From My New Book, an excerpt on Purim During the Holocaust

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, The World Has Caught Fire: Life and Death in Holocaust-Era Poland (Amsterdam Publishers, September 2026). It details how Dora Bursztajn and her family experienced Purim 1942. They lived in Brzeziny, a small city in central Poland that was invaded by the Nazis in September of 1939. The town's Jews were forced into a walled-off area -- the ghetto -- about two years before this story takes place. It had been two years of fear, hunger, and death, but this Purim was a turning point -- the Nazis were beginning to ramp up their persecution of Europe's Jews.

Dora is the survivor at the center of the story. Szoel and Cyrla are her parents, Fela, Mojsze, and Salla are her siblings.

Chapter 8.

The Purim hangings.

Brzeziny, February 1942.

On the 14th day of Adar, a month in the Jewish calendar that typically falls in late winter, Jews celebrate the holiday Purim. Across the globe, Jews gather to read the Megillah, also called the Scroll of Esther, which tells the story of a young woman named Hadassah whom the Persian King Ahasuerus selected to be his bride. He believed her to be the most beautiful virgin in his kingdom. Things get complicated for Hadassah – who goes by the name Esther to hide her Jewishness – when an evil functionary named Haman begins a feud with the great Jewish scholar Mordechai, who also happens to be Esther’s foster father, after the latter refuses to bow down to Haman. So great is Haman’s outrage over this perceived slight that he takes his anger out on all the Jews in their realm. He hatches a plot for revenge against Mordechai and the rest of the kingdom’s Jews. According to the Megillah, “written instructions were dispatched by couriers to all the king’s provinces to destroy, massacre, and exterminate all the Jews, young and old, children and women, on a single day, on the thirteenth day of the twelfth month—that is, the month of Adar—and to plunder their possessions.” Rather than let her people be slaughtered, Esther risks her own life and confesses to her husband that she, too, is Jewish. In the end, Queen Esther convinces the King to reverse Haman’s edict, thus saving her people.

For Ashkenazim of central and eastern Europe, Purim was an especially raucous holiday, and Brzeziny was no exception. Schools would host Purim parties for students, who wore costumes and read the Purim story. Sometimes, older kids would perform Purim plays, as well. Families and friends gathered to host their own Megillah readings, where every mention of Haman’s name was met with loud boos from the crowd. Gatherings began inside family homes often spilled out into the streets, eventually becoming something of a block party. Candies and treats are shared, especially among the children, while alcohol flowed frequently. It was, above all, a community event: one that encouraged fun, frivolity, and, perhaps most significantly, widespread celebration of Jews triumphing over oppression. Notably, in the end of the Megillah, it is not Jews, but Haman and his cronies who are slain; Haman, in fact, is executed on the very gallows upon which he’d planned to hang Mordechai. The King delivers an edict that empowers Persian Jews to “avenge themselves on their enemies” who planned to execute Haman’s genocide.

It was ironic, then, that on Purim 1942, Dora found herself standing in front of a public gallows where ten innocent Jews were about to be hanged.

A few days earlier, rumors began spreading like wildfire when a group of Jewish men began building a wooden structure in the town square: a structure, it quickly became all too obvious, that was to be an executioner’s gallows. Word was that a group of food smugglers were going to be hanged for their crimes, but Mojsze brought word that that wasn’t the whole story. Rather, he told their family in hushed tones, the smuggling allegations were just an excuse to inflict pain and fear on the Jews.

“They told the Jewish council that they needed to provide ten Jews for execution – any ten – and if they didn’t, then ten victims would be selected from the Jewish council and their families.”

“What are they going to do?” Cyrla asked in horror.

“I don’t know,” Mojsze replied with a slow shake of his head. “Maybe give over some of the prisoners in the jail?” He looked like he wanted to say more, but a scoff from Szoel made him reconsider.

“No wonder they picked that shicker to head their little council,” Szoel snapped, referring to Fiszke Ikka, the man reportedly hand-picked by the Nazis as the Chairman of the Judenrat, whose efforts to ingratiate himself with the SS did not make him popular among the ghetto’s prisoners.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Mojsze added glumly, “when the Nazis give an order, you either follow it or get shot,” he noted as Szoel opened his mouth to argue, “and then the Germans will just carry out the order themselves – and you can bet it will be even bloodier.”

Dora left the room before anyone could react to Mojsze, shaking her head as she stormed into her room. She’d heard this argument before – many times, in fact – and didn’t have the energy to listen to her family debate whether or not Ikka and the rest of the Judenrat were handling the ghetto the “right” way. They’d sit around and argue until they were blue in the face, breaking down every edict and order the Judenrat had delivered – analyzing, criticizing, debating what should have been done instead – but none of that would change their reality. It wouldn’t put an end to the long days stuck inside, where Dora felt like she was constantly holding her breath, waiting for the Nazis to come back to beat her father again; or to take Mojsze away to who-knows-where; or to rifle through their last remaining possessions, just to make sure they weren’t hiding any valuables. Neither would the arguing, speculating, and rumor-mongering make her stomach feel full, nor would it shield her from the sound of gunfire sporadically pierced the night air.

