By Chance Alone Page 11

  We placed the boy on the operating table, and I could see a severe bullet wound on the left side of his temple with an exit wound at the back of his head. A large part of his skull was shattered, and he was in a coma. The surgeons cleaned the wound, removed bone chips, stopped the bleeding, and stitched him up. There was nothing more they could do for him.

  The orderlies took him to the upstairs ward, where Dr. Gordon took charge of him. He was the only critical patient in the ward, and all the doctors took a particular interest in his survival. Many days later, he emerged from his coma and opened his eyes. Dr. Gordon spoke to him, but there was no response. He was paralyzed and we could not give him any sustenance and had no intravenous fluids to sustain him. He was trapped in his body, eyes open, with no way to respond. He appeared to have massive brain damage. Dr. Gordon periodically tested the boy’s nerve responses by pricking his hands and feet with a needle, and after a week, he showed some response to the needle on one side of his body. When Dr. Gordon spoke to him, the boy moved his eyes as if he understood. Dr. Gordon worked closely with him, teaching him to speak again. He was kept alive only because it was near the end of the war and the gas chambers had been destroyed by order of the camp Kommandant.

  Around the same time, another teenager was brought into the operating room with severe pain in his belly. When the surgeon opened him up, he realized it was a ruptured appendix and the teenager died on the operating table. We all felt sadness at the death of such a young person. His body was taken to the experimental barracks next door for disposal.

  Of all my experiences in the prep room, the most shocking task came when the SS men removed patients from the upstairs ward to the Birkenau gas chambers and returned about two hours later with their pockets full of teeth wrapped in bloody rags. I was ordered to remove the gold crowns and fillings from these teeth because I had access to medical instruments. As I worked, I couldn’t help thinking that just a short time before, the owners of these teeth had been alive. And now they were just a pile of ash. Removing the gold crowns and fillings traumatized me, and I felt that in some small way, I was participating in the desecration of their remains. I wondered how many SS men enriched themselves by scavenging the remains of their hundreds of thousands of victims.

  CHAPTER 17

  A Pot of Stew

  It was a well-known fact among the prisoners that unless a door opened for you, it was impossible to get out of Auschwitz alive. My head wound was, ironically, exactly the door that I needed. It had saved me from the rigorous work on the Landwirtschaft Kommando. But even that opportunity would not have been possible without the immediate first aid I received from Under-Kapo Stasek, who stopped the bleeding and arranged for my delivery to the surgery in barrack 21. Without his initiative, my story would have ended in that scrubby field of tree stumps. I also owed my life to Dr. Orzeszko, who not only operated on my wound but also took me off the stretcher before I was sent to the gas chamber in Birkenau.

  I worked in the operating room for six months, and my structured daily routines allowed me to survive away from the severe hard labour and the threat of the SS guards and the Kapos. Dr. Orzeszko was a dedicated and skilful surgeon who was respected by his peers and the Polish political prisoners of Auschwitz I. I suspected that he also played an integral role in the Polish underground in the camp, a fact that was later confirmed by his family.

  A short while after I started working in the operating room, Dr. Orzeszko opened a pantry door and showed me shelves loaded with food supplies, including loaves of bread, salami, onions, potatoes, carrots, salt and pepper, and a large cooking pot. I was astounded at this bonanza—more food than I’d seen since I left my home in April 1944. He told me how to prepare a stew with all the provisions, and how to use the autoclave as a pressure cooker. I salivated at the scent of the cooking food. Of course, there was always the worry that the aroma would give us away, so this activity was done after all the operations were finished and the SS officer in charge of the barracks had left for the night. The meal was ready in less than an hour, and in no time I felt that my stomach was so full it might burst. I couldn’t believe that I’d just had a bowl of goulash in Auschwitz! The leftovers were locked in the pantry and consumed the next day. The ingredients for our stews were sent by the chief cook, and I knew that I was one of the privileged few who had access to such provisions. The extra calories made a huge difference in my overall health and stamina, and this nourishment was key to my survival.

