INSIDE THE CATTLE WAGON

For the second time in less than two weeks I found myself inside in a hermetically closed cattle wagon. Although I had already experienced it once, the slamming shut of the heavy doors and the horrible feeling of being locked in, brought shivers all over my body. Only a person who went through such a terrible experience is able to comprehend the horror of such a moment.

For a short while until the first shock was replaced by a sense of reality, the wagon with all its inmates got engulfed in a deadly silence. Then as expected from a hungry group of young men, most of us swiftly managed to consume the entire ration which was supposed to last us for the remainder of the voyage.

Surprisingly calm and collected like normal human beings we selected one of the older inmates to act as the supervisor and the head of our wagon. His main duty was to evenly distribute the sparse but much needed water, which he managed to perform in a way completely unexpected under such circumstances.

Having gained the confidence of every one in the wagon, he proposed to have a couple or three guys on steady watch at the little barred window, in case some good samaritan at passing by rail stations would be kind enough and willing to take chances and help us with some food or water.

The train was moving very slowly and often stopping between stations. Those constant stoppages added to the heating up of the wagon. After a while the constantly burning sun caused an unbearable stickiness. On the second day of our constantly disrupted journey, we were left with no drop of drinking water. There was also no sign of any help from the outside, though we saw many farmers peacefully working their fields without even throwing a glimpse in our direction.

When we crossed the border into Czechoslovakia things changed drastically. Farmers, without any fear of armed guards at the roof tops of our wagons, kept on throwing into the little windows of our wagons all kinds of fruits and vegetables. Surprisingly enough the guards seemed in general to ignore them, although some did shout some warnings mixed with obscenities in the German language.

From time to time our guys on duty next to the windows did catch some of those goodies, which were eventually fairly divided between all of us. This little help, although immensely appreciated did not drastically change our ever more desperate situation .

The ration of black bread and especially the spicy blood wurst, which was given to us before boarding, must have been especially designed complying with the official Nazi tortures. Consuming such items inside an over heated wagon with very little water to help it digest, turned out dangerous indeed. My mouth and tongue felt like on fire, and my desire for a drop of water became unbearable. I suppose that all of us had the same horrible feeling. But there was no water in sight.

I recall one time receiving a slice of onion, part of our daily catches. Being extremely hungry and thirsty, I eagerly consumed a large piece of this hot produce. Although it added to the terrible dryness inside my mouth, I was nevertheless grateful to the people who threw in even this kind of produce, because the tears running down my cheeks wetted my dried out lips a bit.

Sitting on the wagon’s bare floor, which was a little less crowded than Tadek’s barrack, many thoughts were crossing my mind. Some of those thoughts concerned my recent past and others my uncertain future. For a fraction of a second I could not help thinking about the dense and wholesome soup we supposed to have been served once a day at Birkenau, but during all the seven days at Auschwitz I managed to consume only one of those soups. As another one of the Nazi tortures, just minutes before the arrival of the soup, we were called to the plaza to go through some kind of selection.

I also could not help thinking about the fact that throughout the whole journey through Czechoslovakia we constantly received some kind of help from the Czeck people. Sadly enough no such help was granted to us while passing Polish farms and villages. Our country men in spite of our pleading for help completely ignored us.

I don't really recall how many days and nights it took our train to reach the next point of our torturous journey. The only difference which I experienced from day changing into night was the fact that during the nights it was a bit easier to breathe. During those periods I managed a few hours of restful sleep, from time to time however disturbed by horrible nightmares.

After so many years I'm still puzzled by the fact that after reaching our destination we all managed to survive this horrific journey. Although hardly standing on our feet, we didn't count a single casualty. I think that this phenomenon could be attributed to the young age of those inmates and perhaps most of all to our will to live and sheer perseverance.

CHAPTER 9

ARRIVAL AT MUNICH, GERMANY (THEN CAMP4-KAUFERING)

After several days of indescribable misery our train finally came to a halt at an isolated ramp at the central station of Munich. Dressed in our grey and blue striped prisoner’s garb, surrounded by dozens of Nazi troops, our presence at the station seemed quite a normal sight to the hundreds of seemingly busy and self absorbed German travellers.

After disembarking I was quite surprised by the relatively subdued reception we received. There was no shouting or any sort of verbal or physical abuse. Another, and at the time more important surprise to us all, were the countless barrels of fresh water placed around the platform.

In a very uncommon orderly fashion, the military guards were dividing us into small groups forming line-ups close to the water barrels from which we were allowed to drink as much as we pleased. Refreshed and almost brought back to normality and in a much heightened mood. We became even more encouraged by a short speech delivered by the commanding officer. Walking with one stiff leg, seemingly a war invalid, this well mannered officer promised us very soon to reach our final destination, where we will immediately receive food rations and a chance to rest up "after this very difficult journey of yours."