She flopped onto her bed and curled into a ball, bringing the blanket up over her head.

It was times like these, when her anxiety was as high as her depression was deep, that she missed Dawid the most. For so long, he had been both protector and partner-in-crime: the brother she idolized, a steadying presence in her life. She blinked tears away, wishing that she could just as easily blink away the memory of the Nazis beating him. What did he do to deserve that? What did any of us do to deserve this? Like the squabbles she knew were probably taking place in their kitchen right now, Dora knew that these, too, were useless questions to contemplate. Better to just sleep. Still, more tears slid down her cheek before she finally drifted off into uneasy dreams.

The next day, Dora’s dull afternoon was interrupted by the front door banging open,

“Mameh, Tateh, Mojsze was right,” Fela’s breathless voice rang out. Salla and Dora both jumped. “Mojsze was right!”

“What is all the yelling about?” Cyrla shouted from the kitchen, where everyone now gathered. “Are you hurt? What’s happening?” She went on in a lower register as she patted Fela’s face and then her swollen belly, as if trying to feel out the cause of the alarm.

“Everyone in the ghetto must attend...” Fela panted, trying to catch her breath.

“Sit.” Cyrla pointed to a chair. “Calm down and start from the beginning.”

“Calm down? How can I calm down? Everything Mojsze and Tateh were talking about is true. I was in line for bread when they started putting up signs. All over the ghetto. They say that anyone who doesn’t go will be shot. Ten. They are going to hang ten people. On Purim of all days. And we all must go watch. Or be killed ourselves.” Her hands shook. “How can I calm down? How can anyone be calm when this is the hell we live in? What kind of life is this?” Out of steam, she collapsed into her mother’s arms and sobbed.

That was how Dora found herself and her family huddled against the biting February wind at her first public execution. And on a day that should be spent celebrating, she thought bitterly. The posters claimed that the ten Jews slated for execution were convicted of petty crimes – alleged smuggling – but no one in Brzeziny actually believed that was the real reason they were going to die.

As the crowd swelled – kept in place by the Nazi guns and dogs policing the perimeter – the nervous energy palpable among Brzeziny Jews turned downright frantic. It took everything in her not to cry out in fear and anxiety. For once, Dora was thankful there was little in her stomach, otherwise she was sure she would have thrown up.

The air of ceremony the Nazis brought to the occasion was enough to make anyone vomit. Or scream. Soldiers and SS personnel milled around in their dress uniforms in a lighthearted manner, some obviously enjoying themselves. Even more disturbing were the kids who had been brought in from the German schools to witness the occasion. Dressed to the nines, they waved flags, taunted the Jews, and Heil-ed their little hearts out, tiny replicas of the adults in their lives.

On the fringes of the spectacle, German soldiers, aided by the local Polish police force, dragged those who had tried to stay at home into the fray at gun point. The sound of shots peppered in the distance. Fela yelped in surprise and fear each time she heard one. Salla’s face was ashen, her eyes the size of dinner plates. Dora wasn’t sure she’d said a word all day. Not having any words of her own to comfort her sister, she just grabbed her hand.

The crowd was getting larger and louder by the moment. All around her, people were crying, yelling, and even praying, grabbing at the grubby rags that hung loose around their thin frames. Are they trying to protect themselves against the cold? The fear? The bullets? There was no denying how shabby the ghetto Jews looked, especially against the backdrop of well-fed German kids and Nazi soldiers. One of the kids caught her eye – a little blonde boy who, she guessed, probably wasn’t much older than Salla. How clean and plump he looks, she thought bitterly. She could feel the bile rise in her throat as she turned her attention back to Salla. Gaunt was the word that came to mind. It was hard to focus on any one thing for too long, though. There was too much noise. Too much stimulation. A man was prostrating himself on the ground just a few steps from where she stood. Get up, she screamed silently, what if the Nazis see you?

Bang bang.

Dora thought her ear was going to explode; a German officer had fired two rounds into the air as he stepped in front of the crowd.

“Silence. Be silent,” he yelled a second time when the crowd was slow to follow his order.

“Be silent or every person here will be shot.”

The Jews obeyed.

A silence filled the town square as Fiszke Ikka stepped in front of the crowd and read a speech. Though it was obviously written by the Nazis, it was still disturbing to hear come from the mouth of a fellow Jew.

Snippets of the speech wafted into Dora’s consciousness as Ikka lauded the “superior morality” of the Germans while criticizing the lowliness of the Jewish character. They were to consider themselves getting off easily this time; if Jews didn’t behave “more appropriately,” he warned, the consequences would be worse.

The gathered crowd was restless. Nervous. Scared. Many were still crying. They all knew that the ten victims selected for a criminal’s death were innocent. Dora was terrified: aware of what was about to happen but also in disbelief at what her eyes were seeing. Her stomach lurched as she watched the victims led to the gallows. Each step they took weighed more heavily on her soul. Run, she wanted to scream. Fight. Escape. Closer and closer the first two victims moved to the gallows. Step, step, step. Part of her knew what was inevitable, yet, paradoxically, another part of her half expected some miracle to intervene in this farcical display of justice.