  Dr. Orzeszko, like other Polish political prisoners, was allowed to receive small monthly care packages containing food and other supplies. He was also allowed to receive and write one letter per month. When the doctor’s package was delivered to the operating room, he would open it with tremendous care, as if wanting to feel the love from his family members back home. I was happy for him, but it only reinforced the fact that Jewish inmates didn’t have this same privilege. There was no one left to send us these precious gifts.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Destruction of Crematorium 4

  The Sonderkommandos were Jewish inmates forced to work twelve-hour shifts disposing of the victims of the gas chambers. After each gassing procedure, they removed the bodies from the chambers, cut off the victims’ hair, extracted gold crowns from their mouths, and cut open body orifices in search of treasure that might have been ingested or hidden. (Even the hair had economic value, because the Nazis could make it into fabric.) This was the most gruesome and soul-destroying job that any human could endure. And if the work itself wasn’t bad enough, the Nazis gassed the Sonderkommandos every sixty days to ensure that there were no witnesses to their crimes, so the men knew their own deaths were imminent.

  On October 7, 1944, Crematorium 4 was blown up by the Sonderkommandos. They had fashioned rudimentary explosives from gunpowder, which they’d obtained from women inmates who worked in the Weichsel-Union-Metallwerke factory. They’d also prepared Molotov cocktails. When a unit of SS men came in to oversee their execution, the inmates threw the Molotov cocktails at them, killing several of them, and then blew up the crematorium. In the chaos that followed, the Sonderkommandos broke out through the gate and ran toward the perimeter of the camp. Guards began shooting at them, and large reinforcements of SS units were immediately organized and sent in pursuit. They shot down most of the men. Of the approximately six hundred Sonderkommando inmates involved in the rebellion, only six managed to escape through the three cordons around the camp into the nearby forest.

  As a result of this uprising, the inmates of Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II were made to stand at appel all night as a form of collective punishment. Many simply dropped and died from exhaustion. As I stood, I was not only exhausted but also extremely fearful of other consequences, and when we were finally dismissed, I was relieved to go back to the operating room to continue my daily duties.

  The Nazi officials immediately launched an investigation to determine how the Sonderkommandos had managed to get a hold of the explosive powder. The makeup of the powder was specific to each factory, and the evidence led them to Weichsel-Union-Metallwerke, where hundreds of women from Birkenau were working as slave labourers. Eventually, the Gestapo were able to identify four young women, and these women were brought to barrack 11 at Auschwitz I for interrogation. We heard nothing more until January 5, 1945, when the entire camp was assembled in front of the gallows in Auschwitz l. There were many SS guard units lined up to form a barrier between the inmates and the gallows, and the Lagerkommandant soon arrived with his own personal SS guards to oversee the executions. As I looked at the nooses hanging from the gallows, I had no idea who the victims would be. Finally, guards brought out the women. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and their faces were black and blue. But they held their heads high as they walked to the gallows platform, where the nooses were then placed around their necks. To prolong the agony, they were hanged one at a time. But before they died, each one of them spoke, in a clear and loud voice, two Hebrew words: “Chaza
k V’Amatz” (Be strong and courageous). These women were Ester Wajcblum, Regina Safirsztain, Ala Gertner, and Roza Robota.

  They stood tall and unafraid on the gallows and died bravely. The thousands of assembled inmates were outraged and the emotion was palpable; I felt that just one outburst from someone could have transformed us into action. But we, who were already so beaten down, could only react to this indignity with a collective deep groan. I felt ashamed that we could not respond more appropriately to the heroic actions of the four women.

  As soon as the hangings were complete, the Lagerkomman-dant was hastily escorted out of the camp and the SS units waded into the mass of prisoners, yelling and beating us in an attempt to move us all back into the barracks. The Nazis, with this action, were sending us the message that they were still in control. We of course were at their mercy, with no physical stamina or weapons with which to fight.

