On 2 March 1990 Nishnic arrived in Israel, and a week later we took a direct flight to Warsaw. There we immediately contacted an elderly professor, a former editor of various Catholic journals, who was to serve as our interpreter. We soon discovered that the man was an out-and-out anti-Semite. The next day we set out with the professor in a dilapidated Polish-made cab to the village of Volka Okgrolnik, about sixty miles from Warsaw. This was the very route taken, with horrific suffering, by the half-million Jews from the Warsaw ghetto who were sent to Treblinka. They were packed into cattle trucks without food or water, and tormented endlessly by Ukrainian guards whose job was to shoot anyone who tried to escape the death that awaited them at journey's end.
These thoughts stayed with me throughout our drive. I fell into a profound gloom, only worsened by the idiocy being spouted by the anti-Semitic professor. He held forth in praise of the Polish people, most of whom — he argued — had come to the help of the Jews during the Holocaust. These lies aroused my argumentative instincts, and I repaid him with interest. 'It was not for nothing that the Nazis built their death camps in Poland,' I told him. 'They did it because there is no other nation so riddled with anti-Semitism as the Poles. Only your church's hatred of the Jews can compete with the people's.' (Yoram Sheftel, The Demjanjuk Affair: The Rise and Fall of a Show-Trial, Victor Gollancz, London, p. 290) |