JOURNEYS Mennonite Stories of Faith and Survival in Stalins Russia, John B. Toews, 1998

d relatives. Sentenced without a hearing and [completely] innocent! It was horrible and unexpected. I was to sacrifice the best years and energies of my life. Would there ever be a homecoming, a reunion? The sorrows and burdens of my soul cried out to God. I always held the secret hope that a thorough investigation might free most of us. Now everything was unequivocally decided. It was a cool, moist fall evening when some forty men were alphabetically loaded into small red railcars. This freight car was our home for a month. Our car was the first in line because my name began with the third letter of the Russian alphabet. Some close acquaintances were with me — Gerhard Wiens, Abram Huebner, J. Wall and others. We climbed on the top bunk where one could lie down quite comfortably. There, next to a barred window I had many weeks to process my depressing thoughts. Since we didn’t know how long we would be in this situation I remained optimistic and even managed to comfort several men who became depressed. I struggled with my thoughts for two days and nights. I sim¬ ply could not come to terms with my situation. I only saw the ten long years looming before me .... Never again in my life have I experienced such absolute helplessness, such total dependence upon everything surrounding me. Slowly but steadily our prison train moved towards the cold and icy north. Through my small barred window I watched as the passing landscape became increasingly bleak and fall-like. It certainly suited our mood. I did not want to be comforted, after all, a horrendous injustice was being commit¬ ted. It seemed as though a terrible pill was stuck in my throat, and in some ways Ive never quite managed to swallow it even today. My innermost rebelled against the brutal injustice. In the evening came the sounds of soldiers’ hammers ensuring the security of our freight car prison. Our first lengthy stopover was in the large city of Rostov .... Here all our clothes were disinfected, a very necessary action since the lice were overwhelming us. The itching stopped for a time. Finally after two days we were on our way again. Around mid¬ night we crossed the bridge over the Don River. Some twelve years earlier when Mother and I were on our honeymoon from MEMOIRS OF ARON WARKENTIN 179 the Molotschna to the Caucasus we stood on this spot. How hope¬ ful we were then. Finally we were man and wife and the future stood before us in rosy colors. We looked forward to our married life together. Now gruesome thoughts tormented me. Here I was completely unable to help myself, tormented by the remembrance of those who depended on me. Over the past twelve years we had five children. The youngest was only three. They had a right to depend on me, yet here I lay helpless — exiled for many years. I experienced bitter agony of soul especially since I had turned away from God whom I saw as my tormentor rather than as my pro¬ vider. Every time