Warsaw Ghetto, October 1941

here you stand: in front of every house there’s already a

crush of pushcarts with fruit and vegetables, and little

stands with foodstuffs. These food stands are minuscule: an

old Jewish woman has placed a few small bags of meal on a

little stool or table, weighing two or three kilos each, with

corn meal, brown bread, and bona (the flour that bakers

receive from the Occupation authorities to bake the daily

allotment of bread). Or groats, millet, or barley. No other

kinds of food, such as beans or flour or dried preserves, are

typically found on the little tables, such as might be seen in

the stores. The prices here, of course, are a bit cheaper in

comparison with other streets – after all, it’s Kozla Alley! –

but they’re still high enough for a large portion of Warsaw

Jews, whom the ghetto has robbed of the chance to make a

living, and left with dangling, empty hands, with only one

chance to sustain a meager existence: selling off their clothes

and household items in the Wolówka, the flea market.

Rickshaws are the major mode of transport – that unique

way of getting around in the Warsaw ghetto that the Jews,

those cosmopolitans, never shy to adapt what they need from

anyplace whatsoever, took from the Japanese and Chinese.

The rickshaw was a great help to Kozla Alley, and not because

droshkies and wagons have disappeared since the Germans

confiscated the horses of Jewish drivers: that would not have

been so bad. The Jewish porter in Warsaw can, believe me,

carry a healthy sack of flour on his back. But what’s the use if

he can’t do it in broad daylight? For the eye of the informer is

always on the lookout. With the rickshaw, however, it’s a dif-

ferent game. Jews have modified and perfected the design

beyond the wildest dreams of the Chinese. Behind the seat is

an empty space where you can hide a few packets of flour,

and make yourself comfortable on the plush seat like

nobody’s business: and make as if you’re just taking a little

jaunt into the alley.

But not everyone who gets food from Kozla Alley trans-

ports it in a rickshaw. Most go on foot, and these are in fact

the mainstay of Kozla – the middlemen, together with their

agents, the “strollers.” Since they can’t afford transportation,

their rickshaws are their own backs, on which it’s not

unusual for them to load three or four sacks of flour, groats,

or other foodstuffs at a time. A sack usually weights fifty

kilos, but still, Jacob sets forth.

Nighttime smuggling provides the smugglers’ shops with

plenty of everything: vegetables and fruit, groceries, meat,

chicken, honey, and whatever the heart desires. Even with

good drink. The city needs to eat in the morning, and the

strollers need a whole day for their work. In the summer at

five in the morning you can already see them hauling bags of

food or a sack of potatoes and cans of milk. With their fresh

faces, washed by the morning light, enlivened by their ardor,

these are working Jews who can eat their fill, whose steps

move with a feeling of confidence and power – amid the sur-

rounding crowd of swollen feet.

Kozla Alley has several even-numbered houses, inhabited

by Christians, but the entrances to the houses and doors have

been walled up. Their entrances are now on the other side of

the wall, on Freta Street, meaning outside the ghetto, with

only a few windows of several apartments looking out to the

ghetto. This layout is indeed a blessing, not just for the few

goyim who live in these homes, but for the Jews as well, and,

let’s be clear, not just for the Jews of Kozla Alley and its smug-

glers, but for all of Israel in Warsaw. For no matter how dirty

the smuggling business finally is – a noose hung around the

neck of the swollen and varicose consumer – given the hor-

rific conditions of the great prison into which the Jews have

been driven by the ghetto walls, smuggling is the only salva-

tion left for the survivors, that saving remnant. And who

knows: maybe someday we will have to erect a memorial to

the smuggler whose courage, in retrospect, saved a good part

of Jewish Warsaw from starving to death...

On the outside, the windows of the Christian houses are

covered with wire grates from top to bottom. At first glance,

or so it seems, the gratings were meant to keep the goyishe

home separate from the Jewish street, but in fact, the wire

bars are a good way to carry out the smuggling. From the

inside, the goy places a kind of wooden chute, like you would

COMING SOON FROM THE NEW YIDDISH LIBRARY

Smuggling in the Warsaw Ghettoby Peretz Opoczynski

Introduction and translation by David Suchoff

F A L L 2 0 0 6

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Translationthcgrzgmubd

P A K N T R E G E R

tuhci tuhpi Pkhuagbgo dgzgx uuh ehhi n†k d†rbhay: †y x≤o

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uu†x zgbgi sgr vuhPy†bkgi pui e†zg-dgxkw hgbg †Pbgngr