Shortly after, a regular passenger train replaced our cattle wagons.

While we were again in an orderly fashion boarding the trains, I could not help looking again at the seemingly untouched by the war huge train station crowded with normally behaving travellers, seemingly quite happy at a time when most of occupied Europe was lying in ruins.

Presently surprised by our initial welcome on German soil and having my twin brother next to me while sitting on quite comfortable seats, I truly anticipated at least a bit better times ahead of us. Intoxicated by a couple of well calculated gestures by our torturers, we all seemed foolish enough or perhaps just naive to think that the Nazis have suddenly changed their policy towards the Jews.

DACHAU-CAMP 4 KAUFERING

It took us no more than an hour to arrive at the train station of a little town named Kaufering, where we again in a quite orderly fashion disembarked. Under loud orders by the limping commander we formed military-like groups. Each of those groups was escorted by several armed troops who marched with us in formation to our final destination.

In the early afternoon of September 1st, 1944 after about half an hour of brisk walking we arrived at the camp’s gates.

As all the time through the last several weeks, this day was also quite warm and the sun was constantly shining from an entirely cloudless blue sky. The paved road on our march to the camp, was shadowed by rows of large trees on each side which made it easier and quite refreshing for us to walk. However the beautiful houses and villas visible behind those trees filled us not only with envy but also with considerable anger.

The guards at the camp gates were helmeted SS men with pointed rifles directly at us. Dozens of more guards were lined up next to several wooden barracks and more were visible on top of countless towers placed a small distance away from each other. The entire camp was surrounded by tall, barbed wire fences.

All I saw besides those few wooden barracks were countless rows of huts, usually used by farmers to store produce during the winter seasons.

My first impression therefore seemed quite logical: "We are here to do farm labor." Not for a second did it occur to me that all those partially underground huts are going to be our homes for the next eight months.

Passing by row after row of those huts we reached a huge gravelled but again somehow muddy field, soon to be known to us as the "Appellplatz", the place for our dally head counts. Direct supervision over the new arrivals was immediately delegated to capos, who were already waiting for us. They were chosen from among inmates who were already in camp before us.

The limping officer with his troops was already out of sight. After a while it became clear to us that this camp is entirely being ruled by the SS and dozens of capos.

THE OFFICIAL WELCOME

The "appellplatz" was filled to full capacity. While waiting again in military formation for the arrival of the camp Fuehrer and his assistants, the ghosts of Auschwitz appeared again all over the place. The shouting by the stick-wielding capos, their obscene language and the abusing treatment toward their fellow inmates, have dashed all our hopes for a more humane treatment.

A loud shout of "Achtung", followed by "hats off" by one of the capos, brought me back to full reality. It was already in the late afternoon and the sun was already disappearing beside the clearly visible mountains in a distance away.

Several high-ranking SS officers followed by two civilians came out from an adjoining wooden barrack and stopped several meters in front of the first row of inmates. One of the two civilians, a tall handsome man in his early thirties stepped foreward and introduced himself as the camp eldest. Afterwards he introduced to us the SS camp Fuehrer followed by the names of a couple of his lower ranking SS officers.

With the other civilian who turned out to be Rolf, the head camp capo, Hans, the camp eldest finished the introductions followed by a short but most disturbing speech: "You are here to do honest work, but don't expect to be pampered. As long as you are going to follow strict orders and behave properly, you might have a chance to survive in this place about three months, and sometimes more ... Otherwise you are going to die much sooner."

Soon after this most disturbing sermon we were ordered to put our caps back on. Divided again into groups this time about fifty inmates in each one, we were led by capos to our designated quarters.

BLOCK EIGHTEEN

Coincidentally of course the number of my designated hut was the same as the number of Tadek’s barrack in Birkenau. To describe my new home is not going to be a too heavy task. After stepping down about four or five steps, a small gate was leading into an approximately eight to ten metres long and about four metres wide chamber. On both sides divided only by a narrow passage were wooden platforms. On each of these platforms which were completely bare, I noticed just a number of grey blankets supposedly one for each inmate. On the far end of the hut there was one small window. Next to the window a tiny wooden table with two chairs was standing, probably for the convenience of our block eldest and his helper. At the center of the unpaved floor, a small wood burner was placed probably in preparation for the coming winter. This oven made it more difficult to squeeze through the extremely narrow passage. An extremely small-voltage electric bulb was hanging down on a wire attached to the ceiling, just over the wood burner. Needless to say that the place was besides being utterly depressing, very poorly lit.

