Sister Julia, Stanisława Rodzińska, the Superior of the Dominican Sisters’ convent in Vilnius[1]. She died on February 20, 1945, in the Stutthof Concentration Camp from typhus at the age of 45.

She was very noble, good and willing to help [others]. She performed works of mercy in the camp where it was nearly forgotten that mercy even exists. One day, when I was asleep, she touched me as gently as only a mother could wake her child. “I have a little bit of extra soup for you, and I would like you to eat it while it is still warm. For this reason only I woke you up,” [she said.]

I see her before my eyes as though she were standing in front of me: short, slim, and at the same time squarish. Her face light; protruding cheekbones, and narrow and tight lips, just as on the old German woodcuts. Her hair light and smooth; [she] usually covered it with a scarf in a way as country women do. [She was] strong, dexterous and robust. When she was climbing her three-story bunk, she would say with a smile that as a child coming from the mountains she had been used to climbing.

She came from the Carpathian region. Being an orphan, she was raised in a convent. Those hours when I asked her about her life in the convent and encouraged her to tell [me about it] were a feast. Then she drifted away from the drab, dreary and dark existence. She was all immersed in the [things] that were most high and dear to her. She struggled with German and she wished she could speak with no difficulty and so share with me everything she felt. But she just blossomed when she was talking about the noble life in the convent, the wonderful customs and sublime ceremonies. At the end of each such conversation she thanked me with teary eyes, whereas it was I who should have thanked her for what she was giving me during these conversations.

On many Sunday midmornings, when circumstances allowed, we were walking together in silence around the barracks, spiritually participating in the Holy Mass. She prayed with us every evening. She said the prayers in Polish: the Holy Rosary, the litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary and many other prayers which she arranged and adjusted to our current needs and situation.

I will always have this image before my eyes: a small room full of people occupying three- or four-story beds; poor light, most of the time the shade a lá Rembrandt, the lighter spots of women’s white faces and of rags hung and drying [everywhere]; and our Sister Julia kneeling upon a wooden plank, erected and with her head lifted and her eyes directed toward the Infinite. In her strong, shapely hands [she held] the rosary, and her face was closed to what surrounded her. At the first glance, her prayerful face made the appearance of being snippy, until the moment when the one looking at her realized the whole hidden intensity. Sometimes, during prayer a jailor opened the door noisily, but usually closed it back without remark. Sister Julia inspired respect. In some sense, she had the nature of a leader. As I noticed, everybody submitted to her willingly, among them the unruly, under the influence of her pure and straightforward nature.

She often lay flat on her bed, praying with her eyes shut, immersed in meditation, right in the midst of the loud and relentless camp noise as she drew herself and her prayer away from the undisciplined, wild and austere surroundings.

Many a time she was serene, and even joyful. She showed true motherly care and favor to us – the few people with whom she was closer. By some coincidence she was provided for better than others. And I saw her on frosty, windy winter days during long hours of roll call, as she was wearing her thin clothes and wooden clogs and was freezing; she kept her warm coat and gloves for the weak and the sick.

There were four of us celebrating Christmas in 1944. We were chewing something [as we sat] on our beds. A few fir twigs and a tiny tree attached to the blanket served as our Christmas decoration. Sister Julia received a Christmas package from some Polish priests who also were prisoners in Stutthof, but they never saw her. She shared everything with us. With these few slices of bread and a little bit of cake we arranged a true banquet. She had a gift of organizing everything properly even amid the greatest adversities, and her demeanor always had some certain appropriateness. The mentioned reverend priests enclosed a letter which moved Sister Julia to tears. She translated it to me. Its simplicity, power and trust in God moved me deeply.

During the typhus epidemic Sister Julia strove to help the sick in the barrack, because the small infirmary could fit only a small percentage of the patients. This help, because of lack of any medications and possibilities of care, was limited to taking the temperature, sometimes to giving out aspirin which she literally scrounged in the revir[2], and to [saying] good words. She went from bed to bed, and ultimately she herself was struck by the fever. Her conspicuous apathy was a bad prognostic. In fever, she did not show any will to undertake the fight with the disease. 

On February 20, 1945, she calmly fell asleep. Not only her Catholic country men were mourning over her, but also the Russians, Latvians and others. We were friends. She will remain unforgotten.
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[1]Today’s capital of Lithuania
‍[2]in the concentration camp slang, a term meaning camp hospital [from German “Revier”]

I met Sister Julia in the concentration camp in Stutthof in the summer of 1944. Sister Julia was a person of profound faith; she feared God and she trusted in Him. For others, she was an angel of goodness; she was a Samaritan to others in the camp. She drew her strength from sacramental grace, which she valued greatly. She was searching for a priest, because from the ministry of priests and the reception of the sacraments she drew strength to bring aid to others in the such severe conditions of the camp and at [the time] of such tremendous debasement of human beings.

Goodness emanated from her. She [had] a great personality. I never heard her complaining or grumbling about anything. She endured everything with sincerity and inner holiness. She was very modest and natural, she never imposed herself, but radiated with her silent presence and Samaritan devotion to others.

Sister Julia saw in God the sense of her suffering and the hardships she had to go through. Such was she as I got to know her during [our] conversations and also from others. Her firm and uncompromising attitude and her faithfulness to God radiated from her. For me, she was a saint, she is a martyr.

Sister Julia had a great spirit of faith. In the camp, she gathered us in large number for evening prayers. She brought hope, needed so much for survival.         
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In the conditions of the camp, Sister Julia’s face was always serene; she smiled to all. The peace that radiated from her face was striking. I had the impression that she was internally recollected. She did not impose herself, and yet this outwardly quiet Sister inspired respect in others. I remember quite well how she led the Rosary and the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In conditions debasing to the human person she was able to direct us towards different values – spiritual values.          

