My name is Pinchas Gutter, and I was born in Łódź in 1932. I had a twin sister. We lived a very religious life. For the last 400 years – before the Second World War – my family were all wine makers. My father and my grandfather together owned the largest winery in Poland. I had a very large extended family. I knew between 150 and 200 relatives personally, because we used to get together quite a lot. Our life was very uneventful before the war.
My mother, my sister and I were blonde and blue eyed. We spoke pure Polish like the Poles and could easily dress up and look like Poles. We went down to the railway and we bought tickets and we went to Warsaw. My father was dark and couldn’t use the train because Jews were already not allowed to travel by train. So he smuggled himself on foot, several months until he came in Warsaw. The two-room apartment that my father found happened to be in the ghetto.
My father did not believe a word the Germans said. We were kind of semi-hidden right from the beginning. We did not venture out, we did not do anything. This went on until 1943.
We were betrayed. When they marched us through the streets of the Warsaw Ghetto, there was fire burning on both sides. I remember going through rivers of fire. We were walking in the middle and on both sides the buildings were burning. And even then people would break away from the column and try and run away.
When we arrived in Majdanek, we were pushed out of these wagons and separated into men and women, and then, grownups and children. My father told me I must say I’m 18 years old. My mother, somehow lost sight of my sister. My sister was kind of pushed towards the children. My mother was screaming. And they pushed my mother towards that part where the children were. And a lot of other women went there too. That’s the last time I saw my sister and my mother.
My father was in front of me. He was there one second and then the next second he disappeared. And that was the last time I saw my father.
Internally there were Jewish police. One morning they announced that all the people that are going to be called are going to be going away in railcars, and the others are going to walk. At the beginning, people started forming up and I went out. Suddenly there was a kind of panic - people started realizing that when the Germans start doing something you mustn’t listen. And I remembered what my father did, that he didn’t…So I started running.
The Jewish police started looking for everybody. And this policeman that I looked after his wife pulled me out from under the barrack. He told me there’s no point in me hiding because they’ll pull me out and they’ll kill me. And he said “I’m going to do something which maybe will help you.” And he gave me completely new clothing. Then he did something which, again you know this is something that you remember because you think, “well, that was the last touch that maybe saved my life.” He took a women’s lipstick and rubbed it to my cheeks so I should look healthier. The Wachtmeister started pulling people out. And I stood in the front row. And next to me stood my best friend, also a young boy. The German got to him and he pulled him out and then he passed over me.
And that was another, I mean, I want to call it a milestone but it wasn’t a milestone, it was a milestone in reverse. It was again a kind of horrendous experience. I felt that I was executed. Because I felt guilty. Because I felt relieved I wasn’t taken. My best buddy who we went through the most atrocious things together, was pulled out and I knew he was going to be shot. So that was that.
My name is Pinchas Gutter, and I was born in Łódź in 1932. I had a twin sister. We lived a very religious life. For the last 400 years – before the Second World War – my family were all wine makers. My father and my grandfather together owned the largest winery in Poland. I had a very large extended family. I knew between 150 and 200 relatives personally, because we used to get together quite a lot. Our life was very uneventful before the war.
My mother, my sister and I were blonde and blue eyed. We spoke pure Polish like the Poles and could easily dress up and look like Poles. We went down to the railway and we bought tickets and we went to Warsaw. My father was dark and couldn’t use the train because Jews were already not allowed to travel by train. So he smuggled himself on foot, several months until he came in Warsaw. The two-room apartment that my father found happened to be in the ghetto.
My father did not believe a word the Germans said. We were kind of semi-hidden right from the beginning. We did not venture out, we did not do anything. This went on until 1943.
We were betrayed. When they marched us through the streets of the Warsaw Ghetto, there was fire burning on both sides. I remember going through rivers of fire. We were walking in the middle and on both sides the buildings were burning. And even then people would break away from the column and try and run away.
When we arrived in Majdanek, we were pushed out of these wagons and separated into men and women, and then, grownups and children. My father told me I must say I’m 18 years old. My mother, somehow lost sight of my sister. My sister was kind of pushed towards the children. My mother was screaming. And they pushed my mother towards that part where the children were. And a lot of other women went there too. That’s the last time I saw my sister and my mother.
My father was in front of me. He was there one second and then the next second he disappeared. And that was the last time I saw my father.
Internally there were Jewish police. One morning they announced that all the people that are going to be called are going to be going away in railcars, and the others are going to walk. At the beginning, people started forming up and I went out. Suddenly there was a kind of panic - people started realizing that when the Germans start doing something you mustn’t listen. And I remembered what my father did, that he didn’t…So I started running.
The Jewish police started looking for everybody. And this policeman that I looked after his wife pulled me out from under the barrack. He told me there’s no point in me hiding because they’ll pull me out and they’ll kill me. And he said “I’m going to do something which maybe will help you.” And he gave me completely new clothing. Then he did something which, again you know this is something that you remember because you think, “well, that was the last touch that maybe saved my life.” He took a women’s lipstick and rubbed it to my cheeks so I should look healthier. The Wachtmeister started pulling people out. And I stood in the front row. And next to me stood my best friend, also a young boy. The German got to him and he pulled him out and then he passed over me.
And that was another, I mean, I want to call it a milestone but it wasn’t a milestone, it was a milestone in reverse. It was again a kind of horrendous experience. I felt that I was executed. Because I felt guilty. Because I felt relieved I wasn’t taken. My best buddy who we went through the most atrocious things together, was pulled out and I knew he was going to be shot. So that was that.