MEMOIRS
OF SHERESHEV
By
MOISHE KANTOROWITZ
Between us and the line of the Jewish workers, many freight trains and freight cars were being shuffled back and forth. After a while a freight train parked along-side us no more than twelve fifteen meters away, the locomotive was unhooked and the cars remained motionless. About a quarter of an hour later as we looked through the crack, we noticed somebody crawling underneath the parked freight train and come up almost in front of our car. It is a tall man not what one would call Jewish looking with no yellow star on his coat. He looks back and forth throwing darting glimpses in all directions. We hear him say: “Yidden (Jews) save yourselves´. You are being led to the slaughter. Break out of the cattle cars and run wherever you can. We were eight thousand Jews here in Minsk Mazowiecky and now we are two hundred left working on the rail way track expecting any day to be murdered by the Nazis.” Having said it, he disappeared among the railway cars. Again, there was a tumult in the car. Should we or should not we. At least we will die trying to escape. The getting out from the car is not the biggest obstacle. The boards over the little windows can be beat out. The jumping off of the running train is seldom fatal. More dangerous is the German who stands on the elevated platform behind each car.
We start hearing the lament of older people and mothers of small children, claming that they will be shot in retaliation for our escape. The truth is that neither their complaints nor their lament was the reason for our remaining in the car. The real reason was that we all knew that our attempt to escape was like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. That is, escaping from the Germans we would only to fall into Polish hands. So we stayed. As we were leaving Minsk-Mazowiecky a group of Polish rail way men got on our train. Why the Germans permitted them to get on and to what purpose we did not know. Those Poles positioned themselves on the buffers between the cars and tried to communicate with us. It is from them that we found out we are going to a place called Auschwitz, a name we never heard of. They, the Poles, tried to do business with us. To sell us bread and water claiming that where we are going we will not be needing money or jewelry. Their prices were a hundred dollars and up for a slice of bread and even more for a bottle of water. Others simply asked for our money as we will not have the need of it where we are going. From our car there were no transactions with them but from our conversation with them many questions have arisen, like what kind of place is it “Auschwitz’ and why won’t we be needing money and jewelry but bread and water?
At about six in the evening we were passing Warsaw. From my spot at the boarded up windows, I kept on looking through a crack at the continuous rows of tall buildings, four, five, and six stories high. Every window was lit up brightly. To me they looked joyful and festive. Again the always omnipresent question hit me with intensity; Why? What have we done to deserve it? Here, in front of me live a million Poles, judging from the brightly lit windows continuously celebrating and our destiny, our fate is to be led to the slaughter. In deep despair and aching heart, I turned from the window thinking to myself that it won’t make any difference if I will see a couple more kilometers of this brightly lit city or not. In any case within a few hours or a day, I will be dead. And so I spent the second nigh leaning against the car wall. As for me I felt indifferent to what the next few hours might bring. I was too tired, too exhausted from the last several days and nights. With no feeling, simply numb both physically and mentally, I stood against the wall unable and unwilling to move or to look out through the crack for a familiar name of a station or town.
With the crack of dawn we arrived at a large rail way station where we stopped. As it got brighter we could make out the many railway lines that ran parallel to our tracks. Shortly after Polish rail way workers began to appear who knew not to get too close to our train neither to start a conversation. The only thing we found out was that we are in Czenstochowa. After a couple of hours at that station the train began to move again at a slow pace stopping often. Midday the train stopped in the middle of nowhere. Looking through the crack, I could see a young pine forest about thirty meters away that ran along the railway tracks. The ground was covered with a pure and untouched white snow, which was remarkable, as up to now whenever we stopped the snow on the ground was trampled and dirty. Maybe that was the reason that I kept my sight on that spot a bit longer, it seemed to me that some shadow or shadows are moving about in that young forest. Sure enough, seconds later I could see human forms moving in the forest and getting closer to the edge of our train. The crack in the window could accommodate three pairs of eyes and we three looked on as some men in British uniforms appeared at the edge of the forest. They were close enough that we could see the inscription on their shoulders. With unbelieving eyes we read “Palestine.”
Instantly the news spread over the car and whoever had any strength left tried to push his way to the cracks to see with his own eyes the miracle. We immediately started talking, rather yelling to them in Hebrew that we are being led to the slaughter. They in return not getting any closer kept yelling, “Lo, lo, atem nosym lichyot velo lamut.” (No, no you are going to live and not to die.) Suddenly one of them left the safety of the forest, ran across the thirty or so feet of snow covered ground, pulling out a chocolate bar from his pocket and shoves it in the crack of our window. The soldier prisoner runs swiftly back into the forest to his friends. A minute later the train started moving and the Hebrew speaking English uniformed soldiers quickly disappear from our sight. The chocolate bar that our benefactor shoved into the car was taken by one that stood by my side. He took off the wrapping and we noticed that the bar consisted of little squares. Four squares wide and twelve long. A total of forty eight squares, each just over a centimeter in size. Those by the window decided to divide it among us, a square each. Needless to say that more than half of us did not get any, but everyone understood that it was impossible to cut the tiny squares in half.
This event with the British Hebrew speaking soldiers is still before my eyes even though it happened much more than half a century ago. It was not always like this. There was a time when I myself began to doubt if this really happened. In order not to interrupt the trend of my thoughts in the middle of this bizarre and unbelievable event, I will skip for a moment a couple dozen years and continue with this unique story. In the camps we were all too preoccupied with our daily struggle for survival. There was not the time, will, or disposition to share each others experience. Each of us had enough of our own thoughts to think about and was not in the mood to listen to others. Of those in the cattle car with me the majority that even entered the camp perished during the months and years there.
The first couple dozen years after our liberation each of us survivors was busy not only trying to make a living but what is more important trying to rebuild his or her shattered lives, to let, rather to hope that a scab will form over the terrible wound with which each of us came out from the camps, after the six years long nightmare. For us survivors life after the war was too strange to unfamiliar. We found difficulties with every step. The adjustment took up our energy and all our time. There was no time to waste on events gone by or for memories to share or reminisce. It was in the sixties and seventies when I used to come to New York to the Azkara (memorial gathering) of our ghetto that we started sharing experiences. On one such gathering when I mentioned the story about the Hebrew speaking British soldiers I noticed the skepticism of the listeners. There were a couple men from Shershev at the gathering who were with me in that car. When I turned to them for confirmation they let me down. They did not remember a thing. During the later gatherings I looked for some one to confirm my story. But to no avail. It came to the point that I myself began to doubt in this event, fearing that in those conditions and in such a situation I might have not been fully conscious or even hallucinating. Despite the fact that I knew that I was right.
Once while attending an Azkara for the ghetto Pruzany that took place in Tel Aviv, I met there a man from Pruzany by the name of KALMAN GROSSMAN who was living in Jerusalem. He came to Tel-Aviv to attend the Azkara. A couple days later we met in Jerusalem. As usual with survivors of the Holocaust, particularly from the same ghetto, we compared notes. During our conversation he mentioned that he too, like me left Pruzany with the last transport Sunday, the 31st of January 1943. Without thinking I asked him if he remembered something unusual that happened a few hours before our arrival in Auschwitz. He thought for a moment then said, ¨The only striking event that I can remember is the event with the Jewish soldiers prisoners of war.¨ It turned out that he was with me in the same cattle car and remembered even the chocolate bar that one of them pushed in through the crack in the boarded up window. To his statement I answered; Kalman, you have just returned my sanity to me.
