Rescuers of Jews
Bartkevičienė Stasė
Stasė BARTKEVIČIENĖ
Juozas BARTKEVIČIUS
In their remote village an ordinary farming couple called Bartkevičius kept a special hideout. Some stayed there for a long time, others came and soon went their own way. Though the hideout was well laid out, there was not sufficient room in it for all the people: sometimes more than ten people gathered in it. It was cramped and damp. At night the farmer would come. He let the people out to get a breath of fresh air. They would all stand in silence looking into the dark sky for a long time, and not a word was spoken since nobody knew who might overhear it. Everybody wondered what would happen when the Germans reached Moscow and the Urals, when they had occupied the whole world, and who would then look after them... Only Juozas did not despair: they would not get so far, Russia would hit back; besides, there was England, America...
The most difficult problem was feeding the fugitives. Bartkevičienė baked bread every week. As soon as one batch was taken out of the oven, new dough had to be got ready. One loaf, cut into equal slices, had to be enough for one day. Everyone knew the price of bread. Even a morsel of meat, if it was eaten without bread, would be worthless. Besides, meat was rare. The meat of the wretched was salt, sprinkled on a slice of bread and washed down with cold water. As long as there was bread, there was no hunger. An onion added to the slice of bread meant a feast. Rye kept people alive in the Bartkevičius’ home. The same bread dough was used to make rolls, eaten dunked in hot tallow thinned with milk. They had to be swallowed quickly, since beef tallow soon congealed on the lips. Rye flour was used to make pancakes and other dishes. After the war Riva Kamenecienė-Solomon wrote from Israel: “We did not give you anything and did not promise anything; and you did not ask anything but fed all of us.”
The fugitives did not waste their time; each of them had some kind of occupation and asked their hosts to give them a job.
Hunger and malnutrition were followed by cold. As their movements were restricted, the blood became cold; at least that was Juozas’ diagnosis. He would get warm blankets and hot bricks and put them into the beds, but that did not help much. The hands and feet became warm, at least to the touch, but the body was cold. Warmth was saved in all ways possible. A freshly baked loaf of bread would be brought by Juozas under his coat in order to preserve its warmth. Everybody greeted the bread with great enthusiasm; everybody wanted to live. Only once did the threat of death appear among the inmates. It was a young lady from a foreign country, the daughter of a factory owner from Ùódê in Poland, a second-year student. She would not get up; all the time she tried to keep herself warm and she lay with her knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes shining morbidly. She kept silent, and nobody knew what she was thinking. After the war Juozas wrote: “She was the only one with whom we had any trouble, but we saved her.” They cured her by their joint efforts and helped her to recover. There were many of them, and they were a close-knit community.
Juozas and his wife saved all their fugitives, and after the war all of them went their own ways. During the entire occupation period nobody suspected the Bartkevičius home, and the family came to no harm. It was nothing special, the Bartkevičius said.
No, my dear friends, that is not so. If people were not hanged or shot dead, that is your great achievement, too. It means that you knew how to rescue people, in a way that nobody sounded the alarm and in a way that all were saved to the last man. All this has been recorded on the Yad Vashem memorial in Jerusalem so that the whole world can read about it.
From Hands Bringing Life and Bread, Volume 3,
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum. Vilnius, 2005
Juozas BARTKEVIČIUS
In their remote village an ordinary farming couple called Bartkevičius kept a special hideout. Some stayed there for a long time, others came and soon went their own way. Though the hideout was well laid out, there was not sufficient room in it for all the people: sometimes more than ten people gathered in it. It was cramped and damp. At night the farmer would come. He let the people out to get a breath of fresh air. They would all stand in silence looking into the dark sky for a long time, and not a word was spoken since nobody knew who might overhear it. Everybody wondered what would happen when the Germans reached Moscow and the Urals, when they had occupied the whole world, and who would then look after them... Only Juozas did not despair: they would not get so far, Russia would hit back; besides, there was England, America...
The most difficult problem was feeding the fugitives. Bartkevičienė baked bread every week. As soon as one batch was taken out of the oven, new dough had to be got ready. One loaf, cut into equal slices, had to be enough for one day. Everyone knew the price of bread. Even a morsel of meat, if it was eaten without bread, would be worthless. Besides, meat was rare. The meat of the wretched was salt, sprinkled on a slice of bread and washed down with cold water. As long as there was bread, there was no hunger. An onion added to the slice of bread meant a feast. Rye kept people alive in the Bartkevičius’ home. The same bread dough was used to make rolls, eaten dunked in hot tallow thinned with milk. They had to be swallowed quickly, since beef tallow soon congealed on the lips. Rye flour was used to make pancakes and other dishes. After the war Riva Kamenecienė-Solomon wrote from Israel: “We did not give you anything and did not promise anything; and you did not ask anything but fed all of us.”
The fugitives did not waste their time; each of them had some kind of occupation and asked their hosts to give them a job.
Hunger and malnutrition were followed by cold. As their movements were restricted, the blood became cold; at least that was Juozas’ diagnosis. He would get warm blankets and hot bricks and put them into the beds, but that did not help much. The hands and feet became warm, at least to the touch, but the body was cold. Warmth was saved in all ways possible. A freshly baked loaf of bread would be brought by Juozas under his coat in order to preserve its warmth. Everybody greeted the bread with great enthusiasm; everybody wanted to live. Only once did the threat of death appear among the inmates. It was a young lady from a foreign country, the daughter of a factory owner from Ùódê in Poland, a second-year student. She would not get up; all the time she tried to keep herself warm and she lay with her knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes shining morbidly. She kept silent, and nobody knew what she was thinking. After the war Juozas wrote: “She was the only one with whom we had any trouble, but we saved her.” They cured her by their joint efforts and helped her to recover. There were many of them, and they were a close-knit community.
Juozas and his wife saved all their fugitives, and after the war all of them went their own ways. During the entire occupation period nobody suspected the Bartkevičius home, and the family came to no harm. It was nothing special, the Bartkevičius said.
No, my dear friends, that is not so. If people were not hanged or shot dead, that is your great achievement, too. It means that you knew how to rescue people, in a way that nobody sounded the alarm and in a way that all were saved to the last man. All this has been recorded on the Yad Vashem memorial in Jerusalem so that the whole world can read about it.
From Hands Bringing Life and Bread, Volume 3,
The Vilna Gaon State Jewish Museum. Vilnius, 2005