I love golf courses. All the kids from our town really loved the driving range on Market Street.  We loved it best in winter.  The range was next to Franklin School and down the street from Kooger Farms. It was on a hill. As you stepped up to the tee to drive the ball, the right side of the course fell away in a steep slope till it became level with the street and swamp of reeds, cattails and frozen water in winter. 

In the summer we all would enjoy the driving range as we became old enough to hit the balls.  And if you were a girl, old enough to flirt with the cute ball boys that didn’t seem to be from our town.  But in the winter, the range was closed down while the owners went to Florida, and we would use the big wonderful hill for sleigh riding! 

And sleigh riding was special to us kids. It wasn’t just, “Lets go down the hill” sleigh riding. THIS WAS MAIL TRAIN/ CRACK THE WHIP sleigh riding!  In mail train we would create a line of sledders, each one holding onto the one in front with our gloved hands and holding onto our own sleds with the crooks of our feet.   The last sled on the train had the mail.  It was the designated target sled.  And the simple rule was DESTROY THE MAIL TRAIN as it careened on down the hill.  The attack sleds took their orders seriously. The excitement of danger was the added elixir to our snow fun.  I do remember being part of the train and feeling the glee of flying fast down the hill being chased by bigger sleds whose riders were determined to catch us.  Most of the time they did.  And we would laugh and roll over in the icy snow or yell and cry out, “Not Fair!” or “You cheated!” 

I remember my friend Roy’s sled. It belonged to his father whose mother came from Norway.  It had wide, wide runners and could fit five people. It was that long -- twice as long as a normal sled.  

We all had sleds of one type or another, and the best part was coming home after a hard day on the slopes -- being exhausted at being caught or chased all day.  We would undo our snow-armor -- shiny galoshes with metal buckles that interlaced with each other and held tight together, mittens, leggings, sweaters, knitted helmets with exposure for eyes and mouths only, and stiff, shiny snow-jackets now wet from ice and snow. Of course while we were away all day we ate the snow for thirst and because it felt clean and cool and crisp and crunchy in your mouth, and made a funny noise in your ears as you chomped on it. But now we were seriously hungry and thirsty, too. Our mother had dinner all ready and we ate well, my brother and I, as the wet clothes steamed in front of the fireplace.  The fireplace actually had no fire in it, its heat came up through the grate from the coal fire that my father kept going in the basement all day during the cold New Jersey winters.  

These were the winters of growing-up time for all of us. Soon it would change to college/going away/getting married/getting older.  How I now cherish the times we had then, the people, the snow, the mystique of a cold winter evening and a warm, happy loving feeling. 

MY LIFE STORY
By David Brook

I was born in Demblin-Jrena, Poland.  I was the younger of twins. My twin brother died within the week of our birth.  I was named Yisroel-David, was nicknamed and known as Dudek. 

My mother was Lea, née Sztajngart, and my father Nafiali-Herz Burkowicz. We were four children: Mark (Moses) the oldest, Pola second, Victor third, and I was the youngest. 

Demblin was a small town, put on the map by its geographic/strategic location – situated centrally in the country, on the eastern shore of Poland’s main river, the Vistula.  It was surrounded by a multitude of military and other strategic objectives.  It had the largest military airfield, with centers for training of officers, and pilots. There was a fortress that housed the 5th Infantry Regiment.  The 28th Artillery Division was based across the river, where there were gasoline and munitions dumps, a military hospital complex; passenger and freight railroad hubs, and all sorts of supply warehouses, plus two bridges spanning the Vistula. 

Irena was a smaller core-township established in the center of the town of Demblin, by various artisan-settlers. Farmland and farming were situated in Demblin. 

Due to Demblin’s many different military installations, the military and other government personnel in the area counted in the thousands.  The place experienced a steadily flowing change in its conscripts, and career officers, from all over the country, and due to that it took on a miniature metropolitan character. 

The population grew and prospered. It attracted and supported a great assortment of artisans, and merchants who provided the sought for services. 