The "block eldest," a French Jew named Jacob, with the same filthy and abusive mouth as most of the capos, ordered each one of us to lie down next to a blanket. Soon about twenty five inmates on each platform were resting on a plain wooden board next to each other. Without a pillow to rest my tired head, I substituted it with my blanket and stretched myself out on the wooden platform. 602)

During the entire time at Birkenau including the several days’ journey to Munich I had not been able to stretch out my legs. But finally on this wooden platform, which was going to serve me as a bed I fully stretched out and over tired, exhausted and weak from the long and stressful journey, I dozed off. My brother next to me was already engulfed in a deep sleep.

Our hut which normally was supposed to serve farmers with their crops was now serving as a permanent home for about fifty inmates,

Loud orders shouted through the loud speakers, calling for the block eldeste to pick up the food rations, awaked all of us. Being without any or very little food for the last several days I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of some food, no matter what. However this time surprisingly we received a meal far above our wildest expectations.

A MEAL FIT FOR A KING

The block eldest assisted by two helpers had to make a couple of trips to the kitchen in order to bring the full day’s rations. It was already dark when the food began to be distributed. I was simply flabbergasted and indeed overjoyed by the amount and quality of the food received. First our containers were filled up to the rim with non-peeled large boiled potatoes, and on a second plate every one of us received one third of a loaf of fresh bread in addition to a large piece of Polish sausage. If this was not enough they also gave to everyone of us a small triangle shaped piece of cheese and a large slice of margarine.

The first time in many years I had completely consumed in one sitting such a generous and sumptuous meal. This place seemed unpredictable indeed. With a full stomach, utterly satisfied and more optimistic than ever before I fell asleep on the wooden platform.

For the next several days we were resting most of the time enjoying our still sumptuous meals and the continuing beautiful weather. Several times a day I freely ventured out of the hut for a refreshing walk admiring the breathtaking view of the faraway Alps which on a clear day were fully visible. Apparently on the other side of those mountains was the enviable country of Switzerland.

The tranquility of those precious restful outings were from time to time interrupted by the "head capo." As if to wake us up from our present dreams and letting us know that we are living with imaginary illusions, Rolf an extremely tall and strong Mischling, (half Jewish and half German), performed this task with visible pleasure. Rolf’s apparent daily enjoyment during his walks around the camp, was to pick one inmate out of a group of ten and giving the unfortunate chosen one several lashes on his behind with some sort of a bamboo stick.

After the initial several days of our illusionary affluence, the unprecedented daily rations began gradually to shrink.

Very soon, approximately after on week of relative rest, on one late afternoon we were suddenly called to the Appell Platz. Without previous notice we were told that we are scheduled for night shift at a construction company, which is going to start this very evening.

It was just before night fall when several open trucks were lined up in front of the camp’s gate. In sharp contrast to the last several days, a group of several hundred inmates, my brother and myself included, had again to endure mental and physical abuse by capos and armed guards who shoved us onto the empty tracks shouting the well known obscenities.

Unfortunately the September night was unusually cold, especially for us who were dressed in pajama like prisoners garb. A brisk wind added a lot to the chill. Standing on top of the trucks we tried to form small groups and stand close to each other’s backs in order to resist the wind and cold. We were all shivering and literally freezing until finally after about an hour’s drive we reached the construction site.

A brightly lit billboard on top of a large gate clearly announced the name of our future bosses: "Leonard Moll construction-Munchen". Next to it a smaller sign read "Holtzman construction and architecture." (or something similar).

We entered into a tremendously large and seemingly quite busy construction site, surrounded on all sides by a dense forest and barbed wire fences. There were also visible some towers with armed guards.

The place was buzzing like a beehive. Rail tracks all over the place were handling trains moving in all directions, loaded with thousands of sacks of cement and other building materials. Trucks with other materials were being loaded and unloaded. The heavy sacks of cement were being handled and carried on the backs by scores of inmates who were in the process of ending their day shift. Most of the inmates working at this place were inmates of the many outside camps affiliated with Dachau.

As usual viciously shouting capos and foreman were urging their laborers to move faster with their loads while trying to please their always present Nazi bosses. Those misguided and weak characters were convinced that by forcing others to work harder, their own chances to survive would be assured.

Judging by the location as well as by the scores of armed and helmeted SS troops, the work going on at this place was obviously of a secret character.

Adding credence to this assumption were the always present high-ranking "Luftwaffe" (air force) officers who were apparently supervising the whole enterprise.

My brother and I were assigned to a group who were forced to carry twenty five kilo sacks of cement from the trucks to a point where they were erecting some sort of underground bunkers. Under threats of severe punishment, we had to be exceptionally careful not to drop or spill any cement on the ground. On one of those constant trips from the trucks to the bunkers, my brother lost his balance and dropped a sack which unfortunately split in half on the ground. This was the first severely vicious beating he received on the first day of our work at the construction company. And this was just the beginning.

