Page 11 - Excerpts from the diary

I began asking the hostess about the Germans. She told me willingly. Many of them had lodged in her house. It was cold. They came in
groups or alone, ordered the owners out of their beds, and lay down in them themselves. They were not embarrassed by the presence of
women and managed as best they could in the house. But with women, she said, they were cautious and ashamed to commit outrages in
front of the men. There were good people among them too: some gave children sweets, behaved politely toward the inhabitants, were
under no illusions about their prospects, and did not deceive others either.

During the retreat several Germans once stayed at this woman’s house. They often said to her: “The Russians will come, Mother, give
you a machine gun, and you will bang-bang at the Germans?” She answered that she was afraid of rifles and machine guns and would
never pick one up. The answer apparently satisfied them; they nodded approvingly.

“Are you waiting for the Russians?” one German once asked her.

“How could I not wait for them when my husband is fighting with them?” she answered.

One of the Germans smiled, but the faces of the others became threatening.

“No, no,” she hurried to reassure them, “my husband died long ago.”

The German who had smiled, while the others became angry at her answer, was very kind and sympathized with the woman. When his
comrades were absent, he often told her that the Red Army was close and that the Russians would soon return. And that is exactly what
happened. On the eve of their retreat, the Germans advised the hostess to go a kilometer away. Then, after setting up a machine gun at
one wall of the hut, they began firing from the house at our advancing troops. This happened at night. The next morning the Red Army
entered the village. Many local people and Russians were shot in Salsk during the retreat. Here they shot several Jews and a few
Communists—the most prominent ones.

These stories of the mass execution of completely innocent Jews make me think with still greater anxiety about my dear family in
Yessentuki and their fate. If only I could somehow go there and learn at least something. From Salsk to Mineralnye Vody is a trifling
distance. I will ask the commandant at the transit point for permission to go to Yessentuki, though I will probably achieve nothing. As for
the Germans, I have decided once and for all: there are no enemies more hateful or deadly to me than Germans. To the grave, to my last
breath, at the front or in the rear, I will serve the homeland and the government that gave me, as a Jew, equality. I will never become like
those Ukrainians who betrayed their homeland, went over to the enemy camp, and now serve the Germans. They clean the Germans’
boots and wait on them, while the Germans beat them across their Judas-dog faces.

The Germans do shoot prisoners, however, especially during a retreat. Wounded prisoners are finished off.

I have now found quarters for the night. The train is not moving; a bridge somewhere ahead has been destroyed. I am going to sleep.

Oh yes! They say Vyazma was taken today. I have heard it from many people, but I will not believe the rumors until I read the
Information Bureau report myself.

17.04.1943
Yesterday I finally managed not to go to classes and wrote several articles for the newspaper, including one long piece entitled “Review
of Combat Leaflets.”

This morning the company commander drove everyone, even the girls, out to training. But it was already late; by the time we got there,
the training had ended, and we returned without reaching the field.

After breakfast we went out to training again.

Now there is a medical officer’s talk. Khabibulin is a self-appointed sergeant, an appallingly insolent brute. He is a small, arrogant Tatar
with the shrill voice of a mongrel. He interferes with everyone, quarrels with everyone, and tries to order everyone about. He was sent
here from Salsk in the same group as I was. On the way he claimed to be a junior sergeant and wore one chevron on his collar tabs. When
we arrived, he volunteered to become a squad leader. When the commander questioned him, he said he was a sergeant, and the next day
he attached another chevron to his uniform. When I asked him why he had done this—he has no documents at all—he replied that
nowadays even middle-ranking commanders have no papers confirming their rank.

And now he picked on me: “Take off your rifle!” Naturally I did not comply with this foolish and unlawful demand. I did not take off the
rifle. Then he tried to pull it off me. A scuffle began, during which he tore the sling from the rifle...
...but could not hold on to the weapon and let go. I tied the sling back on, while he cursed: “I’ll shoot you,” “Jew,” “shit,” and so on. I
merely laughed at him. The soldiers and commanders, who were already sick of his yapping voice, laughed too. “You stupid pointing
dog, and you call yourself a commander?!” He had no answer and went on barking for a long time. That is how such reptiles have to be
reined in.

17.05.1943
I have not written for several days because there was no time. During this period I wrote a number of letters: to Mother, Father,
Magnitogorsk, Salsk—to the newspaper editorial office—and the hospital.

We are having political instruction now. Most of the cadets have no interest in politics and remember it only just before a lesson. Several