tui tubygrvTkygrw sh Idhhgrx"w zhh e†bgi zhl ehhi rheagx

bhay sgrkuhciw zhhgr rheag zgbgi sh ]thhdgbg[ Pkhhmgxw

tuh; uugkfg zhh k†sguugi †i bhay zgkyi mu sr-phr cykgl

ngkw eTag tui Tbsgrg nhbho aPz tuh; T n†k/ T cyk

v†y dguuhhbkgl pupmi ehk† uu†d tui uhkl hgeç ≈

uuTragw dgy†w †ey†cgrw 1491

† ayhhy ngi auhi dgshfy pTr hgsi vuhz nhy uugdgkgl

drhbmd tui tuhcxy tui nhy ergnkgl pui aPz/ sh

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dgyrhebyg/// zgy ngi dguuhhbkgl bhay c sh/// yhakglw

s†x erhdy ngi thi sh dguugkcgr/ sh Przi zgbgi s†w

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s†l bgci e†zg-dgxk! †cgr p†ry dgbud y˙gr pTr d†r T

druhxi yhhk uuTraguugr hHsi c uugngi s†x dgy† v†y

mudgruhcy sh Prbxv tui zhh dgk†zy ayhhi nhy Tr†Pdgk†zygw

khhsheg vgby tui nhy sgr thhbmhegr ngdkgfehhy mu e†bgi

sgrvTkyi s†x bTegyg kgci surfi chxkgfuuzi tuhxpTreuh;

pui sh nkcuaho tui ayuc-jphmho tuh; sgr Iuu†kUuueg"/

sh cTuugdubd pui sh rheagx ≈ sgo thhdbTryhei

k†e†n†mhg-nhyk pubgo

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mu bgngi chs rjçv pui uuTbgy gx k†zy zhl b†r ≈ v†y Tza

dgbungi c sh hTPTbgr tui fhbgzgr/ sh rheag thz pTri e†zg-

dgxk T druhxg ayhmgw bhay Tzuh sgrpTrw uuk gx zgbgi

thmy bhay† ehhi sr†zaegx tui uu†dbxw njn, sh syai v†ci

c sh hHshag cTkgd†kgx e†bphxehry sh pgrs ≈ s†x uu†ky

b†l bhay dguugi TzT ngåv/ sgr uuTraguugr hHshagr

yrgdgr e†iw f'kgciw yr†di tuhpi Pkhhmg T pi zgek ngk/

uu†x euny †cgr Truhxw Tz ngi y†r s†x bhay y†i Tzuh prTbe

tui pr: uu†rgo s†x tuhd pubgo Tdgby uuTfy/ nhy sgr

rheag †cgr thz gx d†r Tbsgra/ sh rheagx v†ci hHsi Tzuh

pTrpukeunyw uuh sgo fhbgzgr v†y zhl d†r ehhi n†k bhay

dgjkuny: vhbygri dgzgx thz s† T vuhkgr jkk tui s†ry e†i

ngi TrbPTei T P†r pTyahhki ngk tui zhl Truhpzgmi pui

sgr anudk thi uuTraguugr dgy†Pr. †P†yahbxeh

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Workers smuggle food from the “Aryan” side of Warsaw into the Ghetto.

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see in a mill, right against the grate, and pushes it through, so

that when the goy pours a sack of rye down this chute, the

rye shoots through the grate right into the sack held by the

Jewish smuggler in Kozla Alley below. One – two – three –

and the sack is full, and Meir Bomke, the tall porter with

shoulders like a real Hercules, slaps the sack onto his back as

if it were light as a feather, and disappears with it as he must.

Cereal, millet, sugar, and other foods are smuggled in the

same way. Only flour is smuggled in paper bags, and of

course, not through the grated windows but through the

windows of the upper floors. From the heights the Christian

smuggler lowers a rope down to the street: there the Jewish

smuggler ties paper bags onto the rope. The Christian pulls

up the bags and fills them with flour, then lowers the indi-

vidual bags, where they are snatched up and carried off. So as

not to burn his hands, the Christian wears a pair of thick

cotton gloves for the rope to slide through.

When the time comes to lower the merchandise, the win-

dows of the ground floor apartments are thronged. The

smugglers’ wives, sons, daughters, and porters are all milling

about, talking with the Christians…but the only people who

are allowed to purchase merchandise are those authorized by

the smuggler himself.

Goods fly from hand to hand, and the smuggled items are

whisked away. A heave here, a pull there, then a yank, and the

merchandise has been stowed away in the dark, half-closed

storerooms of Kozla Alley’s medieval buildings. Broad-

shouldered, red-cheeked wives with callused hands look ner-

vously about, shooting a glance to the corner of the alley at

Franciszkanska to see if the coast is clear, or if someone is

riding or walking by, when suddenly a hoarse warning shriek

pierces the air:

“Pesach.”