  But there was a new feeling of urgency in the air. Our daily activities had slowed considerably. Many factories had closed down, and the machinery had been transported back to Germany. Military trucks were busy loading clothing, blankets, and other items from the barracks where these things were stored. The SS piled medical documents and registration cards in front of the barracks, then poured gasoline on them and burned the evidence. These fires continued burning for many days and nights. We heard rumours that the SS had blown up the three remaining gas chambers and crematoria, a development that I greeted with relief because I knew that as long as these engines of death were operational, I was at risk. The entire Auschwitz system was unravelling. Our workload in the operating room was down by almost 50 percent, and I had lots of spare time. But still I worried that I might have outlived my usefulness as a slave labourer, and I wondered what the Nazis would do to us as the Red Army drew near.

  ***

  Christmas and New Year’s 1944–45 were celebrated in Auschwitz I by prominent inmates and some SS soldiers in a barracks that was decorated with pine boughs, streamers, and posters that said “Fröliche Weihnachten” and “Fröliche Neues Jahr.” I joined the surgeons and doctors of barrack 21 at the celebration. Tables had been stocked with food, including salami, bloodwurst and liverwurst, cheese, bread, schnapps, and cigarettes. The guests at this party were Polish political prisoners, barracks elders, room elders, doctors, and Polish tradespeople, such as electricians and carpenters. The other participants included German and Austrian Kapos and under-Kapos. These men were criminals and asocials in their lives outside of Auschwitz, and they wore black and dark green triangles to distinguish them from other prisoners. The final group of guests were the SS Kommandants of the different work units. These were sergeants and lower ranks; there were no officers in this group. I estimated there were approximately one hundred people assembled in the room. The food was fast disappearing, and the mood was festive and the atmosphere convivial. Although I did not feel part of the celebration, the food was absolutely sustaining for me.

  In the spirit of the holidays, the guests sang “O Tannenbaum” (everyone seemed to know the German version), and afterward, the Austrians sang a song called “Wien, der Stadt meine Träume” (Vienna, the city of my dreams). After the songs, the room became melancholy. I observed the reactions of the three main groups. The Polish political prisoners were hopeful because they realized the war was coming to an end and they believed they would soon be reunited with their families; the SS soldiers were aware of the advancing Red Army, and they knew their futures were very uncertain; and the men in the third group, the criminals and killers who were our Kapos, were sad because they had nothing to look forward to and would no longer be in positions of power. I was the odd man out in this gathering. I felt neither hopeful nor sad, but I was preoccupied with the fear that the Nazis would kill us all before they left the camp. Unless I was liberated, there would be no happy ending for me. The war was near its end, but freedom seemed so far away.

  CHAPTER 19

  Death March

  Like many prisoners, I lived in hope that the Red Army would arrive in the next week or two and our nightmare would finally be over. On January 18, 1945, my hopes were dashed. Many inmates of satellite camps were brought into Auschwitz I, and the rumour went out that we were going to be evacuated. We didn’t know where this was going to end, and whether the Germans were going to execute us or let us go.

  Among the people brought in to barrack 21 were two brothers from my hometown who had been working in the coalmines at Buna, a satellite camp of Auschwitz I. They were in terrible shape and black from coal dust. They simply lay down on the floor of the barracks and said they could not get up again. I also saw, for the last time, the boy with the gunshot wound, whom Dr. Gordon had nursed back to health and taught to speak again. The boy, like the brothers, was not strong enough to join the departing prisoners. They stayed behind, and in fact were liberated one week later by the advancing Russian army.

  That evening, SS men combed the camp and shouted for everyone to line up. We were told we were being moved to another camp—a move for which I had no time to prepare. I had only my light jacket and cap, but thankfully I still had my sturdy boots with their now-worn soles; many of the marchers had nothing but wooden clogs, which made it virtually impossible to walk.