From that day on we continued our slave labor, alternating each week from day shifts to night shifts.

The ever colder weather, the extremely hard labor and the steadily diminishing daily food rations in addition to the terrible sanitary conditions were among the many causes of the already rising mortality rate among the new arrivals. Only several weeks after we arrived to this hellish place, many of my former friends had already died and others became walking skeletons, unable to perform any work.

Although relatively in good shape I was plagued by several nasty boils on my left shoulder, obviously caused by sleeping on the bare wooden platform. When they finally covered those platforms with a layer of sawdust, the boils on my shoulder were fully developed and causing severe pain. Not being able to endure the severe pain, I was forced to let a former male nurse or whatever other experience he had in such cases, cut open the boils and give a chance to the accumulating puss to ooze out.

This self appointed doctor performed his surgery with a plain knife and bandaged the wounds with some kind of white paper. The pain actually almost disappeared and miraculously the remaining wounds healed up after only a couple of weeks. From time to time however some of the scars reopened, discharging some puss or blood and eventually healing up again. These occurrences happened quite often and caused besides pain, quite a bit of discomfort. The truth is that at that time I considered this affliction an unimportant problem in comparison to the daily sufferings I had to endure.

Every single day became a separate struggle. The work at the construction site could only be described as slave labor. Before each shift whether night or day, my prayers were directed at one crucial point, namely not to be picked for work inside the bunkers. It seems that my prayers were only partially answered because I was only assigned to this place a couple of times. The work inside the bunker consisted of pushing with some heavy stick, the flowing concrete. Countless inmates who were already too weak to hold on to the narrow platforms of the bunkers walls slipped and fell into the deep concrete mud from where they were never pulled out. Truly to describe in detail the first three months in camp 4-Kaufering-Dachau and the slave labor at Leonard Moll construction company, I could fill up a thousand pages and still not be able to tell all.

So I will just describe the events of the end of the first three months. At the beginning of this chapter I quoted from the welcoming speech of our camp leader, Hans, who was also a Mishling like his friend, Rolf. Hans then issued a warning to the new arrivals telling us that with good behavior and hard work we might have a chance to survive up to three months. This is exactly what actually happened. After three months to the day, during a thorough selection of all the surviving inmates, a small group of about two hundred young men considered still able enough to work, were transferred to camp 1-Landsberg-Dachau. The remaining survivors were unable to leave their huts where they were awaiting a slow death by starvation or diseases.

My brother and I were fortunate enough to be among the two hundred inmates, and were soon on our way to the new camp.

AGAIN SOME HELP FROM AN UNEXPLAINABLE SOURCE

Since our camp leaders welcoming speech turned out to be correct indeed, the logical question by anyone to ask is how my brother and myself had managed to survive the full three months, and still be able to continue working.

A logical question, of course, deserves a logical and truthful answer. However in my reply I will try to elaborate a bit more, instead of giving a short and simple answer.

As we all know, the Nazis conducted their diabolical final solution with a goal to exterminate the entire Jewish population of Europe. They were using two different methods and both with well prepared German precision.

The first method and the most efficient at the start was by simple killings. Hundreds of thousands of men, women and children were being shot by special Nazi troops and their bodies thrown into previously prepared mass graves. Those mass killings were eventually scientifically improved by using gas chambers and crematoriums.

The second system and even more calculated one was to use young men and women as slave laborers to help the Nazis in their war effort. Those victims of Nazi barbarism were working under most inhuman conditions, while being fed far less than the minimum a person needs to exist.

While they were performing their slave labor, the Germans inflicted on them incomprehensible suffering. They had to endure constant physical and mental abuse, suffering constant starvation and living under indescribable disgusting sanitary conditions, they had to endure all kinds of diseases, and epidemics without any medical help whatsoever. Hundreds of thousands of those victims had perished in concentration camps and so-called labor camps.

So it was quite clear that under those conditions nobody but nobody had a chance to survive in those camps without some additional help, no matter of how little or from what source.

Here is how my Brother and myself were able to survive the first three months at camp 4 Kaufering.

By the end of the second month in camp 4, my brother and I were already reaching the end of our physical endurance. By the start of the third month the camp leaders prediction started to show its ugly face. The death rate among the extremely overworked and starving inmates was steadily climbing. Fortunately for my brother and myself, just in time to block our sliding into a skeletal stage, some unexplainable occurrence took place. On one cold November night after arriving at the construction site, my brother and I were lucky enough to be picked for work other than carrying sacks of cement. We joined a small group of young men equipped with sharp axes and escorted by a German supervisor, we were led into the nearby dense forest. There our job for the night was to chop off branches from already cut down large trees.

The night, besides being exceptionally cold was also damp and foggy with very limited visibility. Poorly dressed, in only our thin prison uniforms, the only way to avoid freezing to death was working up a sweat, which meant working fast and as hard as possible.

