Polish Army

... We entered a converted synagogue. Inside stood a table facing eastward upon which candles burned. Jews, mostly men and some six women, filled the room. They all wept, their faces unshaven, wearing old and tattered clothes. They were between twenty-five and forty-five, among them soldiers from the Red and Polish armies, some sporting medals and others who were invalids. The person leading the services could barely be heard; his voice was drowned out by uncontrollable sobbing. The worshipers had no taleisim or the customary white robes for Yom Kippur. But everyone carried the wounds of war, choked up, eyes swollen, glancing about in different directions. 1 watched a senior Russian officer crying, a siddur clutched to his chest, which bore war medals. I couldn’t believe that he was praying to God. But one thing was clear — the rough edges of reality had shattered reliance upon man’s reason and compassion. The fighting at the front apparently had so affected this soldier that he needed to vent his emotions in shui. ...