Some years later a Shershev Jew arrived in New York, a survivor of the Holocaust by the name of MOISHE KHIDRITZKY (Chadricki). His destiny led him from Auschwitz back to Shershv where he spent many years. In his old age he managed to get out and come to the United States. Shortly after his arrival he was interviewed by the “Shoa “ (Holocaust) organization that is collecting testimonies from survivors. The interview was conducted in Yiddish and he sent me a copy to look at. To my surprise he too mentions in his interview about the Hebrew speaking soldiers. Apparently I was not out of my mind then and hope that neither am I now.
And now let me go back to where we left off namely to the train on the way to Auschwitz. The event with the Hebrew speaking British prisoners lifted momentarily our spirits, but not for long. The complete exhaustion, the feeling of being closed in a coffin like railway car, the suffocating air and the apathy that comes with total resignation contributed to our delirious like state.
I would say that most of us in the car were in a stupor when the train started to slow down, giving the impression that it is going to stop for a change. I looked through the crack and awaken with a start. I see before my eyes a quadrangular one story building with two windows on each side and a leaning roof from each side to the centre. The building is plastered in a gray beige color. I see before me the very same building I saw in my dream two weeks ago while still in the ghetto. The sign on the building reads “Auschwitz”. The train does not stop just passes by and picks up some speed. I think to myself, ´´How can it be that I saw that very building in my dream.¨ The only difference was that in my dream there was no sign on it. What does it mean? How can it happen? What sinister omen is it? My despair comes back with greater intensity than before. I have a premonition of things so gruesome, so appalling that the fear of that unknown transcends the fear of death. The others in the car are indifferent to what I have seen. They did not dream my dream. Fortunately I am not allowed to stew in my nightmare. I feel the train is again slowing down and comes to a sudden stop. Before I have a chance to put my eyes to the crack, I hear already yelling and commands given in German. The barking of dogs simultaneously the door of our car slides open with momentum and a rough voice shouting “Raus” out!! Everybody out!!
The almost atrophied bodies start moving. The Germans were hurrying them on with screaming and yelling. In their hands leashes at which ends are vicious dogs baring the fangs. Before I reach the door I decide for the umpteenth time to see and hear all that is taking place about me. Not that I should be able later to talk about it. No, for this I held out no hope, but I wanted to be fully conscious to the last moment. This is my life. This is what life has to offer me and I accepted it. I was one of the first to get to the door. The floor of the car was about a meter above the ground and made a good vantage point. Despite the perilous situation I was in, I ventured to glance around. Right below me along the train on either side were swarms of SS men. Many of them ran from car to car yelling like wild animals and beating anyone that did not move fast enough. Opposite our train some thirty or forty meters away, I saw a high barbed wire fence whose beginning or end I could not see. Beyond the fence I could see countless rows of barracks, all the same style, size and shape. Many of the rows of barracks were fenced off from the others by barbed wire fences. From the distance I could see many watch towers.
As soon as I jumped off the cattle car I found myself between two SS men with clubs in hand yelling “Able bodied men on the other side,” pointing in the direction of the long barbed wire fence. Anyone who did not react immediately despite the confusion, received a paralizing blow from the club. In my opinion, it is humanly impossible to describe what took place there. The fear, the panic, the confusion and the tragedies that took place before my eyes were indescribable. Men being torn away by force from wives and children, sons from parents, some mothers from their children, all of it was taken place at once. Wherever one turned his head, one saw heart rending scenes. I had nobody to say good bye to. I could not even if I wanted to. The SS kept chasing the men to the other side. On that side our group kept on growing as more men kept joining us. The SS were sending over to us men from age fifteen to fifty. As our group grew, the SS men were trying to keep us busy drilling us in falling in, to five in a row. No matter how we did it, it was not good for them and, with the help of their clubs, we kept repeating it over and over.
It occurred to me that the SS are trying deliberately to keep us men busy so we should not see too much of what is taking place all around. This reinforced my decision to keep my eyes open. Looking around as I was running back and forth, I was thinking of what it was like yesterday when my entire family arrived, how my little brother and still smaller sisters were huddling to my mother if they found each other in this confusion in this millieu. How they could have used me when they needed me so badly. I felt a terrible guilt. Yet, in a strange way, I found gratification in that I did not have to see them being tortured this way. Those that could get off the cattle cars by themselves did so in a hurry. Others like children and older people were helped. Still others had to be carried off. The little suitcases or knapsacks that each took along from Pruzany had to be left right there on the train platform. The mass of humanity that had just descended from the cattle cars were facing the SS, at the same time being pushed backwards against the cars along the length of the entire train. I would estimate that the mass of people was about two meters deep. All the able bodied men are on the other side, on my side. The woman, children and old people are being held in check by a couple dozen SS men along the train. A huge SS man appears. He is almost two meters tall and almost as much around his middle. To me he seemed to weigh two hundred kilogram. In his hand he held a bull whip, at least four meters long. He goes back and forth along the mass of women, children and old people whipping them mercilessly. I think to myself; how can you beast, although in the image of man that you are, be so cruel and torture helpless innocent people before their death. Why can’t you leave them alone in those last minutes before they die?
I see a tarpaulin is being spread on the frozen ground and look in horror as SS men go along the mass of women and children by force tearing out infants from their mother’s arms and throwing them onto the tarp. The infants fly ten meters in the air before landing on the tarp. They fall on it or one on top of the other. Some hit the tarp with an ear splitting scream. Some land hitting their infants little heads on the protruding hard frozen ground and are either knocked out or killed instantly. These are the lucky ones. For the ones that are alive, a much more gruesome, much more hideous death is awaiting. It was days later that I found out that those little pure innocent souls abandoned by G-d and at the mercy of human beasts were thrown alive in the furnaces of Auschwitz’s crematoriums. As those infants were being thrown, mothers try to run after them but are being beaten back by the SS men’s heavy clubs or clubbed to the ground and dragged back to the others. I look and think how cruel death can be. I no longer think or ask myself why we deserve such punishment. I only ask why death does not come easier and wonder how may forms and faces death can take on. SS women go along the mass of humanity at random picking out younger woman from about fifteen to thirty five and lead them to a side.
We, the able bodied men are finally lined up in a line. At the head of the line I see an SS man. As the line moves slowly forward, each one of us approaching the SS man exchanges with him a few words. The SS man makes an effortless motion with his finger. To the right; you join the group that is forming to his right along the wire fence. To the left, you go back to the mass of humanity along the train, to join them in their fate which is not only known to the Germans but is already clear to us too. Some seeing that they are being sent to women and children, realizing what it meant, tried to go in the opposite direct0ion, namely to the ones chosen for the camp. Unfortunately, they could not fool the watchful eyes of the SS men who would with hard blows of their clubs chase those poor souls to those condemned to death. With unbelieving eyes I see some SS men pick out ten old Jews with long gray beards and tell them to pick up the four corners of the tarpaulin on which now lie a meter high pile of innocent and holy Jewish infants from some of which their pure souls have already left their tiny bodies. With blows and curses they are forcing the ten old grandfathers and great grandfathers to tie the four corners together making it into a hugh bundle. I can still hear the whimpers of those holy little souls and the thud of the blows that fell on the backs of the old men among whom I am sure there were some who had in there their own grandchildren or great grand children. I wonder how can G-d look upon it and not react. Yet nothing happened. The murderers went on with their grisly work. Only the clouds became heavier and darker that late Tuesday afternoon, February 2nd 1943.
