Every day, a big convertible full of Gestapo men would rush through the Ghetto. They were on their way to Pawiak Prison,
to question prisoners there.Whenever that car came into view
at the entrance to the Ghetto, the street, which was black with people just one minute before,would empty in no time;
with people running every which way like madmen.
Me, one day, because it happened several times that I ran
and hid under the porch, I was under that porch, standing half-way in, half-way out, with two other people who were
in the street. A young German came up to us,he was holding
a blackjack in his hand, he was wearing a handsome brown uniform, very clean, with shiny boots and a red armband with
a swastika. There was an old Jew who happened to be there.
The German hit him on the lower part of his legs, and the Jew
-a tall man- fell down. The German kept hitting him what seemed like forever to me. There I was, looking on… It seems to me that even today, the image takes my breath away. I saw the man's eye popping out of its socket. He was screaming at the beginning,
and then began to moan. And the other fellow kept hitting him with his blackjack and with the wooden handle of his blackjack. He was kicking him too.
After a few minutes, the Gestapo men climbed back into their car, and the Jew lay there, dying. The extraordinary thing is that five minutes later, the street was black with people again.