It must have been a little past midnight when I heard a voice coming in my direction: "Come over here boy," someone addressed me in German. When I turned my head in the direction of the sound I noticed through the dense fog a tall figure of a military man. I was unable to see his face, but the figure in the darkness seemed slim and tall. When I found myself in front of him I noticed a small sort of wooden baton in his right hand, with which he constantly tapped on his military boots. Apparently looking straight at me, he ordered the visibly surprised German supervisor to write down my inmate number.

After exchanging a few words with the supervisor, the apparent SS man disappeared into the prevailing fog the same way he shortly before emerged.

I don't recall being exceptionally afraid or even confused by what had happened. I rejoined my group without even thinking too much about it. I remember however that some of my co-workers kept asking me some questions to which I had no specific answers. The next morning soon after returning to camp I heard my number being called through the loud speakers.. I was ordered to swiftly report to the camp office. Having almost entirely dismissed my midnight’s encounter, I reluctantly and quite tired took the approximately ten minutes walk to the camp office.

When I reported to the capo on duty and gave him my number he quite politely pointed to a desk where to my utter surprise a smiling clerk handed me without any explanation one and a half packs of German cigarettes. At the moment it was difficult for me to distinguish whether someone played a joke on me or I was simply dreaming.

Holding tightly my freshly acquired fortune and protecting them with both my hands, I walked briskly back to my hut. To avoid the risk of losing my treasure to some greedy thief, I called my brother outside, where we decided on a way to safely secure our "jackpot."

To correctly describe the value of thirty cigarettes at that crucial time, I could only point to the fact that the SS camp guards received daily a ration of three or five cigarettes. And the Soviet laborers at the construction site were gladly exchanging a large bag of potatoes for one single cigarette.

This unexpected gift from a highly unexpected source helped us, my brother and myself, live relatively well to the end and passed the estimated three month survival rate of an inmate in camp 4 Kaufering. Needless to say that with such a fortune, it became much easier for both of us to continue our struggle for survival, even after our transfer to camp 1-Landsberg. During the following period of continuing suffering and despair, it was hard for me to wipe out from my mind that towering SS officer.

At the time I kept asking myself two very important questions to which I have still no answer, many decades after that unexplainable encounter: "How can I sincerely dismiss such a mysterious encounter as plain luck? Or would I be considered simply weird or just superstitious to credit this act to my unexplainable "Guardian Angel." After all this was not the first time during the Holocaust that I was being helped through some mysteriously unexplainable events.

At least, for the next couple of months, my brother and I became wheelers and dealers, exchanging cigarettes for much needed food items.

CHAPTER 10

CAMP 1-LANDSBERG DACHAU

Our arrival at Camp 1 from Camp 4 was entirely uneventful. A couple of capos divided our group of about two hundred inmates into smaller units and led us to half empty huts. After the usual formalities we were accepted by a block eldest.

The camp was exactly the same as Camp 4, with the same partially underground huts and the same narrow muddy alleys leading to them. As I found out pretty soon, also our work place was the same as before.

As I recall, my brother and I were assigned to join the night shift on the very night of our arrival. Although the camp as well as the working place was the same as Camp 4, 1 nevertheless noticed quite a remarkable difference between the inhabitants of the two camps. While Camp 4 was housing mostly Polish Jews, predominantly former inmates of the Lodz Ghetto, Camp 1 inmates were mostly Jews from Lithuania.

So it was no surprise to us that they occupied all the highly privileged positions at camp as well as at the Moll construction site. Besides being capos and foremen, the average Lithuanian inmate was employed at better work details, other than carrying cement bags or pushing mixed cement inside the concrete underground bunkers.

Since for an incomprehensible reason to me, most or at least a large segment of Lithuanian inmates had not much sympathy left for Polish Jews; our group of about two hundred new arrivals were assigned to the most difficult and most dangerous jobs available. A still unexplainable animosity towards us was caused by a weird assumption that every Polish Jew was a thief.

Unfortunately during a night shift I had to go through a painful degrading experience. Trying once during a miserable cold night to approach a small wood burner to warm up a bit my freezing hands. The burner was a common sight close to working groups of Lithuanian Jews. The moment they noticed me coming near to the burner one of them called out to the others, "Hey guys, take care of your Pasoode", (a tin container where inmates used to keep some pieces of bread or other items), there is a Polack among us." I must say however that none of them attempted to chase me away.

I considered it unjust and very painful that under the worst working conditions ever, in addition to the steadily diminishing food rations, and unbearable deteriorating sanitary conditions, our group had to suffer discrimination by their own comrades. To me this situation was in a way more painful than the suffering inflicted upon us by the Nazi beasts.