A truck pulled up. It is open and behind the cab the rear part is surrounded by a three quarter of a meter high fence. It turns around and backs up to the hugh bundle of dead and dying infants. The back door falls downwards and the SS men order the ten old Jews to lift the hugh bundle of infants onto the truck. The old men strain themselves under the blows of the SS men, at first without success. But the heavy blows from the clubs win the struggle and the old men manage to put the bundle of infants on the truck. The back door is closed and the truck pulls away. As soon as the truck is gone another one appears. He too turns around. The ten old men are being led to a side where a specially built step ladder stands. It was quite an impressive construction which I in the confusion did not notice previously. The old men bring this step ladder over to the rear of the truck and the women, children, old people and those rejected at the selection start to get on. Within seconds the truck is full, the rear door is closed by the old men and the truck pulls away only to be replaced by the next one. Again the process of the step ladder is repeated, truck after truck.
Slowly I am getting closer to the SS man at the head of the column, the one that makes the selection. The closer I get to him, the more my thoughts were beginning to be preoccupied with my immediate situation. I, as everyone with me, knew that life, or at least my immediate survival is in the hands of that SS man. It all depended on his whim. A couple more men ahead of me and here I am in front of the creature that holds my fate, my destiny in his hands. He glances at me with an expression of indifference and even boredom. With the speed of a lightening rod, a thought goes through my head that I mean nothing to him and that with the slightest motion, he can send me to my immediate death. Fortunately, he does not keep me waiting but says: How old are you and what is your trade? I answered, ¨Twenty years old and a locksmith by trade.¨ He makes an indifferent motion with his hand indicating the direction of the camp where the fittest were being gathered. I make a quick turn left and with a dozen long strides I find myself among the group chosen for the camp and who meantime are being drilled by some SS men. As before the selection, a SS man stretches his arm in a direction and tells us to fall in. The SS man turns and we have to do it all over.
Our group keeps on growing and the lines are getting longer and the running further. A few more SS men join in to keep us moving and avoiding the blows becomes more difficult. The running around keeps me too busy to be able to see all that is taking place, but I am aware that trucks are coming and going, taking the women, children and others away. We are all tired and wonder how long this will go on. Suddenly the SS man stops and waits till we all line up five in a row. A few more SS men and officers come over. One in command gives an order and they start us counting, once, twice and more. They want to make sure there is no mistake. We stay in line not daring even to whisper a word. They, the SS are having a little conversation. I used the quiet of that moment to glance across to the cattle cars in which we arrived an hour and a half ago and I freeze in horror. I don’t see a living soul. The cattle cars are there with their sliding doors wide open. The bundles that its passengers brought along lie scattered in front of the length of the train. But where are the over two thousand living souls that stood there an hour and a half ago? How could they have gone so quickly? They disappeared. They disappeared and with them their screams, their cries and their lament. All that was left along the empty train was an empty frightening and deadly silence. Who could have imagined that at that very moment their screams, cries and laments were being choked off by a deadly gas that deprived them of their last breath of air. Who could have imagined that a human mind is capable of conceiving such a hellish device as a gas chamber in which as many as two thousand human beings, man, woman, child, healthy and infirm can be forced to enter, locked hermetically and made to breath poisonous gas until they expire?
Five abreast we were led into the camp. The entry or gate was quite unassuming and once again we were counted as we were passing it. I remember my decision to try and see everything and try to make sense of it. Indeed as soon as we entered I noticed a well fed man dressed in a striped jacket and pants with a club in his hand mercilessly beating another man dressed in the same striped attire but this one looked like he had not eaten in months. He was an emaciated caricature of a man who attempted to protect himself from the blows with his weak clumsy arms. The helpless soul did not even make an attempt to run. Instead holding on to an empty wagon he moved with difficulty around it falling every few steps. The hitter kept on hitting that poor man even when he was lying on the ground. The unfortunate made a couple attempts to get up only to fall again under the blows. As we were passing I looked back to see what will happen. I saw that poor soul lying on the ground and the big bully was still hitting him. It was clear that he intended to finish him off with his club. Such was the picture that played out before me the first two minutes after entering Birkenau or Auschwitz II. Better still would be Hell itself. As we proceed I see approaching a wagon pulled by two horses. The horses look well feed and the two young men on the seat with their distinct Russian faces look even better. They seem to be content for they converse and laugh heartily. I take notice of this contradictory observation in my first three minutes in camp and come to some conclusion
We find ourselves in front of one of the countless barracks. Its doors, like a gates and just as wide, opens in both directions eager to take us in. The barrack is ten meters wide and forty meters long. There is no floor, so the ground serves as one. In the middle along its length is a brick partition that looks like a lying chimney some sixty centimeters high and just as wide. Two days later I found out that indeed its function is both, to serve as a stove and chimney which never worked. This, thw lying chimney, served in the barrack as a partition. Along one side of the partition were two rows of desks. Behind each desk sat a man dressed in, what seemed to me, to be a pair of pajamas. This turned out to be striped concentration camp attire. Some SS men were walking back and forth behind those men keeping an eye on them and on us. We were ordered to stand on the other side. There, for the first time, I or shall I say we, came face to face with Capos. This word derives from two German words: Comrade-Police. They walked among us supposedly to keep order. They too were prisoners like us, but with a few exceptions, namely, they were mainly hardened criminals that were brought from German jails to serve as trustees. Their task was to supervise the inmates using SS methods that is, with the help of clubs, shovels, pickaxes or anything that was handy and if nothing was available, they used their hands and feet to hit and kick the poor inmates.
The very first capos were only German condemned criminals, but with the growth and enlargement of Auschwitz, the demand for capos increased. This demand was filled with Polish inmates of whom there was no shortage with the needed qualifications. In all due respect however, I would like to add that not all the capos fell into the same category. When it came to craftsmanship, expertise and other specialized work, it was in the hands and heads of the thousands of Jews that used to arrive continuously.. In the last two years the Germans started to appoint also Jews as capos to run unofficially those enterprises. To the topic of capos, foremen and overseers, I hope to touch upon several times later on. Meantime let us return to my arrival in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Here in the barrack all the yelling and beating is done by the capos. The SS are there to make sure the capos are doing their job satisfactory. Someone announces loud and clear that everyone whose family name starts with the letter “A” should step over the partition (flue) and present himself in front of a desk in the first row.
The people behind the front row desks are asking questions writing things down on questionnaires, asking again and finally are sending them to the desks behind them. The proceedings at the second row of desks is short and they men are back over the partition to our side but not allowed to mix with us. So it continues letter after letter until they get to the letter “K”. I step over the partition and position myself in front of a desk. Behind the desk sits a Jewish young man a couple years older than I. He does not look emaciated but his face is pale, actually white. I wonder at such a whiteness. He picks up a questionaire from a pile and looking up to me with visible compassion he tells me to empty my pocket. I have on me the dollars my uncle Hershl gave me on the last Saturday before I went to hide in the hole and an hour or two before he and my entire family was taken away plus the few marks with which I used to do business outside the ghetto. As I reach into my pocket I feel the few Czarist silver rubles I took from an empty Jewish home on Sunday morning shortly before I got into the sled. I put it all on the table. An SS man notices the money and moves closer. The man behind the desks asks me with a stern voice, is this all? This is all I answer. While the SS man picks up the money and throws it in a nearby basket the man picks up a pen and asks me my name, age, trade or vocation a couple more insignificant questions. Then he asked one that stunned me. It was, ¨What is the reason for your arrest?¨ It sounded to me so preposterous that I started to suspect some trap behind the question. It seemed to me that my “interrogator” deliberately let me think a few seconds. Maybe it was in order to point out the absurdity of the process, including the questionnaire, the questions and everything else around. In a place where ten thousand people were daily put to death, what purpose did all those questions serve? He looks around. Seeing the SS man went off he says to me quietly: I know the answer but I am ordered to ask regardless. He filled in the line, asked me one or two more paltry questions, puts the questionnaire on another stock, gives me a small piece of paper and says; step to the desk behind me and give him this scrap of paper. At that desk, too, sits a Jewish young man about the same age as the one in front with the same white face of a dead man. His desk is completely bare except for two sharpened goose feathers held together with a piece of cord and next to it an ink well. He takes the piece of paper from my hand and tells me to roll the sleeve of my left arm up to the elbow. He dips the feathers in the ink and glancing at the piece of paper tatoos on my forearm the numbers nine, nine, three, four, seven. The tatooing in normal times with such a crude tool would be painful but at that moment I did not pay attention. It was only the next day that my forearm swelled, but then I was confronted with other problems and could not pay attention to it either. As soon as I received my number I joined the other tatooed ones. From then on as far as the Germans and camp administration were concerned, I was only a number and referred to as such.