While others were seeking ways of escape, she stayed in the camp among those sick from typhus and she took care of them to the end. She was aware that she might contract the disease and die like many, but she sacrificed herself for others. She could have avoided [death] if she had not gone to the hospital to help the sick.

I met Sister Julia after my first vows when she came to pick me up from Biała Niżna (pron. bia-wah neezh-NAH) [1]. We went together to Vilnius [2]. I was there until 1936 and then I went to Lviv [3].

Sister Julia fulfilled her duties very earnestly. She was a woman of great faith. That’s how I remember her from the ten-year-long stay together. She conducted all of her works in trust in God. There were certain difficulties in running the house, but I never heard her complaining. She was very sensitive to the orphans’ lot.

Sister Julia’s hallmark was her ability to compassionately understand the needs of other sisters and people, especially those who were abandoned. Her broad educational and charitable ministry to the most poor was the hallmark of her personality. This inspires peoples’ respect, and thus she is honored.

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[1]Biała Niżna – small village in southern Poland,where Sisters have their Novitiate House and make their first vows.
‍[2]Today’s capital of Lithuania
‍[3]City in today’s Ukraine

I met Sister Julia in 1944 in Łukiszki [1] (pron. wu-keesh-KEE) Prison in Vilnius [2].. . After three months [spent] in the prison, we were transported to the penal camp in Prowieniszki [3] (pron.prohv-yeh-neesh-KEE). After three months spent there, Sister Julia and I were transported to the concentration camp in Stutthof by Gdańsk (pron. g-DAHNSK) [4]. There, I got to know Sister Julia more closely and I made friends with her. This dreadful Stutthof brought us closer to each other. I saw Sister Julia till the end of her life.

Sister Julia was a holy person. She was characterized by a nun shaken spirit of faith. Such she was when I met her and such she remained until the end. Sister Julia always put her hope in God. During our stay in the camp, she raised our spirits, entrusted us to God and called us to prayer. She organized common prayer for us, her fellow prisoners. Thanks to Sister Julia we gathered together in a room called a shtuba [5]and there we said the litany and other prayers led by her. She used to say that everything is in God’s hands. Sister Julia’s hallmark was a great love of God and the Church. In secret she organized meetings with a priest, also a prisoner, in order to take advantage of his ministry and to confess to him, and also so that others could use such an opportunity to confess and to reconcile with God. The evenings of prayer that she organized were memorable, simply wonderful. There was always the rosary, hymns and other prayers. Sister Julia always led these herself. The prisoners of other nationalities also came to pray with us. And not only from our shtuba, but also from others. There was a lot of us – a full shtuba. Some said toothers: “Come to Sister Julia for the rosary.” She was very pious. Her piety influenced others; she encouraged prayer. While near her, one simply felt the need to pray.

In her conversations with others she raised their spirits and offered support. She searched for such people and she nourished them through a good word. She approached everybody in this way when she felt that one expected her help. She helped everyone. It did not matter for her who the person was, whether it was a Jew or someone else. She supported everybody, with no exception. She approached even a person whom she did not know and she helped and comforted him. She was able to do it because she herself put her hope deeply in God. She approached everyone – literally everyone. How much she helped my husband who was also in the camp, and he survived, he did not break down! It was thanks to Sister Julia that, though he was depressed, he believed that everything would be all right and that he would get out [from the camp]. My husband survived the concentration camp. When I was sick, Sister Julia sent secret letters to him in which she informed him about my health and constantly raised his spirit.

She shared everything she received. In this way, she rescued those who [she perceived] were hungrier and weaker than she was. She shared everything, literally, everything, even the last piece of bread. She gave up [everything] for the sake of those hungrier than her. All of the prisoners had the same food rations. Some felt more hungry than others. Sister Julia did not eat her rations, though they were [too] scant for survival, but gave them to others. [She was] extremely merciful and obliging, and so sacrificial. Until the end of her life she was serving others, taking care of those sick from typhus, although she herself already could hardly move. She could barely stand on her feet, but she was saying she had to serve [others]. Truly, she was an extraordinary person. She came to me [who was] sick with typhus – so terribly contagious – when every body else was doing everything to avoid meeting someone who was sick. She took care not only of me. She took care of many, many others. She was constantly on the move . . . It washer love – sacrificial love – that led to her contracting the disease, but it was the other human being who mattered for her. A human being in need of help was in the first place. When [other]prisoners reproved her [saying] she should not put herself in danger [by] going to the revir [6] – [because] otherwise she would contract the disease that many had died from – she said she had to go and that the people there needed her and they were waiting for her. She felt an inner need to be with them and to help those who found themselves in such a dramatic, often hopeless situation. She couldn’t imagine not being with them – with those who needed her and her help, word and care. She was going [there, because] it was stronger – it was sacrificial love. When she felt that death was coming, she missed her Order. Everybody said she was a unique person.[She was] praying, and consoling others; she put all her hope in God who was her strength – the strength of her spirit in the such severe conditions of the camp. She was merciful. To me, and not only to me, she was a saint.

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[1]Today’s Lithuanian name is Lukiškės
‍[2]Toda’s capital of Lithuania
‍[3]Toda’s Lithuanian name is Pravieniškės
‍[4]Polish city on the Baltic coast
‍[5]in the concentration camp slang, a term meaning room or part of a block [from German “Stube”]
[6]in the concentration camp slang, a term meaning camp hospital [from German “Revier”]