“Did you know that Symeon was meeting members of the underground when I used to be away?” Ewa asked her brother two weeks after Symeon died.
“Yes, and he had instructed me to keep it from you. He wanted you to stay out of it,” replied Urjasz.
“Well, I am in it up to my head—with or without your help,” Ewa stated explicitly.
“The children….,”
“Whether we want to admit it or not, the children are already involved,” Ewa said, cutting Urjasz off. They have seen the bullet-riddled bodies of their uncle and father. They watch followers of their faith herded like sheep to slaughter every single day.
“I’m joining the partisans!” She declared.
The Jewish resistance effort gained momentum when it dawned upon the ghetto inhabitants beyond any doubt that the Nazis murdered all those deported under the pretext of resettlement in the extermination camps.
Ewa was in her workshop one day in mid-August when a handsome middle-aged man approached her. His good looks and confident attitude mesmerized all the female employees as he strolled across the hall to Ewa’s office in a laid-back manner. He said he was Jewish entrepreneur Hozea Itzkowitz.
“Your husband was my friend, and lately, we had been planning your children’s evacuation from the ghetto.” He chuckled, “The speed with which our population is declining due to transfer to the death camps prompted me to meet you sooner than never.”
Although Ewa found his sense of humor offensive, she remained quiet, looking for a chance to join the resistance. Before lighting one for himself, the man offered Ewa a cigarette; he was well-dressed for someone from the ghetto.
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“I want my kids to be somewhere safe. As for myself, I would like to be part of the resistance.”
He bent his head and grinned, “In what capacity?” This time, he spoke in Polish.
“In any capacity as long as I am killing Nazis and my children are protected,” Ewa replied in Polish as well. “If you are a commander, please help me out.”
“Take your kids to the Holy Spirit Church at ten sharp, tomorrow morning. Make your kids wear heavy coats with hoods, and donate some of your sweaters and socks to the Christian Charity,” he said, holding his cigarette in front of his face and staring at the women in the hall, smiling intermittently. “A ski cap will also do,” he added as an afterthought.
“You will leave your children at the church and come out with two children of your kids’ ages, who will be donning those coats.”
“Your children will be staying in the Aryan part at one of Irena’s places until they leave Poland with Matteo Rossi.”
As Ewa opened her mouth to speak, Hozea asked her to keep silent, “Shh! No details, please. The less we know, the safer it is for your kids.”
“Your husband trusted Matteo, and so do I,” he reassured her. “After the swap, you will keep our little partisans in your house until someone with the name ‘Sparrow’ arrives to get them.” He spoke in Polish throughout the conversation.
“We will meet again.” He inhaled deeply, dropped the cigarette butt on the concrete floor, then extinguished it under his shoe.
Ewa called her children to her bedside that evening and mentioned the plans for the next day. She wanted to look strong and fought back tears as she hugged them goodnight.
The following day, they walked to the church, where the priest greeted them. He gratefully accepted the package and invited them inside.
He thankfully received the package and asked them in. The children exchanged coats, and Ewa knelt, embraced, and kissed her children.
“Be brave. Mama will soon be with you,” she uttered.
“Promise?” asked Leah.
“Promise! Take care of your sister, young man.” She adjusted the woolen cap on her son’s head.
Ewa wiped her tears and then left with her little partisans.