The registration process took several hours. How many exactly I do not know for our watches were left on the desks together with the rest of our possessions. It must have been somewhere between nine and ten in the evening. As soon as it was over in came a group of prisoners accompanied by several SS men. They came with bags and began to fill them with everything they took from us, the money, rings, watches even documents. Having taken it all the inmates carried it out followed by the SS men. We were led to a nearby barrack, told to get completely undressed and were shaven from top of our heads to our toes. As soon as one was shaven, he was disinfected by a man who stood near a big barrel full of some kind of a liquid. The men wore a thick mitten which he used to dip in the liquid and smear with it the entire body. That liquid had the tendency of making the skin red and itchy, which in return brought on a desire to scratch. After shaving and disinfecting, we were led into an adjoining barrack which was the bath house, leaving behind all our clothes except our shoes and belts which we were permitted to hold on to. As soon as the water started running from the shower heads, many of us started to drink it, as none of us had any water the last several days. The attendant of the bath house, themselves prisoners like us, seeing that we were drinking the water cautioned us not to drink it as it is contaminated. They told us that due to that water there was a typhus epidemic in the camp two months earlier that caused the death of half of the inmate population in the camp.
The bath house attendants were the first Jews from France that were brought to Auschwitz. Originally they came to France between the two world wars from Poland. As foreigners they were the first to be expelled from France. On the 16-17-18 of July 1942, they were rounded up and a couple days later were in Auschwitz, where they received the numbers starting from the late forty one thousand up to the middle of forty two thousand five hundred. Thus in camp they were pegged “the forty two thousands.” Having come to France from Poland they spoke an excellent Yiddish and Polish, but among themselves they spoke French. I doubt if they have so fast assimilated in France as to the point that French became their mother tongue. I would rather say that French gave them a feeling of cultural superiority over their former countrymen in camp, the Jews of Poland. With us from Pruzany came a young man who originally was from Warsaw. How he got to Pruzany in the early days of the war I do not know. That night he was with us under the shower paying little attention to warning of the attendants and continued to drink. One of the attendants came over to him and slapped his face. Instinctively the young man made a motion as if he is going to strike him back. We all froze anticipating something unpleasant. I glanced at the attendants and noticed that they too had the look of anticipation. To everybody´s relief the young man restrained himself and everybody relaxed. We quickly learned that there you do not strike back. After the shower, wearing nothing but our shoes and belts, we were led to the next barrack where on long tables were piles of clothing. Behind the tables stood some prisoners who as we were passing by in a single line used to throw at us a pair of drawers, an undershirt, a jacket and a pair of pants. Besides the couple of SS men there were capos and their helpers with their clubs, making sure that we moved quickly.
As one would expect in trying times, so there too, each received the opposite of what he needed. A big man received a pair of pants that would not get on him, while the slim one had o pull his up constantly, or the tall ones pants reached half way to his knees while the short one had to roll his up. There was no such thing as to ask for an exchange, so we tried to exchange it with one another while getting dressed under the blows of the supervisors. The caricatures in which we suddenly were transformed were to say the least comical if not for the tragedy that brought us to it. And so outfitted we were led that bitter cold night of February the second to the third into an empty barrack. It seemed that this barrack was assigned especially to accommodate the new arrivals the first night in Birkenau (Auschwitz II). Before we were told to lie down on the bare bunks we were ordered to line up our footwear along the flue that ran almost the full length of the barrack. We took off our shoes, boots and whatever footwear one had, lined them up as ordered by the capos under whose supervision we found ourselves now. They ordered us to get on the three tier high bunks and go to sleep. Despite our exhaustion and the many sleepless nights, none of us could shut our eyes on the hard boards. An hour later in came a group of capos with their assistances. They looked over our footwear, picked out the best pairs, took them along an threw the rest of our footwear on one pile and as they were going out, one yelled “Get your shoes.”
I came to Auschwitz in a pair of high leather boots given to me by my uncle Eli at the start of the evacuation. As soon as the capo yelled “Get your shoes” everyone jumped to get his, knowing that some will remain without any. I grabbed a pair of boots that looked very much like mine. I pulled on one boot and it fit perfectly. I am lucky that I got my boots. I pulled on the second but my foot does not get in all the way down. I looked around for another boot but the pile of footwear disappeared. Everyone grabbed whatever he could. Some as expected remained without any. I am stuck with a boot in which my heel doe not get fully inside it and I tiptoe on one foot. We do not even bother to lie down on the hard bunks, we just remained standing and bracing ourselves for the next surprise. We do not have long to wait. It is dark outside but the time is four thirty in the morning when one gets out of the “warm” and “comfortable” bed in Auschwitz-Birkenau. We are driven outside that February third. Despite the dark, the camp is lit up brightly and one can see as clearly as if it was sunny mid day. We are lined up five abreast and ordered to march. It seems to me that we are going in no particular direction. We turn right, then left again right and so back and forth several times. We finally stop some distance from the barracks and told to remain standing in line. We stand there exposed to the sub zero wind with our freshly shave heads, our feet in shoes with no socks, dressed in a pair of drawers, undershirt, jacket and pants. No hat, no sweater, no coat, scarf or gloves. Our heads and ears take the brunt of the wind and cold. Dawn comes at six and we do not move. From a distance we see detachment after detachment of inmates marching out to work. Meantime we are literally numb from cold.
In mid morning a couple of SS men approach us. The capo stands to attention and reports to them. We are told to march, and are led from one part of fenced in barrack to another. The entrance is simply a hole in the wires and we are between two rows of new barracks still unoccupied. The ground below us is clayey and the barracks sit on the same ground. We are marching along the two rows of barrack almost to the very end. On the left of us around the last few barracks we notice groups of inmates. A rumor spreads quickly among us that some of them have been recognized as being from Pruzany. But nobody is sure. We turn left and march in between two barracks. We stop and are lined up in a straight line five abreast. Here the ground is pure clay and it feels as if we are sinking in it. I notice that the new man that is going to be here in charge has an armband on which it is written “Blockaltester” (block elder.) He is a tall well fed man in his late twenties. Exactly what his armband meant we did not know but we recognized him to be a big shot of sorts by the size of the club in his hand. He spoke to us in German with a very noticeable Polish accent. Seeing that he was having difficulties with German, I was wondering why he does not speak to u in Polish since he knew that we are former Polish citizens. It dawned on me that he does it for the benefit of the SS men around.
