The Final Solution to the Jewish Question."

 

Running through the field, amidst millions of rye stalks, she sobbed loudly.

Although she held no grudge against anyone, deep within her soul she harbored a seed of hatred. Small, yet stirring to action.

She grabbed the limb of a tree that had been felled by a storm a few days ago.

It churned within that small, chestnut head. Perhaps rightly so, but certainly not according to the laws that governed this place.

She pulled her frail body up to shoulder height, simultaneously climbing the tree to hide from death.

Fear.

An overwhelming sense of impending doom.

She crouched in a gap most likely made by children. She covered herself with a huge piece of bark, so that even someone passing by the tree itself would be invisible.

A mistake, a tactical error.

The evenings were getting chilly now. There was no point in hiding from something invisible when one might just as easily die at the hands of an invader.

But the occupier was no different from the frost.

He tormented his victim just like the cold itself—quickly, without anyone knowing where it had come from. He tortured them using the same principle—the longer it lasted, the more the victim yearned for death. He killed with the same reserve. Then he threw them out of his mind, like old, useless clothes.

She didn't want to be a sack of old rags.

She had no childhood. She had always had to flee. Today, she concluded it was pointless. She decided to fight.

To the death. A fight for her survival.

She picked up the pace. The dull thud of approaching wagons echoed through the courtyard. Sensing danger, she veered into the nearby forest.

Several Nazis were carrying more unfortunate victims. The moans—so terrifying—seized her heart. She wanted to scream. She wanted to do something. Anything, anything, to help.

The best option would be a pistol.

Amid the generally heard moans—a whisper. Quiet, barely audible in the vestibule of hell.

"Mommy, you have to be strong. I won't live long without you, please, Mommy...

" A scream. Far more terrifying than the prisoners' moans.

A wail. The arrested men cry in a group.

Clouds of dust. The truck stops. A Nazi jumps down from the truck, simultaneously loading his weapon. With a bang, he opens the previously locked truck door. This is where pigs are led to slaughter. A human is a pig, too. For what they can do to another human.

A shot. The wailing stops. Movement in the truck. Someone jumps out, pistol in hand. He shoots the driver. The other prisoners run out, also armed.

More shots. Dust. The screams of the dying. And finally, cheers for Fighting Poland. The joyful, excited voices of people caught on Żeromski Street. Żeromskistrasse—the inscription on the metal license plate reads.

Everyone scatters. A quiet whimper can be heard amid the clatter of over 20 pairs of feet. A child's sob.

"Where's your mother?" she asked in a whisper. "

She went to heaven.

" "Do you know where that is?"

"Everyone knows. My heaven is home.

" "Home?"

"Yes, the apartment on Reymonta Street. My father lies in the closet, in the hallway. He also went to heaven.

" "Kaśka, Kasiula!

" "Auntie?"

"Leave this young lady alone, let's run, maybe we can escape! And you, my child, should run as fast as you can." We received a message from headquarters that a convoy would arrive here in a few minutes. There should be about 12 armed Germans.

"I want to fight.

" "You don't know what you're saying, child. Look at those innocent eyes." She pointed at the emaciated face of a red-haired girl. "They fought alongside their mother. Now there's no one left but me. Think about it, do you want to end up like this? Go home. You'll be better off there."

"I don't have a home."

"So run wherever your eyes take you. You have a better chance yourself .

" "I want to fight. To the death.

" "You don't even know what you're asking for."

She ran, as directed, to the headquarters of the Polish Underground State. On the way, at least four German police convoys passed her. The report had been incorrect.

She didn't know what might await her in the ranks of the Home Army. She preferred death on the battlefield to hearing the groans. She was afraid of fear, of feeling powerless in the face of fate.

She knew one thing: one day she would avenge the deaths of millions of Jews. He will avenge them bloodily, yet responsibly. The Germans will remember this year, 1943, because their final defeat will be brought to them by a child, a child not yet sixteen. A little Jewish girl.

At least that's how she saw the end of the war. The Final Solution to the Jewish Question. Life for life, death for death.