“Pesach!” – the call is heard on all sides, and every door is

slammed shut and bolted. Padlocks are placed on the out-

side. Some smugglers stay inside, while others stay out and

keep watch, leaning against the store as if they had nothing

better to do. The Christians upstairs pull their rope up

quickly, and Kozla Alley goes quiet; the air grows more tense

with anticipation…the smuggling machine is put on hold.

Because it’s Passover. A goy carrying a briefcase has come

by. No one knows who he is, but he’s probably an undercover

agent, so they wait. And when the goy upstairs gets tired of

waiting and has the audacity to lower the rope again, crying

out to the Jews standing below, “Nie ma juz pejsacha” –

“Pesach is finished” – they shoot back a warning, with the

contemptuous look of the expert: “Czekaj, pejsach kreci” –

“Hold your horses, Pesach is still going on.”

Around seven – and elsewhere it’s much earlier – Christians

deliver milk to Kozla Alley. Large tin cans, marked with the

number of liters they can hold, are placed up against the win-

dows of the ground-floor apartments.A thick tube with a mea-

suring gauge is passed through the wire grate, and with a turn

of the faucet – a gushing white stream of whole milk pours out,

still carrying the aroma of the cow stall, quickly filling the can:

and is moved even more quickly from the windows to the

stores, where Jewish milkmen and milkwomen are waiting

with containers to take it where people live.

Just yesterday was quite an occasion; as a good piece of

business was being enjoyed by all concerned, the German

police unexpectedly arrived at night – different police, not the

F A L L 2 0 0 6

eretz Opoczynski’s reportage places us in a small alley,

bordering the ghetto wall in the Warsaw of October 1941.

With its description of Jewish street-types and their Polish cohorts

on the other side of the walls, “Smuggling in the Warsaw Ghetto”

was written as part of the underground archive headed by

Emmanuel Ringelblum, associated with the Jewish Self-Help, an

extraordinary network of social services funded by the Joint

Distribution Committee. Sneaking food across the ghetto wall,

Opoczynski’s text reminds us, was part and parcel of resistance to

the Holocaust in a situation of forced starvation, and his on-the-

spot reportage anything but an elite activity. By describing the

struggles of common Jews to bring food into the ghetto, writers

like Opoczynski, and his counterpart Joseph Zelkowicz in Lódz,

used the artful resources of Yiddish language to bridge the gap

between “literature” and “history” and to reach people in the

most extreme circumstances imaginable. Buried in a milk can as

part of the Ringelblum archive, this text and its underground trea-

sure would be unearthed after the war, aptly symbolizing the

Jewish will to survive that manifested itself in the ghetto revolt of

1943. “Smuggling” in this reportage thus means bringing food

into the ghetto, but also suggests the mission of carrying a vision

of everyday Jewish life and language – as a force in its own right

– into the future as well.

Shortened here, Opoczynski’s full description of “Smuggling

in the Warsaw Ghetto” brims with earthy, sometimes dangerous

Jewish characters, like the rural Jewish tough-guys of Sholem

Asch’s “Kola Street” or the urban Jewish life of Lódz, made pop-

ular in Yisroel Rabon’s The Street (Di Gas) between the wars.

Colorful figures people Kozla Alley in the Warsaw ghetto, using

every ounce of their strength and imagination: Zelig the Paw,

who will lay out a recalcitrant customer with a punch – while

feeding the ghetto with his activities – stepping by the corpses in

front of Yapke’s shop, near the street singer, whose refrain is

“Not time to hand in my ration card, I wanna live just a little bit

more.” As Ringelblum notes in his Writings from the Ghetto, the

initial Nazi strategy was to starve the Jews of Warsaw to death. It

was put into action with subhuman rations and the walling-in and

enclosure of the ghetto in October 1940. The Jewish-Christian

(or goyish) cooperation Opoczynski describes has a populist

P

/

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P A K N T R E G E R

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ones who’d been paid off – and put on quite a show. They

seized tens of thousands worth in food, and it cost another

fortune in cash just to stop the losses there. No more than

three of the “customs officials” fell from the heights in all the

confusion and were killed on the spot. Well, what can you do?

They live by the border fees they charge, and die by them too.

There are Jewish and goyishe customs officials. The goyim

smuggle the merchandise which Christians buy, and sell to the

Jewish street. The Jewish ones transfer the goods to the Jewish

smugglers on the other side. In the process the border people

keep track: how many tons of foodstuffs are passed through,

and for every kilo weight a certain percentage goes to them.

The officials have their men who keep a close eye on all trans-

actions, to make sure no one shorts them what they’re due.