When we were finally standing in a straight line to their liking we were suddenly ordered to squat. This is not difficult for a young person providing one remains in such a position for a quarter of an hour. It is a different story when one is over thirty five and is forced to remain in such a position for an hour or two. There is a limit to how much one can stand when the lower part of the legs become numb and the knees begin to cry out in pain. A person can bear just so much. The desire to stretch the legs becomes a must. The so called older men began to do it and it was here when the Blockaltester came into play. Standing behind us he with his assistance the so called Stubendienst (room orderly) began to beat anyone who even tried to stretch a leg. There were some that fainted in that position and were beaten mercilessly while they were lying on the ground oblivious to what was happening. While we were squatting and being beaten, a SS man delivered a speech. All I remember of that short speech was that he compared a concentration camp to the military which is based on discipline. If we will be disciplined and obey all the rules, he said, we will be fine. Most of us did not understand what he said. This was obvious from our distorted by pain faces, so the SS man turned to the blockaltester telling him to repeat it in Polish. After the blockaltester repeated some of the SS man’s words in Polish, he added in a question. Well, he said, now do you know what a concentration camp is? We, in all our innocents or naivete, answered “no”. The blockaltester, with a smile on his face, said “well then, you will find out.” We understood and took it as a warning but never imagined to what extent it is applicable.
While all this was taking place during our welcome speeches, hours long squatting and other so called “sports” in the camp language, a group of inmates gathered near us. They were not the ordinary inmates in the camp. The ordinary ones were working all over the perimeter of Auschwitz-Birkenau under the unimaginable conditions that existed there. Those gathered near us were the so called “prominent internees” in camp language. They were the capos, blockaltesters, stubendiensts and their cronies. A bunch of sadists and murderers that at times used to make the SS men look almost human. In short, they were the scum of humanity. Those prominent prisoners stayed there watching as our immediate supervisors or trustees are exercising us or in camp language “making sport with us”, beating us mercilessly. They, the trustee´s buddies, kept on encouraging them and advising them how to deal with us. From time to time some of them used to wade in between us with their sticks. The few SS men becoming bored with all this walked away, leaving us at the mercy of the above mentioned murderers.
In late afternoon we noticed a group of men approaching. In front walked a short man in civilian clothes, but the clothes were marked with red strips, jacket and pants just like some of our supervisors. This man too had an armband with a different title. It read; lageraltester (camp elder). Judging by the respect the other big shorts showed him, we understood that he must be a very big fish. We watched him walking by slowly in riding pants, polished boots, stepping nonchalantly on the clayey ground. He looked at us with so much scorn, with such contempt that it made our blood congeal in our veins. So this is the man, an inmate, supposedly like all of us, in whose hands the destiny of all inmates lie. As if to confirm our thoughts, he orders us to straighten our lines at five abreast and slowly starts to walk by the first row looking every one straight in his eyes. He stops in front of a tall man and orders him to come forward two steps. The “lageraltester” looks at him and so do we. He is close to two metres tall. I do not recognize the man and quietly ask around. I found out that he is one of a group of Dutch Jews that joined us this morning as we were entering this part of the camp. I glance at the Dutch Jew and see that the lageraltester stands close to him menacingly holding a club in his hand. He asks him; ¨What is your profession¨? I am a salesman, came the answer from the poor unfortunate soul. In his naivete, he did not realize that this is exactly what the Germans are looking to stereotype a Jew, a salesman. The club in the lageraltester´s hand came up high and came down with force on the Jew’s head. Blood started running over his face but he remained standing. This infuriated not only the lageraltester but also those who came with him and with his nod they surrounded the man hitting him mercilessly. In a minute his head and face became a mass of blood and the big man fell down. One would think that they would let him go now but no. It was clear that the man was unconscious but the beating went on. When they finally gave up they began to kick him with their boots. They left the motionless body only after their entertainment when it came time to go into the barrack. The double gate-like doors opened and we were herded inside, accompanied with blows and curses.
It is not easy to imagine the confusion in the barrack among the mixed up, beaten, bruised and panicked inmates. We are some three to four hundred men in almost familiar surroundings. The exact same barrack as in which we were registered and like the one we “slept” last night that conjured up experiences which we would rather not remember and questions like what does this night hold for us. We look around. The same lying flue which is called here a stove, along the length of both walls the three tier bunks. The bunks are two meters wide by two and a half long, the space between each bunk is about seventy five centimeters. The bottom one is twenty five centimeters off the ground, the middle one a meter and the third a meter seventy five. The bunks are bare and damp. I do not know if the wood is still green (fresh) or if the rain or melting snow comes in through the roof. I notice a small partition at the front near the entrance to the barrack. The ordinary door of that cubicle is closed and I wonder what is behind it. After being broken up into ten to a group, we are assigned bunks. Mine is the middle one. It is better than the bottom one but we must sit bent over as the top tier would not allow us to straighten up. After a while everybody’s back is aching.
The blockleader announces that we are going to get bread. We are told to get on one side of the flue. Some assistants so called “stubendiest” position themselves on top of the flue to make sure that no one tries to sneak across it in order to get another piece of bread. The clubs in their hands discourages anyone from trying. From the one side of the barrack we advance to the end of the flue, receive a quarter of a loaf of bread and go over to the other side. This process takes about an hour and we return to our bunks. We look at the pieces of bread and come to the conclusion that we might survive on it. Despite the fact that we have not eaten for some days, nobody is hungry. Yet we start to eat. It is after we finish the bread that we realize how thirsty we are. We are told to go to sleep. The shoes go under the bottom bunk and the jacket with the pants under our heads. We are not permitted to sleep with clothes on. For the ten of us we are given one blanket. As soon as we take our jackets and pants off, we start to shiver. We try to lie down on the hard and damp boards only to find out that there is not enough room for the ten of us. After pushing, shoving and wrangling we finally succeed to fit in the two and a half meter long bunk lying on the side pressed tightly together. The blanket, no matter how we put it, be it lengthwise or widthwise, in no way can cover the ten of us and a struggle begins between the two at the extreme ends. Each of us wants a piece of blanket to cover ones self in the unheated barrack, lying only in underwear on the damp boards. The name calling, swearing and berating goes on until one after another we start to complain of pain in our arms, hips and sides that came from lying on the hard boards. Individually we can not turn on the other side so we decide to turn over all together. Despite our exhaustion nobody sleeps. About midnight the door of the barrack opens up and in come several trustees of the kind that welcomed us some hours earlier with their clubs and blows. They approach a couple of bunks and pull down the blankets revealing some of the occupants in pants and jackets. A hail of clubs fell on them. Their screams were unbearable. I notice that under some blankets others began to take off jackets and pants. The trustees or capos notice it too and began to run along the rows of bunks beating everybody, not even bothering to pull the blankets down.
Having satisfied their desire to inflict pain upon others and the desire of the couple SS men that came with them, warning us against putting on our clothing, they walked out. And so lying on the bunks and shivering from cold, we survived to four thirty in the morning on Wednesday, the fourth of February nineteen forty three when the wide gate like doors of the barracks opened up. The blockaltester with a couple stubendiensts, their inseparable clubs in hand stand at the doors. A couple more are at the rear of the barrack swinging clubs chasing everyone towards the exit.