So far the month of December was the hardest to endure. The bitter cold at work as well in our scarcely heated hut, hard work and very little food, plus the ever more annoying plague of body lice became unbearable. Many of the group of two hundred were already unable to continue working, and quite a few had already died.

During those horrible nights and days, some encouraging rumors about a special festive meal, a full loaf of bread for each inmate and other surprises for the approaching Christmas holidays, began to circulate all over the camp.

There were also rumors that some warm winter clothing for the freezing inmates would arrive very soon, probably before Christmas.

In the meantime however our suffering continued unabated.

TWENTY FIVE LASHES

As we had learned during the years of incarceration, there were two helpful ways to survive, excluding of course plain luck: one was the ability of an individual to organize, (an expression used by inmates), some additional food or try to avoid as much as possible involvement in hard labor.

The first solution was the most difficult one, although some of us did manage to obtain some extra potato or slice of bread. But as far as work was concerned, there were inmates who would take the risk to sneak away during work hours and somehow managed to find a hiding place. Those few who did that had actually accomplished two worthwhile tasks: first to avoid hard work and at the same time to sabotage the Nazi war effort.

My twin brother from time to time subscribed to the second idea, although his chances to being discovered much diminished by my covering up his absence. During the spot checks by the German supervisor, who usually called out every individuals number, I managed to reply for both of us. In different tones of voices of course.

Until on one early morning of a cold December day, the expected had happened. But instead of my brother, I was the one to endure the punishment.

After a night of loading and unloading heavy bags of cement, I was, as usual, on my way to pick up my brother from his hiding place and return with him to the place where the inmates assembled in preparation to return to the camp.

Shortly before approaching the hiding place, some sort of a bunker, I noticed some kind of an unusual chaos. Several inmates seemed to be running in different directions being chased by capos and armed guards. When I spotted my brother among the ones being chased, I immediately attempted to turn around. Unfortunately I was blocked by one of the capos who without any questions grabbed me, hit me in the face while turning me over to another capo who was standing next to a guard. He immediately reported to the armed guard that he caught a saboteur who was hiding during work hours.

Soon, with blood dripping from my face I found myself next to a small group of other youngsters accused of the same crime. They were all shaking like leaves and crying hysterically as if awaiting the death sentence.

Feeling completely innocent and being sure that my night shift foreman would intervene on my behalf, I stood among them quite calm although being abused physically and verbally. But when I tried to plead with my night shift foreman, Mr. Caplan, the Lithuanian was simply pretending not to see or hear me. While I in desperation tried to plead with my escorting capo, a Lithuanian by the name of Burstin, this young and strong fellow kept on hitting me over the head with some kind of a heavy wooden stick. Without reservation he repeated those hits each time I tried to open my mouth.

Realizing the futility of my pleading, I decided to shut up and quietly and obediently walked together with the others back to camp. Normally our work force returned to camp by train, but those seven dangerous saboteurs had to walk a distance of about ten kilometers to camp as a prelude to an expected severe punishment.

At the camp gates the overly zealous capo again introduced us as a saboteur who instead of working were hidden in a bunker where they slept all night.

The Nazi camp fuehrer and the camp eldest, were obviously informed beforehand about our arrival. They were already waiting for us when we entered a dimly lit shack which was empty of any sort of furniture except for a wooden horse placed in the centre of the gravel floor. Besides the two camp leaders, there was also present the head capo, (also by the name of Burstin), and a SS officer who was probably an assistant to the camp leader.

The lower rank officer was the one to read to us the formal accusations and the sentence. Underscoring the magnitude of the crime, he tried to present the Nazi camp leader as a man with a heart of gold, who decided to punish you in the mildest way possible ... Only twenty-five lashes.

The Jewish camp eldest who was the one ordered to perform this merciful deed, came out with another surprise for which he also gave credit to the camp fuehrer: "If you were able to count each single lash up to number fifteen, you will save yourself ten lashes."

I was not scared at all while standing among the small group of youngsters whose faces were covered with tears. It was painful for me to watch one after the other receiving their full punishment of twenty-five lashes during which they were crying and pleading for mercy. I don't recall exactly if I was the fifth or sixth to be called to bend over the wooden horse. After receiving the first hit, I somehow realized that I would not have the physical strength to survive twenty-five such painful lashes; so I tried my best to erase for the moment from my mind the present situation and concentrate only on the counting. When I reached number three, the pain seemed to be less severe and to ease after every additional hit. As closer as I came to number fifteen, I somehow felt more resistance towards the pain. The moment I called out fifteen, the executioner finished his job.

Perhaps it was just some sort of illusion, but I was convinced at the time that I heard him whispering, "Bravo."

