By Chance Alone Page 6

  CHAPTER 7

  The Train

  In the spring of 1944, three weeks after we’d arrived in the brickyard, the Nazis began to liquidate this temporary transit camp. Several transports had already left for the “east.” I was chosen with some others to clean up the sheds where the deportees had been housed. I found coins and other articles that people had left behind—only the coins were of value to me. My family and I were told to get ready for the third transport. We also had to leave behind valuable possessions because we knew that the cramped space in a cattle car would not allow for any extra baggage besides our minimal personal belongings.

  I was preoccupied with thoughts of the past. I remembered how, in 1942, my mother, my aunt, my siblings, and I were taken to the Karpathian Mountains and later sent home. This time, I was cognizant that there were additional members of our family on the transport—my grandfather; my grandmother, who was quite feeble; my nine-month-old sister, Judit—and I was very concerned about how we were all going to handle travelling in the cramped conditions of the first two transports I had seen being loaded.

  On the day of our departure, we picked up our meagre bundles and were taken to the loading area, where the cattle cars were waiting. There, we were met by the Hungarian gendarmes. After we were loaded into the cars, the train set off from the brickyard, which was in a suburb of Kassa, to the main railway station a short distance away. Once there, each car was given a pail of drinking water and an empty pail to use as a toilet. Then the doors were closed and bolted down. My gut told me we were in danger. What was happening to us and where were we going to end up?

  In my childhood, trains represented stability. Every morning, when I heard the whistle of the train that brought distant students to my town, I knew it was time to walk to school with my friends. And every afternoon, the train whistled again as it took the students back to their homes, signalling that school was out. The train also took me away on summer holidays to my mother’s family’s farm in Kolbašov; my uncle Herman was always waiting at the station with a carriage and two prancing horses. I would sit on the buckboard beside him and take the reins—such an exuberant and liberating feeling.

  The contrast between those happy memories and my departure from the brickyard on this transport couldn’t have been more pronounced. One hundred people and their bundles were crammed into each car. We were stuck together, standing room only, and could hardly breathe properly because the heat generated by our bodies made the air unbearable. The situation was dehumanizing, debilitating, and devastating, both psychologically and physically. There was only a small barred opening near the ceiling for ventilation. The water was gone almost immediately, and it was never replaced. The toilet pail was not emptied because the door was never opened, and the stench infused the entire car. Our bundles of belongings, left on the floor, were also overrun with waste.

  I couldn’t get close to my parents and they couldn’t protect me. I felt alone, overwhelmed by the stench of urine and fecal matter. I couldn’t relieve myself because the car was so tightly packed and lacked privacy. The moans of people who were claustrophobic or in pain were very unsettling. When I relive these memories today, I have nightmarish thoughts about my mother, who was holding my still-breastfeeding nine-month-old sister. I can’t imagine how she managed without food and water. My two younger brothers, only eight and ten years old, must have found it terrifying to be squeezed and surrounded by taller people.

  Some things I will never forget about the journey: the smell of smoke, the sound of the locomotive as it built up steam to pull the thirty to forty loaded cars, the clicking of the wheels as they hit the joints of the rails. On the first day, the train stopped to refuel with coal and water for the locomotive. We screamed out to our guards, begging for water for ourselves. They told us to throw out jewellery in exchange. Some discussion took place, and soon several people threw pieces of hidden jewellery through a small opening in the car. Once the gendarmes got the valuables, they simply walked away without honouring their promise. That first night in the car, I fell asleep standing up, lulled by the rhythm of the train. I awoke suddenly to the sound of the locomotive’s loud whistle; I thought I’d had a nightmare, but in reality I was living the nightmare.

  As the sun’s rays penetrated the opening the next morning, I felt somewhat better and thought there might still be some hope. But at the next stop, the person nearest to the small barred window, in the upper corner of the car, was hoisted up to see where we were. He told us the name of the station and we realized that we were now in occupied Poland, a shocking revelation because we’d expected to be resettled in the east. The feelings of desperation worsened. We travelled on for a second night and two people died. Their bodies remained in the car with us.

  The crying babies could no longer be heard by the third night, when the train finally came to a stop. Through the opening, we heard people speaking German. The cars were shuffled back and forth, and as the steel bumpers hit each other, a shock wave went through the entire train. We were all awake, a miserable bundle of human cargo.

  CHAPTER 8

  Arrival in Auschwitz II–Birkenau

  After three days of travel, I heard the doors of the other cattle cars being opened. I couldn’t wait for ours to open too. Nothing could be worse, I thought, than what I had experienced those three days, locked up in a living tomb. Finally, someone lifted the latch of our cattle car and the door was opened. Light flooded in, and people began moving about like dormant larvae stimulated by a sudden shock of light and noise. It was as if bright light had penetrated into a dark cave, forcing everyone inside to awaken from a three-day coma. A man wearing a striped cap, jacket, and pants yelled, “Raus schnell!” I knew some German, and I understood this to mean “Get out fast!” I thought any person who wore this sort of garb must be a criminal. Did they think we were criminals? Surely this was a mistake. “Raus schnell!” I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. I wanted to find my bundle, but everything was covered in human waste.