My father operated a tailor shop which employed about ten people on a year-round basis, and more in the busy seasons. They manufactured ladies’ outerwear to order, and alongside of it operated a retail store which was selling ready-made garments imported from Warsaw. The businesses brought in a steady flow of cash daily; my father was a capable and successful businessman.  He kept very little cash on hand, and systematically invested in real estate. 

We owned quite a number of rental properties, including the house we lived in. We possessed expensive jewelry; gold coins such as U.S. dollars, German marks, Tsarist Russian rubles, and other valuables. 

Our family was among the more prominent ones in town, socially and economically. Our residence was apart from the business.  It was located on the corner of Warsaw and Pilsudski streets, at 39 Warsaw Street.  It was in a large building, which also housed the homes and businesses of two of my father’s sisters, Aunt Dora and her husband Yidel, and Esther, and Abraham Danowicz, and their families. It also housed a rental retail store. 

This property was an inheritance from my paternal grandfather, and was not owned. It was considered arable land, which Jews could not own. It was under lease for 99 years.  I remember the lease being renewed maybe two years before the outbreak of the war.  My two brothers worked as tailors in the shop. 

My mother was a seamstress but was not practicing her trade.  In essence, she was a housewife. She was working, however, on the floor, selling at will or when it was very busy.  We’d had a steady maid ever since I can remember. 

* * *

I had a good, sheltered childhood. I was going to public school, and to Heder, Jewish school, afterward.  I had many friends, boys and girls, and enjoyed various activities.  I belonged to the Betar Zionist Organization. 

As for my sister, my father had different plans. He wanted her to be university educated, professional maybe, and to marry a doctor, lawyer or other professional, probably in Warsaw. 

It just so happened, that after my sister finished public school, a private secondary school, or gymnasium, opened up in Demblin.  Naturally, she was among the first to be enrolled. She was a brilliant student and graduated number one, “A’s” top to bottom. 

On the side, she was tutoring Latin, French, and other subjects. That earned her a nice income and made her financially independent.  She was pretty, sociable, active socially and had a very refined personality. 

Our home was a meeting place for young people of the town, often to plan and organize all kinds of different social activities like lectures, discussions, dances, dinners, etc., the proceeds of which went to communal and charitable purposes. 

My sister was accepted, and was supposed to begin her studies at the University of Warsaw in September 1939. She was planning to take me with her, and send me to school there. 

Alas, all of our planning never materialized. 

* * * 

On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland.  All Polish government institutions, including the military, were heavily infiltrated by the German fifth column, and shortly before September 1, 1939, all of Demblin’s Air Force-based airplanes, except for a few trainers, were ordered disassembled for overhaul. 

In the late afternoon of September 1 we heard the blare of air raid sirens. Looking up toward the sky, one could see two German reconnaissance planes, flying at very high altitude, above our town's particularly high level of strategic targets.  They just flew over without any incident. 

The following morning the air raid sirens sounded again.  We, my family and I, ran out of the house, and into the bomb shelters we were made to dig just before the war started.  After a short while the first squadron of German bombers arrived.  I saw two Polish airplanes trying to intercept the bombers, but seconds later saw them spiraling down towards the ground.

The bombers kept coming, wave after wave, with short intervals, criss-crossing the sky unhindered.  They began by bombarding the most outlying objectives, closing in towards town.  Looking around, all I could see was smoke, and fires.  We could feel the earth shaking beneath us.  This intense bombardment continued until late in the afternoon.  The town was spared, however.  When it finally ended, my father hired a horse and wagon, loaded up some merchandise, and some personal things, and together with my mother’s brother’s family, we left Demblin to escape the horrors of bombardments. 

That evening the vast majority of the population left Demblin.  Most went to Riki, eight kilometers distant.  We rode all night to a place called Kock, 45 km. away.  My father had some distant family there.  The place was strategically insignificant;  it did not even have a paved road.  We hoped to be safe there. 

But, lo and behold, the following Saturday the German bombers came there.  We ran out into an open field, and huddled against a wall of a barn.  All of a sudden my brother Victor rose up raving, almost berserk, urging us to get away from where we were.  No sooner did we leave than the barn sustained a direct hit.  Figure that out! 

In the evening we packed a few things, and walked to a town called Ciemierniki, again hoping to escape the bombardments.  But they followed us again. 