With all the strength in my body I slowly walked out into the refreshing morning chill and made my way to the hut. On the way I had to stop off at a latrine to get rid of the only pair of underwear in my possession. This tremendously valuable part of my winter clothing was unfortunately full of excrement and impossible to be saved. I cleaned myself the best way that I could and continued my walk to the hut.

Somehow the loss of my precious long under garment which I was wearing from the day I left Birkenau, was in a way more painful to me than the bloody fifteen lashes. When I finally reached the dimly lit hut, everybody except the "stubendienst," was already asleep. Visibly touched by my ordeal, he handed me my bread portion with some hot water while helping me to sit down. This however turned into an impossible task and I had to consume my breakfast while standing. Afterwards I dragged myself up next to my soundly sleeping brother, and laid down on my belly. The events of that night and early morning in addition to the excruciating pain were keeping me from getting a bit of needed rest. Eventually weak and exhausted, I somehow dozed off.

HELP FROM A HIGHLY UNEXPECTED SOURCE

It took no more than a couple of weeks for me to return to my normal daily routine. Although it was hard for me to erase from my mind what I went through during that short period of time, I felt that it was time to think more of the future and as much as possible to forget the past.

On that cold mid-December morning after arriving at the construction site, we were as usual waiting for our assignments to specific work groups. Again, as on any other day, I was silently praying not to be picked for the dreadful cement work.

This kind of labor was becoming increasingly harder for me to perform. Especially after enduring so much pain during the last few weeks. It became ever more hard for me to carry on my bony back the heavy cement bags without avoiding an accidental drop of one of those bags to the muddy ground. Such an accident was often the cause for severe punishment. Unfortunately my brother and I were lately quite often assigned to this work detail, and several times we also had to endure the extremely dangerous work inside the concrete filled bunkers. I had seen several times weak and exhausted inmates helplessly slipping into the rapidly moving wet concrete from which they were never recovered.

Even less difficult jobs around the construction site were more than often aggravated by physical abuse by O.T. men or capos.

This particular morning however turned out to be quite different. My silent prayers seemed to be heard and properly answered. My brother and I together with a small group of about fifteen young men were chosen for some kind of detail outside the construction site. With the unknown to us destination we soon left the place marching in proper formation under the watchful eye of a young SS man and a foreman, whom I incidentally knew from back home.

Even while unaware of the destination we were heading to, it felt awfully good to walk through wide open spaces, passing by large farms with their neatly painted farm houses. Although we were forbidden to pick anything from the ground, it was still surprising to notice how many produce like carrots, beats and potatoes were littering the roads next to the farms where these precious items obviously froze and got rotten.

This sort of waste was allowed while thousands of innocent camp inmates were starving to death just a short distance away.

Amid all those thoughts we finally arrived at our destination: "A camp for members of the Organization Todt"' (O.T), a camp for German work supervisors.

This camp which stood in the middle of nowhere although looking from the outside had no guarding towers or any armed guards in front of wide open large gates. Just before entering the camp, I noticed our two escorts, the young SS man and the foreman having some sort of conversation. Soon after while we were still standing, the foreman whose name was Lachman, approached me with an odd proposition. He told me that this young SS man is an ardent art lover and would like very much for someone to make him some drawings. Since I know" he continued "that you are a good artist, (I was a classmate of his younger brother) I told him that you would be willing to do some work for him." At first I was quite shocked by such an unexpected proposition. I pleaded with him not to get me involved with an SS man, because I was afraid of unpleasant consequences if he would dislike my work.

Lachman, however was quite persistent with his assurances that he knows this young SS man for quite a while, and that he is a very nice guy who never abused or touched an inmate. Reluctantly I eventually agreed.

After a short conversation between the two of them, I noticed a smile on the SS man’s face.

Soon after we were led into the camp. The dozen or so of clean wooden barracks were quite different than the dirty huts we were forced to live in. The grounds and roads leading to the barracks were covered with gravel and some even neatly paved. There was no sign of dirt or mud. The place was already busy with O.T. men being driven out, apparently to their work places, while others were performing different jobs inside the camp proper.

I could not help noticing how neat and clean this camp was kept in spite of the harsh winter which caused so much misery inside the dilapidated concentration camps.

While I was told to wait outside next to my foreman, my brother with several other guys was assigned to the camp kitchen where they supposed to help pealing potatoes and chop some wood for the kitchen stove and probably for wood heaters in the camp barracks. The others were sent to do odd jobs around the camp periphery.

Lachman then took me into the camp cantine while still assuring me of the young SS man’s good intentions. He told me that the young man is actually a Ukrainian who was forcibly drafted into the SS and besides quite often showing willingness to help some inmates, he was also a quite intelligent young man and an ardent art lover.

