Eišiškės. I am taking the milk to hide with a neighbour, a Christian.” I said to him, “The milk is worthless; throw it away and let us escape.” “No,” he said. “It is a waste of milk… Let us escape, we are unfortunate. They killed my wife and my child.” He said his wife had taken a pack of things to hide with an honest gentile. It was a kilometre from here, and he could not escape without her.

I waited with him for his wife. And he gave me milk to drink from a jug. Meanwhile, he told me that he was a blacksmith and lived here in the village Bartnik and that it was 6km from Radun. We waited and waited, and we did not see his wife. I asked him to show me the road to Radun, and I began running alone.

I ran a distance of 2km. From afar I saw that there was a wagon of Jews. And I could no longer run because one of my feet was chafed and it was bloody. I began to shout, and the wagon stopped. The Christian wagon driver did not want to take me until I gave him my jacket. The Jews in the wagon all were from Eišiškės and they told me what was happening there, how all of the Jews had been brought from Deksznie, Leipun [Leipalingis] and Olkenik and they were imprisoned in the stalls and houses of prayer with the Eišiškės Jews and multitudes of Lithuanian police had come to the city.