  Auschwitz II–Birkenau, showing the train ramp, four crematoria with gas chambers, fire pit, and the arrival ramp.

  The guardhouse and entrance to Auschwitz II–Birkenau.

  I was among the first pulled out of our cattle car, and my legs could hardly hold me up. I saw more men in striped outfits, as well as SS soldiers and officers dressed in sharp and shiny uniforms. Other people were also hauled out of the car, including my mother with my baby sister in her arms, my grandparents, and my uncle and aunt. We were all numb from the shock of the journey, and confused by the harsh orders that were being barked at us.

  At the end of the platform there was a plume of fire, and I thought we were at some kind of factory. I recognized the same odour I smelled at home whenever the blacksmith put a burning shoe on a horse’s hoofs, and I concluded it was burning flesh. Beyond the floodlit platform, all was dark. The men in the striped outfits told us that our bundles would be delivered to us the next day. Forcefully and systematically, they separated the men and women into two columns. All older males and children were sent over to the women’s line. The men in the striped outfits kept telling us that we would see each other in the morning. There were no goodbyes spoken here.

  I found myself in the men’s line with my father and my uncle. My grandfather, my grandmother, my mother (still holding baby Judit), my two younger siblings, and my aunt were all marched away in the other group. Everything happened swiftly and we had no time to think. I didn’t have an opportunity to speak to my mother—nor did our eyes ever meet—and I wasn’t able to say goodbye to her. We simply moved forward in a single column toward an SS officer wearing white gloves. He looked at each person and indicated with a flick of his hands whether that person should go right or left. My father went first, then my uncle, and then me. He sent me to the same group as my father and uncle. We were guarded by SS soldiers and marched through a forest of birch trees with the other selected men. Along the way, I observed a large fire at ground level some distace a
way, and from my perspective it seemed that people were jumping into the flames. When I asked my father if this could be possible, he quickly told me to keep quiet and continue walking. We entered a building called the Sauna, where more men in striped outfits ordered us to hand over any remaining documents and jewellery, and then told us to strip naked. They took our clothes away but permitted us to keep our boots.

  In the next stage of processing, our hair was cut from our heads, underarms, and groins by yet more men in striped uniforms. They had numbers and triangles printed on strips of cloth and sewn on their jackets. The man in charge of this unit wore a band on his arm that said “Kapo” (boss). The Kapo lined up the older people and had his men check if any had gold crowns or fillings in their teeth. Those who did were taken aside, and their teeth were extracted on the spot with a pair of pliers. Meanwhile, the rest of us were ordered to bend over to have our rectums checked for hidden items.

  The next stage was the showers. I had never seen a shower before in my life, and I was in awe of the installation. There were numerous showerheads and large wheels that controlled the flow of the hot and cold water. Although I had been in a mikvah (ritual bath) at home, it was intimidating to be in a large group of naked strangers. We had to lay our boots on the edge of the shower while we bathed; my father, my uncle, and I kept a good eye on ours because we had custom-made boots that would last for a long time. Suddenly, the Kapo and his helpers started to collect them. My father warned us when he saw this, and we quickly grabbed our boots and kept them under our arms while we showered. Had we lost those boots, our lives would have been even more at risk—if your feet were not protected, you would be unable to work and would be selected for gassing. Those who lost theirs were lucky if they got a pair of wooden clogs instead. These clogs were more like a piece of wood with a canvas top stapled to it, and they were damaging to the feet. Our boots were treasures that we had to guard day and night.

  The cruelty of the SS guards first became apparent in the shower room. While we were washing, a soldier stood by one of the big wheels that controlled the water temperature. For sport, he turned it on to scalding. As we tried to jump away to avoid getting burned, another soldier with a truncheon would beat us to get back under the flow. Then the first soldier turned the water freezing cold.

  A young man who was showering with us held his eyeglasses in his hands. They had very thick lenses and he was obviously short-sighted. The rush of water washed his glasses right out of his grasp, and when he got down on his knees to try to find them, a guard came over and kicked him in the side of the head with his jackboot. The young man rolled over and the guard stomped on his chest. I could hear the cracking of ribs. The guard, who was now in a frenzy, continued to stomp on the man until he was dead. The rest of us carried on washing as if nothing had happened, but I was shocked and terrified. To this day, I can’t figure out what precipitated the guard’s horrible act. Perhaps he thought seeing a naked man on his hands and knees was comical, and he wanted to humiliate him.

  After the showers, we were marched to our barracks with our boots on but without any clothes. Inside there were rows of triple-tier bunks with no mattresses or blankets. After three days of standing in the cattle car, it felt wonderful to lie down in a horizontal position, even if it was on wooden planks. I tried to process the events of the few hours since our arrival, but I couldn’t understand the evil of these guards. I was worried about what the future had in store for me. I felt numb. This was my initiation to Auschwitz-Birkenau.

