Page 3 - Excerpts from the diary

Grandmother said that she loved me more than anyone and that she had suffered greatly because [the end of the page is torn off].

28.05.1942
Yesterday we fired rifles again. I was on duty in the mess hall and was called out without warning. I aimed badly—one could say I hardly
aimed at all, since I had to run to the firing position—and, as a result, I did not score a single hit. That is what comes of becoming even a
little too pleased with oneself.

I spent the entire day on kitchen duty. I ate more than I had on any previous day and saw a great deal of the hidden side of Red Army life.

In the morning I sawed and chopped firewood together with Sukharev, a Red Army man from our platoon and a Party member who was
on duty with me. Sukharev, who is well acquainted with the senior cook, lit a cigarette, while I was made to cut sausage with the junior
cook. I was hungry and desperately wanted to taste the sausage, but I did not dare take a piece. A sergeant from the machine-gun platoon
came up, asked for some sausage, and, without waiting for the cook’s permission, snatched a large piece from the table. There was a
constant stream of people coming and going.

They came for breakfast, for rusks, and for various other needs. The company commander was there, as was his senior assistant. No one
noticed anything except me and the cooks, and they said nothing. A few minutes later the sergeant came back and stole another piece
from the table. I wanted some sausage so badly that I tried to take a piece for myself.
The cook noticed. When everyone had gone, he told me that I must not take sausage in front of other people. And so my most innocent
little venture, one that looked rather like theft, came to nothing.

On my way to the kitchen I had been advised to steal a wooden spoon, because my shallow iron one is very inconvenient. I could not
bring myself either to ask for one—I was sure they would refuse—or to steal one, because I was sure I would be caught.

Theft flourishes here at every turn, brazen and limitless as nowhere else. The cook, for example, stole something from the kitchen
together with Sukharev. A woman came to them carrying two full decanters of wine. After sending me away to fetch water, they
exchanged goods with her. He stole sausage while looking back at me as I wrote; he stole butter too after sending me for water—I noticed
him wrapping something in paper and putting it in his pocket, then shifting the butter elsewhere. By evening he was drunk, but he fed
everyone well and generously.

Sukharev and I—or, more accurately, thanks to Sukharev, I—ate more than anyone else that day. But I also worked more than ever. The
cook spared Sukharev at my expense, so I had to wash the cauldrons, carry water, clean, cut, run errands, and do everything else by
myself.

04.06.1942
Yesterday, in the neighboring troop train, a senior sergeant was loading his submachine gun when it went off. He wounded three men in
the carriage; two of them were badly hurt. That is what carelessness can lead to. The train was held before departure. A major general, the
divisional commissar, came to the carriage where it happened. We were already in Stalingrad, the largest city we had passed on our
journey.

The outskirts began ten or fifteen kilometers from the city proper. The houses, and even their roofs, were wooden. There were many very
old houses, beautifully designed and painted. For a long time this old wooden Volga town seemed to stretch on until, after several stops
and stations, the great Soviet city of Stalingrad finally appeared, with its magnificent multistory stone buildings.

For the first time in my life I saw the famous Volga. Here it was no wider than the Dnieper, perhaps even narrower.

Evening. I am sitting now in the steppe, in a place you would not be able to find even on a map. Mosquitoes torment me and drive me
mad.

12.06.1942
From five o’clock yesterday evening until eight this morning we dug a dugout for our section. From about half past eight until four in the
afternoon I rested—if one does not count the one-kilometer walk to dinner.

Now we are digging a reserve position in front of the main one. Behind the main position we must dig two more reserve positions.

On the road I found two German leaflets. What stupid and illiterate people must have written them, and what narrow-minded ideas they
contain, if these scraps can even be called “leaflets.” It is hard to believe that they were actually intended to persuade our men to go over
to the German scoundrels. Who could believe their feeble arguments or put any trust in them?

The only argument they have chosen with some calculation is the Jewish question. Antisemitism is widespread here, and words to the
effect that “we are fighting only against the kikes who have climbed onto your necks and are responsible for the war” may influence
some people. The leaflet goes on to claim that the “kikes” sit safely in the rear, do not go to fight, and refuse to become commissars
because they are cowards at the front. This sounds so ridiculous that, coming from the authors of these leaflets, it is simply unbelievable.

As for the claim that Jews sit in the rear: in our company alone there are at least seven Jews, which is a great many considering how
small their number is compared with the Russians—before the war there were about eleven million Jews in the entire world. As for Jews
supposedly being afraid to serve as commissars, I do not even want to discuss it. I will show by my own example in battle what nonsense
they are spreading. As a Jew, I will not merely refuse to avoid the rank of commissar in a combat unit; I will strive passionately,