Murder story of Brailov Jews at the Brailov Jewish Cemetery

On a cold February day, Brailov was surrounded by policemen and Gestapo men. The massacre began just before the dawn. In the words of one policeman whom I interrogated, this was the “first action .” Each policeman was instructed to make the rounds of two or three Jewish homes, herd the people out onto the square to the meeting area, and – if anyone should resist – kill him on the spot. This was to be done silently – with bayonets, rifle butts and knives. At 6:00 A.M. my father was awakened by the blows of rifle butts against the door. He had slept without getting undressed that night, and he opened the door quickly. Two policemen pushed their way into the room. “Quick! To the square! Everyone!” “My wife is sick and can’t get up.” “It’s up to us to decide what to do with the healthy and what to do with the sick.” Using the butts of their rifles, they drove my father out into the street. My sister Rosa began to dress hurriedly. At that moment she saw one of the policeman raise his knife to our mother. She rushed to her assistance, but was struck on the head and driven, barefoot and in a light dress, out into the street. Father picked up Rosa and helped her reach the gathering place at the trade square opposite the Catholic Church. The residents of Brailov had been concentrated there. But not all of them had appeared. Many, like our mother, had been murdered at home . For a bet, a policeman had lined up the grocer’s family and shot them all with a single submachine-gun blast. After an hour-and-a-half check, the policemen declared that 300 people would be retained to serve the German army. These were mainly tailors, cobblers, furriers and their families. The rest would be shot. Under heavy guard, the procession set out. It developed that my father and sister were in the head of the column. Behind them was Oskar Shmaryan, a sixteen-year-old relative of ours from Kiev, who had come to Brailov to spend the holydays. The column was halted at the drugstore; the chief of police remembered that they had forgotten Joseph Schwartz, who lived just outside the village, next to Orthodox cemetery. They sent a policeman for him. In a few minutes, Schwartz appeared with his wife, and they found themselves at the head of this sad procession. Everyone walked silently, in heavy concentration and casting a last farewell glance at his native village and life. Suddenly a song rang out from the column. A resonant girl’s voice sang of her native land, its wide spaces, its forests, seas and rivers, of how free the air was. It was my sister Rosa. A few minutes later her song was choked off…. I asked several witnesses and rechecked this fact as scrupulously and carefully as possible. Everything was exactly as I have described it. My sister was never considered to have any special talent as a singer. She had spent about two hours barefoot and virtually unclothed in the cold. Her feet must have been frostbitten by then. How did she manage to break out suddenly in song? Where did she get the strength for this last feat?..............