In a blink of an eye we pull on our pants and jackets and shoes and we join the pushing and shoving crowd that is trying to dodge the blows. We are finally outside. It is dark but here too all is well lit. All around in a large circle that takes in the few nearby barracks stand SS men with rifles at ready. I realize that they watched us all night and are in a bad mood. The blockaltester and stubendiensts want to placate the SS men by beating us continuously. They are trying to line us up five in a row “just so”, but it is not easy with people that went through what we in the last couple of days. We find the ground that was yesterday soft and clayey, now frozen and uneven.
It must have taken an hour before they got us standing to their liking. We are told to remain standing like at attention.
How long can a man remain standing like this after what we endured? It was bound to happen. Somebody had to be the first one be it a move of the hand or foot, whatever. The blockaltester with his stubendiensts regrettably notice every move and the guilty one gets beaten up. The longer we stand, the more of us commit the crime of stirring or making a move and the clubs keep on falling over our heads and backs.
Two SS men are approaching. They must be of some rank for the SS guards assume a more dignified stand. Our bloackaltester warns us to obey his command properly or else….
As soon as the two SS men are near us, the blockaltester yells “attention”. We raise our heads and stretch our necks like string instruments. One of the two SS men comes over closer and starts counting us making sure there are five in each row, says something to the other one who writes something down in his notebook and they are gone in the direction they came from.
By then it is day light. I notice that our SS guards are gone too. We are told that breakfast will soon be served consisting of tea.
We have to wait a long time before it arrives in metal barrels with covers. We still stand five in line. The first in line gets a red bowl with some kind of liquid in it which is called tea. He is told to share it with the other four in his line. We are all thirsty and notice that the first guy seems to hold the red bowl to his mouth too long. The man behind him is not worried. He knows that there will be enough liquid for him too. But the fourth in line is worried that it might not be enough for him and the fifth is sure that there will not be any for him. He starts yelling, nu, enough already, leave some for others. Some listen to such an appeal and pass the bowl to the one behind him. Others continue to slurp. The last one or two in line move forwards to take the bowl by force A struggle ensues from which the result is that the liquid spills on the ground.
We are being dismissed after the “breakfast” to remain outdoors within the confine of the two barracks, ours and the next one. Some braver ones stick out their heads from behind the barrack to have a better look around and find out that in the next barrack are the men from Pruzany that left a day before us, that is on Saturday.
The more courageous take the chance to run over to the next barrack when our overseers are not around or preoccupied. We find out that in the barracks numbers fifteen, sixteen, seventeen and ours eighteen, are housed the men from ghetto Pruzany that have been selected for the camp. Each transport from Pruzany, beginning with the first one that left on Thursday, January 28/43 is in a separate barrack. The first is in number 15 and we the last transport in number 18.
I was sure that my uncle, my father’s youngest brother Eli, age 29, would be there. Unfortunately I did not find him. After a long search and inquiring, one, an inmate in that barrack told me that my uncle went volunteeringly with his parents, my grandparents, refusing the German offer to join the selected for the camp.
Our overseer eventually noticed our transgression and quickly put a stop to it.
We were forced to remain outside without hats on shaven heads, without coats or sweaters. In order to keep a bit warmer we began to huddle to the wall of the barrack and one against the other, ten, fifteen or twenty men deep. At noon we were driven into the barrack. Standing on one side of the lying on the ground flue, one by one we approached the end of the flue where each of us received a red enamel cup that could hold no more than a third of a liter of liquid. A stubendienst standing near two large wooden barrels filled with a soup used to put the ladle in it and fill the cup. Having received the so called warm dinner each went over to the other side of the barrack. Some of the stubendiensts were standing on the lying flue watching and making sure that nobody steps over it and joins those that have not received their soup yet. Woe to him who tried and got caught.
After we finished our dinner, we were told to hang our enamel cup on our belts for use the next day. As there was no water the cups remained unwashed and we were driven outside.
All day long we saw countless groups of prisoners going to and from work. Where to and where from we did not know. The camp was too immense, but their appearance gave us the shivers. We got to know those creatures much better when we became like them.
From where we stood we could see that we were at the edge of a huge camp and that the twenty barracks of which we took up four are forming the extreme extent of the camp. There were some building farther north but we had no idea nor concept of what they were.
Opposite our barracks to the south, work continued in extending the camp. Work continued on every level, from digging ditches, leveling the ground, road building, digging in fence posts, stringing barb wires, erecting barracks and everything else that has to do with buildings.
There, before our eyes was rising a gigantic camp whose extent we could not see. Along our row of barracks after ours number eighteen, was one more barrack which was empty. In the other direction westwards, past the four barracks occupied by us inmates from Pruzany, the over a dozen barracks were empty and inmates were working inside erecting bunks. Opposite the last few barracks in that row, some fifty meter north stood a low lying brick building with a square chimney of some ten or twelve meters high.
This brick building was surrounded with an extra fence despite the fact that is was already in the camp and was surrounded by one fence. This inside fence had its own guard towers which made it unique. The terrain between the building and its fence was thinly overgrown with pine trees of some twenty centimeters in diameter which permitted us to see what is taking place in that yard.
The first morning in that part of the camp which was later named the “gypsy camp”, there was no chance to start a conversation with other earlier arrived inmates. In the afternoon, when the inmates used to pass by our barrack some of us succeeded in exchanging a few words.
Our first question understandably was; Where are our families? I will never forget the answer I received. Even though I did not understand it a that time, I used the same answer myself later on when asked by newly arrived prisoners.
The answer was given to me by a young man not much older than myself. Pointing with his finger which was attached to an emaciated forearm in the direction of the only visible brick building, indeed the one with the square chimney, he said to me; Do you see the chimney which is belching fire and smoke? Through this chimney your family went to heaven.
I looked at him not understanding what he said nor what he meant. At that time I thought to myself that he lost his mind. Which did not surprise me considering the condition we were in.
Before dark our supervisors appear. They just came out from the barrack where they sat in the heated small partition. The morning drill is repeating itself. We are chilled to the bones, our bodies are numb, but the club is an effective instrument and the drilling resumes. During the day the clay melted and we step deep in it. It is difficult to lift the feet, but the blockaltester and stubendiensten are generous with their clubs. We stay again in rows of five and do not dare to move. Its getting cold and the wind goes through our jackets and undershirts.
Finally a few SS men arrive. The same two as this morning are counting us again. The counting the so called appeal is over and the wide door of the barrack opens up. We are told to get in, but nothing is easy in Birkenau. A couple of the stubendiensten stay behind while some more are at the door. The ones from behind are hitting and driving us inside while the others at the door are hitting indiscriminately over heads and backs of the stampeding prisoners.
The nearby SS men that will form the first shift on guard do not stay idly by. They too are hitting with their rifle butts.
We are finally inside, driven to one side of the barrack and as the previous evening, one by one we cross over to the other side with the ration of bread. As soon as the bread is distributed we are told to go to the bunks. Everybody runs to one. It is not important who lays there as long as I get a space to lay down. Let it be on a damp and hard board. To lay down out of the wind if not the cold.
I do not know anybody on the bunk. Who cares. We at the piece of bread and share our experiences of the day. I find out that some in our barrack made it today to the forth, last barrack that holds the people who left the ghetto the first day, Thursday, January 28.