These customs officials have it tough: the nonstop standing

on the roof means they’re continually risking their lives. But

what won’t a Jew do to earn his bread? Kozla Alley provides

thousands of Jews with a living. The barrowmen live from

Kozla Alley carting off its fruit and vegetables on their little

wagons, and the porters make a living from them as well.A few

porters are always hanging about next to every large smug-

gler’s shop, to grab up every bag of flour that hits the ground,

sacks of grain and other staples, and take them where they

belong. Aside from their normal charges, the porters have

made new demands, and now require an additional package

fee for every bag of food that passes through Kozla Alley.

Next to Franciszkanska Street stands Zelig the Paw, a

short, stolid type wearing a shiny peasant’s visor at a rakish

angle, on the lookout for anyone with a package: “Stop!” he

hisses through his teeth:“Don’t be shy, Pops, hand over a fifty

for your postage due.”

“I owe a fifty?” the Jew passing by replies, trying to play

dumb.

“That’s right, a fifty, and hand it over quick.”

He gives in, and it’s a good thing too, for if he didn’t, Zelig

would lay him out with a paw right to the face, hard enough

to knock him silly. Reasons are useless against that kind of

argument, so he whimpers and pays.

Around twelve noon, Kozla Alley comes to a halt. All sup-

plies of smuggled foodstuffs have already been sold, the

porters are sitting on the little front steps of the stores, the

smugglers take a break on the tables in the empty stores, and

Kozla Alley rests, preparing itself for the afternoon’s smug-

gling, which begins at four or five in the afternoon.

You never know whether you’ll be paying the same prices

in the afternoon as in the morning: that can only be deter-

mined when new supplies are lowered through the window.

From the spirits of the first smuggler, who carries his sacks of

flour, and from the porters and customs officials, the whole

Alley can sense a change in the going price, and just as a

sudden wind moves across a grain field on a hot summer’s

day, the murmur passes through the alley: “Prices are up!”

It’s not just the barrowmen, the porters, the strollers, the

milk-Jews and customs officials who depend on Kozla Alley for

their living: thousands of small food shops are partially depen-

dent on it, and naturally raise their prices, and last but not least:

thanks to its trade, some tens of thousands of Jews are able to

survive, who would have perished from hunger with money in

their pockets, if Kozla Alley had not served as their storehouse.

David Suchoff teaches English and Jewish studies at Colby

College in Maine.

F A L L 2 0 0 6

dimension, valuing the rough-and-tumble folk. At the same time,

Opoczynski uses contact through the ghetto wall to symbolize a

cosmopolitan tradition that reaches across barriers of all kinds.

Opoczynski’s own history was part of that Yiddish tradition.

Born to an observant family in Lutomiersk in 1892, two miles

from Lódz, Peretz Opoczynski entered yeshiva at age 10 and was

composing Hebrew poems by age 12. He grew up in a home in

which his traditional father would read a Hebrew translation of

Alexander Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo, recounting the

tale to the family in Yiddish. Like many in his generation,

Opoczynski was drawn leftward by both Yiddish literature and

Zionism. After serving in the Russian Army in WW I and spending

several years in prison in Hungary, he emerged radicalized and

modern in his politics, but with his Jewish national and linguistic

sensibilities intact. Acquiring shoemaking as a trade, he became

a Yiddish journalist. After marrying and moving to Warsaw, he

wrote for the Poale Zion Left newspaper, sponsored by the pro-

Yiddish Zionist party; he died in the ghetto of typhus on an

unknown date in 1942 or 1943. Before the war, the family lived

in the poorest neighborhoods, as Opoczynski honed his journal-

istic skills producing reportage of Jewish urban life, making use

of his Jewish learning to depict the creative struggle of Jews

caught between the traditional and modern worlds.

Opoczynski’s other reportage from the ghetto shows him full of

doubt whether Jewish Europe, and especially its Yiddish readers,

would in fact survive. He wrote for them nonetheless. Opoczynski’s

descriptions of popular Jewish slang in this piece – like “Passover,”

the alert to smugglers that the Germans are coming – are intended to

support underground and everyday Jews, dispel their illusions about

what was to come, and strengthen the collective will to live. The

famous revolt that broke out in Warsaw rooted itself in this spirit,

though few Yiddish readers in Warsaw were ever able to read

Opoczynski’s prose before it entered the milk can. His descriptions

of smuggling across the ghetto wall in this sense look forward to our

post-Holocaust era: today, they cross a different boundary and can

shatter many of our own illusions about how Jewish life, rather than

death, on the vibrant streets of Warsaw in 1941, actually looked,

tasted, and felt. —DS

/

P A K N T R E G E R

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