  It was an eerie night with fires burning all around and Russian airplanes dropping magnesium flares that lit up the camp. I could hear artillery in the distance. Before we exited through the gate, we were given a chunk of bread for our journey. Approximately twenty thousand of us were ordered to form ourselves into rows of five with our arms hooked together. Outside the gates, the SS guards and their attack dogs positioned themselves on each side of this enormous column. It was bitter cold and there was a lot of snow on the ground. I was on the outside left of my row. Those who fell out of the column were immediately shot in the head by the guards, who were determined not to leave any prisoners behind.

  In the chaos of our rushed departure, I lost contact with all the doctors of barrack 21. I was alone and I realized that this march would be the ultimate test of my endurance. My body was in a cold sweat, my feet were soaking wet, and my light jacket and pants were also damp. The only thing that gave me a little warmth was a paper cement bag that I’d managed to retrieve as we passed a construction site. I ripped holes in the bottom and the two sides to create a vest, then slipped it over my head. We were constantly prodded to move faster because the SS did not want the column to stretch out too far, making it difficult to guard. The five of us in my row realized that we needed to march in unison, with our arms hooked together, in order to conserve our strength. We could not waste energy on anyone who would weigh us down, because it was difficult enough to carry our own bodies.

  The second night was starless, but the snow made it possible to see the faint contours of the trees on my side of the column. On the other side, there was a large open area without trees. Suddenly I heard popping sounds coming from a distance, and I could see something that looked like fireflies coming toward us. They were tracer bullets, and I could hear the impact as they hit many marchers on my right side. Everyone panicked and pushed over to the left. I was overrun by the mob and thrown into a ditch, and many marchers landed on top of me. I was pinned down and unable to move, but I kept my cool and tried not to panic. The guards shouted for us to get up and keep marching, and the tone of their shouting suggested that they were scared of losing control of us. Those who were injured in the attack were shot on the spot.

  We were the unfortunate victims of Red Army scouts, or perhaps partisans who had mistakenly taken us for retreating German army units. When I finally emerged from the ditch, I couldn’t find the other four marchers from my row, so I tried to move as far as possible to the front of the column. It was more dangerous to be in the back with the stragglers, who were systematically picked off by the guards. I sweated profusely from the exertion of marching through deep snow, and my ears, hands, and nose were frostbitten. I had to find some way to protect my skin. As we marched on, I rea
lized that one person in my row had succumbed and was dead. Before we let go of him, we stripped off his jacket and tore it into strips; I used my strips to cover my head and ears. I felt like a vulture, but I told myself that this person didn’t need his jacket anymore. This was an act of self-preservation.

  As the sun rose over the snow on the third day, the landscape was strangely beautiful. There were thousands of inmates in front of me and thousands behind me, and on both sides the SS guards cursed and shouted. Where were they taking us? What was the point? At midday, we exited a forested area and came to a village, where I could see houses with smoke rising from their chimneys. I thought about the warmth inside these houses and imagined normal people having their lunch. How wonderful a cup of tea would taste right then! All I could do was grab a handful of snow to keep myself sustained. As we entered the village, we were ordered to squeeze closer together because of the narrow streets. The guards were alert for people who might try to escape. I thought of the doctors from barrack 21. They could have slipped away easily because they were in their homeland and spoke the native tongue. I could not take this risk. Instead, I had to march on, and as I did, more people fell away from the column and the gunshots became more frequent. The byways in occupied Poland were strewn with the bodies of those who could not endure this death march.

  Later in the day, as we neared a crossroads, I saw a farmer sitting on a sled pulled by two beautiful horses. The bells on their harness were ringing as they waited impatiently for the large column to pass. I remembered those cold winter mornings from my childhood, when farmers came to town and I would jump on the runners of their sleds to hitch a ride to school. Would I ever hitch a ride again? I grabbed another handful of snow and continued to put one foot in front of the other. Surely, I thought, we would stop soon. While I was determined to carry on, the dark nights were extremely difficult and my spirit was at a low ebb.