We speak in whispers, but we manage to converse with the upper and lower bunks. From those who manage to exchange a few words with the older inmates I find out that they too got more or less the same answer as I and are just as puzzled. A few did however manage to have a lengthy conversation with inmates that have been here weeks even months and from them heard stories that do not make sense. Stories that I would have been embarrassed to repeat in order not to be ridiculed. Although I went through the two days march from Shershev, saw with my own eyes the two mass graves in Chomsk, spoke to individual Jews that saved themselves from slaughters in places like Drohyczyn, Kobryn, Antopol, Bereza-Kartuska, Brest-Litowsk, Slonim, Wolkowisk and others. All of whom made their way to ghetto Pruzany and brought with them their stories of horror. They came to save themselves but unfortunately as it turned out only to share their fate with the Jews of Pruzany and perish in Auschwitz. I and the rest of us new arrivals to Auschwitz-Birkenau knew only too well what the Nazis were capable of doing. Still my mind could not grasp, could not understand what is taking place here. Neither could I comprehend the reason why would the Nazis drag us half way across Europe to kill us here? Is not there enough burial space around Pruzany. Why should they take up railway cars on Jews when they are in need of them for supplying the eastern front? What does it mean to gas people by the thousand day after day in addition to burn the bodies? Unbelievable! Impossible! It makes no sense. Is it possible that they want to obliterate any trace of their crime? Nonsense! They are leaving behind mass graves of Jews near every shtetl and city in eastern Poland and conquered Soviet territories. Why should they suddenly want to erase any trace of their crime? Is it possible that they finally realized that they are losing the war? We Jews could have told them this in winter forty one, forty two. Although it was more wishful thinking than prophecy. Never the less we could foresee Hitler’s defeat in the beginning of nineteen forty three.
Why than should someone come up with such a dantesque notion like gas chambers and crematoriums. Now they want to cover up their crime? And in general, how can the human mind conceive such an idea, how is it capable?
I will admit that if we would be told by the other inmates that our families were taken away a few kilometers further and shot, we would have understood and believed, but to come up with such a bizarre story is humanly unacceptable.
Finally we settled in the bunk with the conviction that it is a made up story by our tormentors to make our life more miserable.
The night went by in pain and aches. At midnight we were visited by our torturers who again pulled off the blankets to make sure that we do not sleep in our clothes. Again the bitter cold forced many to put on their pants and jackets. Those that were discovered were left beaten up and bleeding. Very few of us slept and none rested at night.
In the morning the same routine as the previous one. The same staying in line. The same supervisors with the clubs. We got acquainted with a few more abusive words in German. All the trustees talked, or yelled and cursed in German. I began to wonder if the German language consisted only of abuses and curses. The same disorder at the serving of the boiled water with blueberry leaves that passes as tea and we remain outside leaning against the barrack wall huddling against one another.
Slowly we get used to the surroundings. Some venture away abit farther trying to exchange a few words with the passing by inmates. Their capos and foremen, the so called “vorarbeiter” interfere in our attempt to start a conversation with them but their anger they take out on their underlings the dozens of emaciated, wasted away inmates by hitting them mercilessly. I look at the clubs falling on the starved bodies and wonder how those bundles of bones hold together.
They, the unfortunate too are looking for a chance to sneak away from the hard labor and constant beating for a moment respite by hiding behind our barrack or among us.
Here among us we can and do converse with them. Again they repeat the story we heard yesterday about our families. We can see the sincerity in their emaciated faces. Faces that reflect bitterness, pain, desperation and a cry to be believed. One of those still walking skeletons sees the doubt in my face and grabs me by my sleeve and pulls me out from behind the barrack to have a better look. Pointing to the brick building with the smoke and flame belching chimney he says: Do you see that crowd of Jews in the fenced in yard of that building? You better have a good look at them for you will never see them again. With those words he left me there staring at the multitude with the yellow stars on their garments, while he went back to join his group.
I look, it is not possible to count them from a distance of seventy five meters. They are all standing but can move about from group to group. I Can easily identify an overwhelming number of children, women and old people. I would estimate them to be around two thousand souls. They stood there a couple more hours before they entered the building. I kept an eye on the building the rest of the day, but never saw one living soul come out.
Before dark we went though the barbaric act of being counted and driven into the barrack. On the bunk exchanging information of the day we found out that the Jews we saw were from Bialystok.
I believe that that was the only transport of Jews from Bialystok ghetto that was sent to Auschwit-Birkenau, the rest were sent to Treblinka.
As I lay down on the hard bunk I felt a terrible thirst as I had not had anything to drink since January the thirty first. In fact all of us were thirsty, but where does one get water. We knew that there is plenty of snow on the roof of the barrack and that the little windows above can be opened but it was prohibited to do so. Apparently my thirst overcome my fear of being caught, for I got to the window and came back with a handful of snow which I slowly let melt in my mouth. Regretfully I became thirstier than before. To all the inconveniences this was an addition. Thus went by the night of the fifth to the sixth of February.
That morning I turned twenty, according to the world calendar. The day started as usual. I do not remember if I got a mouthful of the so called tea or not, but right after its distribution the blockaltester (block senior) came with a list and called out some numbers.
Those were the numbers of some fourteen year old boys that were selected to get into the camp when we arrived. It seems that the Germans realized that such young boys will be of little use and decided to get rid of them. They were told that they are being taken to another part of the camp where they will receive better nourishment. There were about half a dozen boys in my barrack and some in each of the other three. This two dozen or so boys were led straight to the crematorium.
One of those boys taken from my barrack left behind his father. Father and son were from Hajnuwka and were brought to Pruzany ghetto with the rest of that community in the fall of 1941. As soon as the father realized what happened he broke down in a heart rending lament. It happened that the “Laageraaltester” passed by a few minutes later. To everyone’s surprise, he stopped to find out why the man is lamenting. When he heard the answer, this man, the very same one that welcomed us upon our entry in that part of the camp by demonstrating extreme barbarism when he and his companions beat the Dutch man to death, walked over to the crying father and with as much compassion as such a brute could muster says to him; Too bad they took your son away. I will be needing shortly some Blockalteste and appoint you as one.
I doubt if his words were of any consolation to the crying father at that moment. But when the rest of the barracks began to be filled with freshly arriving gypsies a couple weeks later, he became a Blockaltester.
In an ironical way the event with the fourteen year old boys eased my conscience abit. The first couple of days, despite my own hopeless situation, I was being gnawed by a feeling of guilt for not standing up more insistently to the men in my hiding place in the ghetto when they refused to let in my thirteen year old brother Leibl (Liova.) Of course there was the question of passing the selection upon arrival in Auschwitz-Birkenau where no thirteen year old boy in our transport did. Now that the Nazis took away the fourteen year old ones, he would be taken for sure and who knows how they died. Have the SS driven them into the gas chambers together with a transport of Jews that freshly arrived? They certainly would not use the gas chambers for them alone. Did they shoot them? Killed with injections or simply slew them with clubs?
Now I knew that my brother did not have to confront death alone as he would have should he have been with me. At least he was with his parents and sisters, undressed together, walked into the gas chamber together and most likely clung to them to his last breath.
Regarding the bereaved father in our barrack, I would say that the Lageraltester in a very rare instance of compassion most likely saved his life. By promoting him to Blockaltester he raised him to the highest position in camp an inmate can achieve, second only to himself, assuring him with all the food he wants and protection from any other inmate.
I found out after the war that this man came out alive from that hell, which was an accomplishment in itself, especially for a man his age.
Frankly I wonder sometimes what moved that murdered, that Lageraltester, to have compassion with that unfortunate father and to want to relieve his pain in a place and a time when ten thousand lives were being put out daily and to which task he contributed his help.
And so went by the day, the sixth of February, my twentieth birthday..