We learned that nearby, there was a village, Piaski, inhabited by ethnic German colonists.  We decided to go there, fully confident that we would not be bombarded.  Indeed, I had seen the crews of the low-overflying aircraft exchange hand-waves with the locals below. 

It was harvest time, and I helped out by working for our farmer hosts in the field, thus earning my keep.  We stayed there until we heard that the Polish Military was completely destroyed, and the Germans were speedily occupying the land. 

We returned to Kock, with the intention of going back home to Demblin, which was already German-occupied. 

Shortly before the outbreak of the war, Germany and Russia concluded a non-aggression pact, by which the Russians were to occupy the eastern part of Poland, up to the river Bug.  Thus, Poland was being invaded both from the east and the west.  One Polish Army unit retreating from the east decided not to surrender to the Germans, but to fight it out with them. A battle ensued between the two armies.  For two days an intense exchange of artillery raged, with us in between them.  Predictably, the Polish Army was defeated, and the Germans occupied Kock. 

* * * 

It was decided that I should go, on foot, to Demblin, to find out the situation there.  The reason that I was picked was I was the youngest in the family, and maybe stood a better chance of not being bothered by the Germans. 

I found our home to be occupied by German officers, our business broken into, and most of the merchandise missing.  I walked back to Kock, and after a few days our whole family returned to Demblin.  We moved into our place of business. 

* * * 

Germany annexed part of north-western Poland into the Reich, and renamed the rest the General Government, with Hans Frank as governor, headquartered in Krakow. 

From the first moment of their occupation, German soldiers with fixed-bayonet rifles burst into Jewish homes, taking all able-bodied men to perform forced labor, and roughing them up in the process. 

A dusk-to-dawn curfew was imposed, for Jews only.  Any Jew caught violating the curfew was shot on the spot. 

My two older brothers decided to escape to the Russians.  They begged my father that the whole family should escape.  My father refused, claiming it would be irresponsible to leave all of our amassed assets and go penniless into a self-imposed exile.  He conceded that we may have to live through some harsh times, including forced labor, be forced to move into a ghetto, lose some freedoms and be subjected to other indignities, but, in the end, the Germans would be defeated, and we would then resume our normal lives. 

Alas, he was terribly wrong and short-sighted! 

My brothers escaped to the Russians by themselves.  At some point later the German officers vacated our place of residence and we move back into it.  Soon thereafter the Gestapo came and confiscated the remainder of our merchandise.  Then they came to our house and removed most of the furniture; demanded our jewelry and other valuables, battering my father badly in the process, claiming he did not surrender all. 

And, there I stood riveted to the floor, trembling cowardly, afraid for my own skin, and scared to intercede for my father. 

Ever since, I suffer from a sense guilt and shame, and often have nightmares involving this incident.

* * *        

My compatriot Polish kids, voluntarily and zealously accompanied the raiding Germans, pointing out Jewish homes. The Germans could not tell a Jew from a non-Jew, unless one wore a beard, peot, or distinctive Hasidic garb, etc. 

Yes, it took our Christian countrymen to point out, and betray the Jew.  I once asked a neighbor kid I grew-up with, went together to school, why he did it. I pointed out to him, that we are neighbors for many years, fellow-citizens for almost a thousand of years; that the Germans were our common enemy, the invaders, occupiers, who wreaked wars and misery upon Poland for many centuries past. His retort was that he hated Jews because we killed Christ. 

Obviously, the Poles hated the Jews more than their mortal enemies. 

I am convinced that the first German word the Pole learned was Jude, Jew.        

* * * 

Forced labor served the Germans, helping them to achieve their pre-calculated purposes.  The most damaging effect it had on the Jews was of a psychological nature. 

They made us perform the most demeaning work, among other things:  clean excrement with our bare hands, pluck the weeds from between the cobblestones on the market plaza, and many other forms of nonsensical chores.  At other times, I was made to do work requiring more than none person. 

All of that was designed to demean us morally and spiritually, to prove us powerless, break our resistance, and reduce our dignity to less than human.  At the same time, they exhausted us physically. 

And they have  succeeded well.