Murder Story of Pyatigory Jews at the Pyatigory Machine Tractor Station

…On November 14, 1942, the politsai arrived. They spent the night in the school. Alarm spread throughout the shtetl… Now dawn was breaking. Gokhman gave the policemen the order: Form two ranks. They opened the cell, we found ourselves surrounded. Manya Aletka was holding me and my daughter by the hand. Manya kept pushing my little daughter so that at least she could be saved. But no sooner had my daughter managed to make a leap than one of the bastards brought her back. I heard my little girl's voice: "Mama! Wait for me! Where's my mama?" Again, the three of us walked on. And in front of us, my brother with his family and Manya's mother with her four brothers. They brought us to the park, to the machine-tractor station, a long barn, where the order was given: 'Strip down to your underwear!" Jung winked at us, Manya gave me a nudge as if to say "Time to go." "There's still time, Manya. Every minute counts." No!" Manya shouted, "If a little flower like Jung leaves us, we ought to go together! How can you look at your brother's blood, after all?" I wouldn't agree to it. Jung took out his papers and photo, took off his overcoat, produced a comb and combed his fringe. He gave the order: "One, two, three" and put one leg forward, yelling: "Shoot, I'm ready!" Gokhman fired five shots and that was the end of Jung. Manya cried: "Raya! My mother's gone!" Her brothers joined hands, went up to Manya, kissed her, and after saying "Goodbye" left. Next to me stood my six-year-old daughter asking me to take her hand. I took her hand, but just as soon let it go; I had no strength left. Our turn came. I stood in front of […] I had five hundred rubles in my pocket. I threw them at the police and yelled: "Drink our blood!" Then I took off my dress and stood there in just a black shirt. My little daughter was standing a few meters from me shouting: "Mr. Gokhman, I'm not a Jew, I don't know how to talk in Jew language!" "Let's go, now, daughter, let's die together!" I began to kick off my shoes. Just then, a thought flashed through my mind: I ought to beg! I can't believe that I'm to die. I'm still young, after all, and there's so much in front of me. I began to plead: "Ich will leben. Ich bin jung. Mein Vater ist Ukrainer und ich bin keine Jüdin." [I want to live, I'm young, my father is Ukrainian, and I'm not a Jew]. "Who've you got here?" asked Gokhman. I pointed to my poor little girl, who was crying without stop. He ordered that we be taken to the police. I took the child and everything went black before my eyes. I asked for a bit of snow. Then Gokhman shouted: "Zurück!" [Back!] I was very frightened. "Take your coat!" he ordered. I thanked him and was led away to the police…