The story of Queen Esther in the Megillah floated into her mind: Esther’s bravery, Mordechai’s stand against Haman, the tribulation of justice over evil. There wasn’t a single Jew in attendance who didn’t understand the significance that the Germans picked that particular day for this murderous display of power.

God, where are you? Dora couldn’t help but wonder. Where is our hero? Our Queen Esther? How can they just do this – why does the world let them get away with this?

She received no answers to her questions.

Eventually members of the Jewish police, Nazi guns trained at their backs, led the victims onto the scaffolding. Though she wasn’t too near the main stage, Dora could see the wild looks of confusion and fear etched across the victims’ faces and they were lead, hands tied behind their backs.

“Is that Mindzia?” Fela whispered to Dora, pointing to one of the women waiting to die. All Dora could do was nod in horror. Everyone in town knew Mindzia, who was sometimes referred to as meshuga. The town crazy lady, she was treated fondly by fellow Brzeziners, who helped look out for her. “Dorka, is she singing?”

“Oh, Mindzia,” Dora muttered softly, straining her ears. Sure enough, Fela was right. Mindzia was singing a lullaby called Shluf Mein Kind – Sleep, My Child – as she was led to the noose.

A hush rippled through the crowd when they heard this lament. Dora could feel her mother gently swaying back and forth as a steady stream of prayers quietly left her mouth.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Fela gasped as she grabbed Dora’s left hand dry-heaved, clutching her pregnant belly. Dora had no words of comfort to offer her sister: it was all she could do to remain upright. This is so wrong. Haman built a gallows for Mordechai, but it was Haman who swung for his sins. That this perverse corruption of the Purim story was about to take place right before her very eyes was so surreal it almost seemed fake; as if the town were performing the Purim play but got the plot very, very wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Her brain couldn’t quite grasp the images being transmitted to it by her eyes. Is this real? she wanted to ask, though, of course, she knew that it was.

To the shock of everyone, though, the prisoners did not go quietly. Both fear and pride swelled in Dora when another of the condemned, Judel Sochaczewski – who was developmentally disabled – shouted to the crowd as the was led to the noose.

“Until now a simple water carrier, tomorrow I will be among the holy martyrs!” he yelled before SS guards swarmed, truncheons and fists flying.

Another victim, called by the surname Hauzer, told the crowd: “We go to a martyr’s death; take revenge!”

Marked for death only because of their Jewishness, their desperate messages were at once consolation, rallying cry, and warning to the rest of the Brzeziner Jews.

Cyrla, who was clutching a sobbing Fela to her chest, leaned over and frantically whispered to Dora. “Look down,” she pled, wanting to shield her daughter from the sight. “Don’t watch. Just look down.”

As desperately as she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, the words of Queen Esther floated through her head. In what had always struck Dora as the climax of the Purim story, Queen Esther implores her husband, the King: “For how can I bear to see the disaster which will befall my people! And how can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred!” Esther could not sit back and idly watch her fellow Jews be murdered. She acts.

On that cold February day, though, there was little that Dora, the condemned, or any of the Brzeziner Jews could do to act against the Nazis, who, though outnumbered, were heavily armed and surrounded the crowd. Everyone knew the fate that awaited anyone who stepped even a toe out of line.

“Dorka, look down,” her mother again demanded, this time in an even more frantic tone.

Queen Esther wasn’t able to watch the murder of her people, but in that moment – a moment of wisdom beyond her seventeen years, Dora understood that watching the destruction of her people was all she could do.

“Dobryn.”

“No, Mameh,” she replied quietly. “I’m going to watch. I need to watch. If I live, I want to be able to tell what happened today.”

Despite every impulse telling her to shut her eyes, Dora kept her gaze steady. She didn’t even blink.

A pull of a lever. A straining of rope.

A collective gasp from the audience gathered at gunpoint to watch this perverse performance.

Struggling. Thrashing.

Then silence, punctured only by the sorrowful cries from the crowd.

Ten Jews were dead, their bodies left swinging from the gallows for a week.

Dora watched all the executions, determined to bear witness to the true horrors inflicted by Nazis onto her people.

“In spite of everything,” she would later explain when retelling this traumatic day, “there was a fire in me, burning.” By this point, war had been raging for over two years: fear and hopelessness were Dora’s constant companions. However, in this moment, what Dora felt most was anger, righteous indignation, and a sense of responsibility to those killed.

According to the Purim legend, King Ahasuerus, whose depiction in the Megillah is characterized by rash, over-the-top decisions, is so outraged when he discovers the self-serving nature of Haman’s plans that he gives orders that Jews in his kingdom are allowed to preemptively murder anyone suspected of being in league with Haman. The Jews of Persia are not only saved, but allowed vengeance against those who sought to kill them. On the 14th of Adar 1942, there was no revenge or justice for the Jews in Brzeziny, but that did not stop many, like Dora, from yearning for vengeance against those who persecuted her people.