Our midday meal used to consist of a cup full of soup. Every second day, the alternate days, we used to get half a cup of soup and two or three boiled potatoes. As the number of inmates increased in our part of the camp, the soup and potatoes began to be delivered in wooden barrels loaded on a wagon and pulled by inmates. Due to the clayey ground, the wagon used to stop some hundred meters away from the barracks and we had to go and bring them by hand. Four men were needed to carry a barrel of boiling hot soup over clayey clinging ground, making sure that it does not spill.
For constantly starving men and comfort of our bunks, it was hard work but it had benefits too. Somehow many of us manage to get spoons, while carrying the soup one could hold the bottom of the barrel with one hand while with the other try to skim off some scalding hot soup and gulp it down, providing the accompanying Stubendienst is not watching.
For the dozen or so men that used to be picked to carry the barrels the days we used to get potatoes were better. It is much easier to throw a potato in the mouth, even a hot one than try to bring a spoon full of liquid to your mouth while carrying a heavy barrel on a treacherous terrain. One can also put a couple potatoes in the pocket and hope that he will not be searched when they bring the barrel into the barrack.
Unfortunately I was only picked a coupe of times to carry the barrels during which time I succeeded in slipping some potatoes in my pocket. By that time our thirst was replaced by a gnawing hunger and the few potatoes did not satisfy it.
One morning a week or so after our arrival, right after receiving our “tea”, when as a rule we used to be dismissed and permitted to hug the wall and press against each other for warmth, we were told to remain standing in line. After a long wait we were approached by a small group of inmates accompanied by two SS men. The inmates were dressed in standard camp uniform but it looked much better on them as if made to their specifications. We were told to open our mouths and stick the tongues out. The well dressed inmates paraded by each row looking at our tongues, one of them marking down the numbers pointed out by the others.
After they left the Blockaltester called out the written down numbers, getting them together, he led the ten men away.
Shortly after, we found out that those well dressed inmates were Polish doctors who worked in the “Krankenbau” (camp hospital). Part of their job was to weed out anyone suspected of being sick, which they did by glancing at our tongues. Two hours later we found out that those men were led to one of the crematoriums.
That selecting committee began to return twice a week, never leaving empty handed, that is to say always writing down some numbers.
We constantly kept an eye on crematorium number three as it was the closet to our barracks and very much exposed in our direction. It was some two weeks after our arrival that we noticed the yard of the crematorium full with people, more than we ever seen before. We watched as part of the crowd is being driven inside, but many remained outside. They were still there when we were driven inside the barrack for the night. Even the next morning when after being counted and the “famous” tea, it took a couple hours until they were driven inside. Poor, wretched, pitiful holy Jewish souls had to spend the bitter cold night outside. In their merciful ignorance they must have spent the entire night praying to be let inside not knowing that for them death is waiting with open arms.
Here I would like to remark that although the official date of starting up crematorium number three is end of April and beginning of May 1943, the referred to crematorium was functioning “Full Blast” when we entered the part of Birkenau (Auschwitz No. 2) later called the Gypsy camp, in the beginning of February 1943. To this fact can attest everyone who came to Auschwitz from ghetto Pruzany and spent the first six horrible weeks with me there.
As difficult as it was to put up with the hunger, cold and beating, the blatant stealing of our food by our overseer, that is the Blockaltester and Stubendiensts was unbearable. We watched with envy as they filled up for themselves bowls full of soup and by cutting the bread in quarters they take out a thick slice from the middle of each loaf. While we had to share one blanket between ten, the Stubendiensts that slept in the barrack with us, had several blankets each.
A few daring young men in our barracks managed to get a hold of one of their blankets, cutting it into meter long and half meter wide pieces, they wrapped those pieces around their upper parts of the bodies pulling their under shirts over it.
It did not take long for our overseers to find out and a search began. A couple managed to discard the blanket pieces before the searchers got to them, but those that were caught were beaten, their wrists were tied behind their backs, a rope was passed over that tie and they were pulled up and let hanging from a barrack beam. They screamed then cried and begged until they fainted. It was then that they were taken down. What happened to them afterwards I really do not remember.
One morning we were driven out in a downpour. It was so bad that the SS men that used to conduct the twice daily “Appeal” (roll call) and counting, told us to get back inside. The half a dozen or so men from Shershev in our barrack tried to keep together. Those were the same men that traveled with me in the same cattle car. I will mention again those that I remember. They were: Gotl Weiner, the brothers Shepsl and Itzl Pomeranietz, their brother-in-law Berl Tenenbaum and their cousin Leibl Feldman. The other couple I do not remember.
During the appeal (roll call) which lasted that time not much more than fifteen twenty minutes, we got soaked through. So we stood in the barrack dripping water, being grateful to somebody for not having to stay outside. Suddenly I heard a subdued voice saying “Moishe”. I turn around and see Gotl Weiner. He motions with his head to follow him. We come to a corner in between two bunks. There on the bottom bunk sat the few Shershev men staring at a red bowl. I bend over closer to see in the dim light and see the bowl is full of potatoe peels, the thin skin that comes off boiled potatoes.
Gotl gives a nod and everybody’s hand reaches out to it. The potato peels were lying overnight outdoors on the ground and in the rain. It absorbed it all, the rain water and the tiny little stones from the ground that cracked between our teeth, but we ate it anyway. I found out that Gotl took a chance when the Stubendienst was looking the other way. He grabbed a bowl, scooped up the potatoe peels and brought it into the barrack. We were grateful for the treat.
In mid February we were all moved to the next neighboring barrack. That is from our number eighteen to nineteen. So were all the other three barracks that held the men from Pruzany. I made sure that I got a bunk not too close to the rear of the barrack where two large wooden containers stayed for use as toilettes during the night. As the containers were open, they used to smell up the rear part of the barrack. Every morning those that slept near it had the job of carrying those containers out and emptying them in the public outhouse.
Taking in consideration the many cases of dysentery and the state of the inmates, one will understand that that part of the barrack did not present a pretty nor pleasant picture. Still, those that used to spend in the vicinity a couple of nights got used to it and did not mind the offensive smell. In fact, it had an advantage. As the stubendeinsts were not anxious to visit that part of the barrack, the inmates in that corner were left alone. I never visited that corner. Urinating as most of us did outdoors and the only time I had a bowel movements in the six weeks I spent in Birkenau, I managed to do it outdoors.
After the middle of February it got a touch warmer. Enough to change the frequent snow squalls during the day into light rain which softened the ground around the barrack even more.
Who gave the order or who thought of it nobody knew, but a couple days after we were moved to the next barracks, after the appeal (roll call), we were ordered to remain in line. Our Stubendiensten lined us up in a single line, led us to a mount of brick, where we were told each to stock up five bricks one on top of the other, pick them up from the bottom and so holding them in front of us to start walking in a single line. Eventually we formed a large oval walking behind each other. There was no beating or yelling. We just continued to walk. At first it was not difficult and made no sense. By the time noon came around, it became tiresome.
We halted for our cup full of soup and after finishing it continued with the bricks. By the end of the day, we were good and tired.
Because of the warmer temperature and rain showers, the ground around the barrack, especially where we used to fall in for the appeal (roll call), became a clayey swamp and we had to stay a foot deep in it twice a day, morning and night for an average of two hours each time.
It occurred to our Blockaltester, the same big, well fed Pole that gave us the memorable welcome a couple weeks earlier, that if a hole will be dug in the middle of the ground, the water will drain in the hole and the place will get dry.
There was never a shortage of shovels in Auschwitz. He picked some men and a hole was dug. Two meters by two meters and two meters deep. The Blockaltester did not take in consideration the fact, or maybe he did not know that water does not flow freely through clay.