Douglas Jacobson - The Katyn Order

When I arrived at the library this morning a truck was parked at the dock, and workers were unloading another shipment of books. Who will be left in Poland able to read them?

3 September 1940

I have been employed at the new library for a month. The word “employed” is hardly applicable since all of the Poles, including me, work eleven hours a day for starvation wages. The money is actually irrelevant, since there is little in the shops to buy, and even if there were more, our ration cards limit us to the bare amount necessary to sustain life. My official responsibility is to assist in “Germanizing” Jagiellonian University’s magnificent collection. It is to be reorganized emphasizing German works and purging Polish works. The university is to re-open one day as the German University of Krakow.

My unofficial task, as Herr Kruger has informed me, is to keep the Polish staff in line as we complete this task. Purging the Polish works is heartbreaking for all of us, especially the Polish librarians who have dedicated their lives to the preservation of our literature, science and arts. I have begun to suspect that it is equally distasteful to Herr Kruger. A few days ago, he said that Governor Frank is depending on us to complete this task. There was a certain look in his eye, a look I have seen before whenever he has met with Frank, a look of sorrow which I’m not sure I can explain.

16 October 1940

Frank stopped in today, presumably to check on the progress of the library. Instead, he and I sat alone in the Reading Room while he expounded at great length about the Jewish ghetto being created in Warsaw. All of the city’s Jews, as well as thousands from surrounding towns, are to be relocated to a separate area within the city. Soon this will happen in Krakow, Frank said, since it is his desire that Krakow shall be the “cleanest” city in the General Government of Poland. When this “malignancy” has been eliminated, he said, conditions will improve for the Poles.

Then he leaned across the table and whispered, “When your wife returns, Dr. Banach, she will be proud of what we’ve accomplished.”

I was so stunned I could barely breathe. It felt like an eternity before I recovered. Then, embarrassed with how timid my voice sounded, I asked where Beata is. Frank stared at me without responding, then casually changed the subject and began asking questions about the various collections in the library: the legal journals, and the works of art, history and geography. It went on for another twenty minutes before he finally dismissed me.

The man is a monster.

I returned to my small shabby apartment, seized with fear for Beata’s safety, as well as Adam’s. As I write this, it is hard to keep my hand from trembling, knowing that my fate, my family’s fate—perhaps all of Poland’s—lies in the hands of Hans Frank. Before retiring for the night, I will find a better hiding place for this journal.

25 December 1940

It is my second Christmas without Beata and Adam. I miss them so much it is impossible to describe. I attended mass at the Mariacki Church but had to leave halfway through. The memories overwhelmed me. Frank sent over a small ham and a slice of chocolate cake. (What goes on in this man’s mind?)

I shared the ham with Jerzy Jastremski and his wife, Helena. He is one of the Poles working on the project whom I knew from our former life. He is a quiet, gentle man, a former librarian at the law school, and we have become friends. They invited me to their apartment for Christmas dinner and were delighted to see the ham. But I must admit, I saved the slice of cake for myself and ate it when I returned to my own apartment. I took my time. It was the first chocolate I’ve tasted since the invasion in ’39.

Toward evening, I was shocked when Herr Kruger appeared at my door with a bottle of schnapps. “For a Christmas drink,” he said, which I found remarkable. Though always respectful and polite, he rarely engages any of us during the workday except to give instructions or ask questions about books and documents. Tonight, he was at first ebullient and talkative, chattering about his wife and three daughters back in Hamburg, joking about what they must have spent on Christmas presents. He went on about how they may join him here in Krakow one day, if the situation improves. After a while, though, his mood changed: he became sullen and spoke very little. I think he was quite drunk.

12 March 1941

This winter has been a long, cruel one. We hear that people in the villages are starving. There has been no further mention about Beata from Frank or anyone else. I am ashamed at my own helplessness, and at times I become so infuriated I want to kill someone. It is all I can do to keep myself under control. Frank is so unpredictable that I fear for my life whenever he’s around, even though he treats me with respect. I never know what’s going on behind his dark, penetrating eyes.

The Krakow ghetto is a reality. Over the last several months, I have watched its construction from a distance. Brick walls now seal off more than twenty thousand Jewish souls in a section of the city where only a few thousand people previously lived. We hear reports of four and five families crammed into every apartment with hundreds of others living on the streets. In each building around the periphery of the ghetto, the windows and doors have been bricked over, preventing those trapped inside from even a glimpse of the rest of the city. Eventually I stopped watching. It is more than I can bear.

Having experienced Sachsenhausen, and now witnessing the treatment of Krakow’s Jews, I realize with great sorrow that the Nazis have dragged Germany into a chasm of depravity I never believed possible of the civilized and culturally advanced country I knew. That the country which gave us Bach and Brahms, Goethe, Nietzsche and Albert Einstein also gave us Adolf Hitler tears away the very fabric of my belief in mankind.

Frank visited the library today for a meeting with Herr Kruger. As he was leaving, he stopped at the table where I was working. He has done this frequently during his visits, stopping by to chat, as though we were still professional colleagues discussing legal principles. Today he expounded on how he has tried to guarantee a “right of reprieve” for all those arrested during the AB Aktion— arrested on his orders—but how his efforts have been in vain because of Himmler and the SS. Then he rambled on for more than ten minutes about how the Jews of Krakow would be kept safe in the ghetto from the ravages of the SS. I listened silently, my stomach churning. Why does he tell me these things? Does he think I actually believe this nonsense, that this barbarism is not his doing, that it is all Himmler’s? What can I say in response to this madness?

As Frank was leaving I noticed Herr Kruger standing nearby, watching. There was that hint of sadness I’ve seen before in his expression.

22 June 1941

Now it is summer, but that brings no relief to us. We work long hours at the library as we did all winter. But then yesterday work came to a halt. Germany attacked Russia! Everyone whispered about this incredible event. What it means for Poland is impossible to predict, except that we will have many more months of war on our soil.

Will Russia now become allied with Britain and America? Has Hitler gone completely mad? Certainly he cannot expect to defeat Russia while fighting Britain and America at the same time. The Americans have yet to enter the war, but it is only a matter of time. With America’s industrial might combined with the horde of millions that Stalin will throw into the breach, how can there be any outcome other than the defeat of Germany? But then the Russians will stomp into Poland. And who will be left to drive them out?