Chapter 2. The Ghetto
When the truck pulled up to Glinice Street carrying Henry and his family, he noticed that there was a tall, long fence made from wooden poles and barbed wire running across the street, flanked by rows of old apartment buildings. There appeared to be only one entrance. Above the gate there was a sign that read: "Danger of Contamination. Do Not Enter."
Henry used to pass this street often. Every week someone in the family had to go to the kosher butcher to have a live chicken killed for the Sabbath meal. Just last week it was Henry's turn. He remembered how he tried to hold the chicken steady while he was waiting for his turn to get to the butcher. He tried holding it down with his foot, but the chicken quickly got away and started running down the street. Henry knew that if the chicken escaped, his parents would be extremely upset, so he ran after it in earnest. He finally cornered the bird in an alley. After a brief ordeal of being pecked several times, he was able to grab it. As he brought the chicken back to meet its destiny he passed by this very same street.
Even though Henry was hardly living in luxury at Kilinskiego Street, he did notice that Glinice was old, run-down, filthy, and extremely crowded with destitute-looking people. It was clearly the poor side of town where only gentile Poles used to live. No Jews. Now, while arriving on this truck at the break of dawn, Henry thought to himself, "Where are all the gentiles who used to live here?" He couldn't help but wonder if they were all now living in his house. "Maybe this is what happens during wartime," he wondered. The truck pulled through the gate. Henry noticed the shocked look on his parents' faces. He turned to his father who was holding his sleeping brother, Chaim, in his arms.
"Papa," he began with a puzzled look on his face. "Why are we here? What's going on?"
"Don't worry, Haskel," his father encouraged him. "It's this stupid war. We'll know more later."
His father rubbed Chaim's head to wake him up. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Henry was reminded of how his father used to wake him up every day in his bed by rubbing his head. It was just about the same time of morning. His mother Ida would already be up cooking cereal for the whole family. She would buy fresh bread at the market every day, and they would drink the raw milk that they kept in the cellar below the house in a large metal milk container. Sometimes they had some of the buttermilk that she made by keeping some milk on the window sill inside the house and letting the sun curdle it slightly. They would all eat together. But today that would not be happening. No one knew what would be happening.
Henry used to pass this street often. Every week someone in the family had to go to the kosher butcher to have a live chicken killed for the Sabbath meal. Just last week it was Henry's turn. He remembered how he tried to hold the chicken steady while he was waiting for his turn to get to the butcher. He tried holding it down with his foot, but the chicken quickly got away and started running down the street. Henry knew that if the chicken escaped, his parents would be extremely upset, so he ran after it in earnest. He finally cornered the bird in an alley. After a brief ordeal of being pecked several times, he was able to grab it. As he brought the chicken back to meet its destiny he passed by this very same street.
Even though Henry was hardly living in luxury at Kilinskiego Street, he did notice that Glinice was old, run-down, filthy, and extremely crowded with destitute-looking people. It was clearly the poor side of town where only gentile Poles used to live. No Jews. Now, while arriving on this truck at the break of dawn, Henry thought to himself, "Where are all the gentiles who used to live here?" He couldn't help but wonder if they were all now living in his house. "Maybe this is what happens during wartime," he wondered. The truck pulled through the gate. Henry noticed the shocked look on his parents' faces. He turned to his father who was holding his sleeping brother, Chaim, in his arms.
"Papa," he began with a puzzled look on his face. "Why are we here? What's going on?"
"Don't worry, Haskel," his father encouraged him. "It's this stupid war. We'll know more later."
His father rubbed Chaim's head to wake him up. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Henry was reminded of how his father used to wake him up every day in his bed by rubbing his head. It was just about the same time of morning. His mother Ida would already be up cooking cereal for the whole family. She would buy fresh bread at the market every day, and they would drink the raw milk that they kept in the cellar below the house in a large metal milk container. Sometimes they had some of the buttermilk that she made by keeping some milk on the window sill inside the house and letting the sun curdle it slightly. They would all eat together. But today that would not be happening. No one knew what would be happening.