  ***

  I was awoken suddenly from my short sleep to loud banging and shouts of “Raus schnell!” We were on the top bunk. Father jumped down first, then me, and then finally my uncle. The Kapos ordered us out of the barracks. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and I found myself looking at hundreds of barracks, thousands of emaciated people behind barbed-wire fences, and dozens of guard towers where SS soldiers manned machine guns and searchlights. Nearby, there were four huge chimneys belching angry red flames and smoke. The smell of burning flesh that had first overwhelmed me when I exited the cattle car still permeated the air. I could not fathom the immense size of this place, and I thought that we must be in a large industrial area. My father told me to move fast if I heard the Kapo’s orders, because otherwise they would beat me.

  Tables were set up in front of our barracks, and two men sat at each one. They ordered us to come to the table nearest us in single file. Again, my father went first, I was next, and my uncle was last. The first man asked my name, my place and date of birth, what languages I spoke, my height and weight, and the colour of my hair. The next man tattooed a number on my left arm: A-9892. My father’s number was A-9891 and my uncle’s was A-9893. Wherever we went, I was always between them; they were my guardian angels.

  Nearby, there were piles of striped pants, jackets, and caps. I was handed one of each and put them on, but they didn’t fit well. We had no socks or underwear, no belt or suspenders to hold up our pants. From a pile of unattended dirty rags, my father managed to find a pair of trousers, and with his teeth and fingers he ripped off strips of material that he twisted into belts for me, my uncle, and himself. We stripped more pieces of cloth and wrapped them around our feet in place of socks. We also kept a small piece to use as a wipe in lieu of toilet paper. My father and uncle were inventive, and they taught me how to survive under these horrific conditions.

  Once I put on these striped prisoner’s clothes, I felt like I was no longer a human being, only a number. On two strips of white material, prisoner workers stamped a Star of David with my number. As we proceeded down the line, they used needle and thread to stitch one strip on the front left side on the jacket and the other on the back. Different groups had different triangles: political prisoners got a red triangle (with a P for Polish or F for French, etc.), Roma people had a brown triangle, Jehovah’s Witnesses a violet triangle, homosexuals a pink triangle, habitual criminals a green triangle, and so-called asocials a black triangle. Out of all these groups, we Jews were on the lowest rung of the ladder in the camp hierarchy.

  Soon, two prisoners arrived carrying a large canister of hot tea, my first food or drink in days. They gave us metal dishes, lined us up, and portioned out the tea. It tasted quite different from what I was used to at home. My father asked these men if we would see our families that day. They laughed at him, pointed to one of the chimneys spewing flames, and asked, “Where did you come from?”

  My father replied, “We arrived from Hungary in the middle of the night.”

  The prisoner said, “It’s 1944 and you don’t know what this place is all about? Your families have gone up through the chimney.” This was camp vernacular to describe being gassed and cremated.

  At that moment, I’m sure Father realized that my mother and the rest of our family had been murdered soon after our arrival, but it took me a few days to understand the processes of this killing machine. Until I learned more about the existence of the gas chambers, I assumed that they had been burned alive. I was devastated, but I was under such threat at every moment that I could not dwell on the loss of my family during the day. I could think only of work, food, and physical survival. My father and uncle never spoke of the deaths, so when I thought of my family while I lay in my bunk at night, I was alone with my grief. In truth, it was easier to exist in a state of denial than to face this horrible reality.

  After the prison workers tattooed our numbers on our left arms and inscribed them on our clothing, they lined us up once more. An officer yelled out, “Doctors and lawyers, raise your hands!” Those who did were ordered to step out of the formation and were taken away. Next, he asked for farmers. Many of us raised our hands. My father knew from his time in the labour battalions that working on a farm would give us access to potatoes, turnips, or beets. The guards selected a hundred men, including the three of us.

  I was hungry, thirsty, and completely shocked by how my life was changing minute by minute and hour by hour. Everything about this place w
as threatening and filled me with fear, and now we were told that we were going to a different camp. I wondered if the new camp would be similar to Birkenau.

  The guards marched us several kilometres down the road to Auschwitz I. En route, we passed a group of women with shaved heads and striped dresses; they were harnessed to a huge cement roller that they pulled to grade the road. Some had dilapidated shoes, some wooden clogs or sandals, and some were barefoot. The SS women guards were whipping them and yelling, “Schnell! Faster, you damn Jews!” The soles of the feet of the women without shoes had been ripped to shreds, and the rocks they walked upon were covered with their blood. The SS women were large and bursting out of their uniforms, and the contrast between them and their skeletal prisoners was striking. I couldn’t help wondering if we would be treated the same way.

  CHAPTER 9

  Arbeit Macht Frei

  Our group of about one hundred men arrived at Auschwitz I in early May 1944 with only one cup of tea in our bellies. We entered the camp through a large metal gate with the words “Arbeit macht frei” (Work sets you free) overtop of it. Near the gate, there was a guardhouse bustling with SS soldiers and attack dogs. My first glimpse of the barbed-wire fences and the prison-like red-brick buildings sent shudders down my spine. Once we passed through the gate, I looked to the right and saw an all-male orchestra. These men played marching music when we left for work in the morning and again when we returned in the evening. I was uplifted by the sound of the music, and my body responded to its tempo. How could such beautiful music coexist with the ominous camp in the background?