My first impression of the O.T. canteen was really overwhelming. Quite a large room with several tables which were already occupied by a dozen or so Germans eating what seemed to be a hefty breakfast. The smell of fried eggs and home fried potatoes plus the long forgotten to me aroma of freshly perked coffee brought back to me almost forgotten memories of home.

If not for the vulgar loud laughter of some O.T. men, and the hated swastikas on their uniforms, I would have thought that all this was just a dream.

A couple of young women inmates were busy around the kitchen preparing food while another young girl, apparently also an inmate, was busy serving breakfast and cleaning off the tables.

In one corner of the room I saw two middle aged inmates intensely working on some oil paintings using large easels. Both of them simultaneously greeted me with a friendly good morning, while I passed them on my way to a prepared for me clean table.

On the table I already found a prepared drawing pad and a bunch of pencils. The table and the two artist’s easels were placed next to a large window. As if she could sense the way I felt, one of the ladies appeared in front of me with a plate filled with food I hadn't seen or tasted for a long time. Two large slices of bread covered with a thick layer of margarine a pile of freshly scrambled eggs with a nice portion of home fries. Before I managed to say a proper thank you, she ran off to bring me a large cup of steaming hot coffee. "Eat it in good health," she said with a friendly smile on her face and with an unmistakable Hungarian accent.

At first I just looked at the food in disbelief. I was hesitating for a moment to start eating, simply because I could hardly believe that this type of food was meant for me. I nevertheless followed the fast moving lady and in a stuttering voice thanked her for her kindness. She smiled at me and kept on doing her work. After finishing that sumptuous meal, the same woman brought me a mug of beer. I must admit that this was the first time in my life that I consumed an alcoholic drink. Who would believe that this would have happened while I was still an inmate of a Nazi concentration camp....

Content and quite in a good mood I made several drawings of whatever came to my mind. On the request from my foreman I also did some drawings of naked girls. Lachman assured me that such drawings will immensely please the young SS man.

I was pleased that before handing over those drawings to my foreman, I received compliments of approval by the angelic ladies who were taking care of the canteen and also by the two artists who were still working on their paintings. They told me later that they both are Hungarian Jews and inmates of a nearby concentration camp. Fortunately both of them are steadily employed by the Nazis by continuing their life-long professions, and feel quite grateful for this granted to them privilege.

Although those two veterans of several concentration camps, including Auschwitz, were rewarded for their art with only relatively decent three meals a day, they were nevertheless happy not to have to work as slave laborers at the construction site.

Before the day’s end, one of the nice ladies slipped into my coat pocket a couple of slices of fresh bread wrapped into a paper napkin. Probably as a habit, she did it in a surprisingly discreet way, although there was no German in the canteen at the time. While leaving that place which would have existed only in the dreams of each and every camp inmate, I again expressed my sincere thanks to the nice ladies for the best day I had experienced during my entire period of incarceration.

The moment I stepped out of the canteen my foreman was already waiting to collect my days work.

Although the sky was full of dark clouds, the weather was not too bad. A brisk wind caused a bit of discomfort but the important thing was that it was still quite bright when we left the O.T. Camp on the way back to Landsberg.

My brother seemed also very happy with his day’s work. With the specific inmates’ language, he gave me to understand, that he managed to organize quite a few raw potatoes and some other produce. Judging by the happy faces of all the others in our group, it became quite obvious that they all had a pretty good day. Without knowing, of course that I would still be handsomely rewarded for my quite easy day’s work, I was very satisfied and grateful for this unexpected remarkable day. At that very moment without even considering the fact that I and all the others with me were extremely lucky , I again gave full credit for this special day to my incredible guardian angel.

Again we were walking through open spaces passing by large farms which had at the time their obvious winter rest, I tried to breath in as much fresh air as possible before returning to my smelly and dirty hut. After all the air doesn't belong only to the Germans. At least this pleasure could not be taken away from us, not even by armed guards.

While my mind was occupied with similar thoughts, I heard our foreman’s order to stop walking. I found myself in front of a huge farm which was almost entirely covered with dark huts similar to the ones which were for the last several months our homes. To my surprise and quite a bit frightened, I noticed the SS man walking directly towards me. This time without the help of the foreman he addressed me directly in a broken German.

Without the usual mannerism of an SS man, he spoke to me as a friend to a friend. He pointed to one of the many huts, and told me that one of them is already not locked. He gave me the exact number and place where to go to: "Go there as fast as you can, take yourself whatever your heart desires while we will slowly continue to walk". In haste he added, "Try to catch up with us as soon as you can."

Completely intoxicated with the prospect of obtaining some food and without considering the possible consequences and repercussions, such an act could bring, I ran as fast as I could into the huge field until I reached the particular hut.

Now, after five decades, I am still unable to comprehend how I got the energy, the power and most of all the guts to do what I then did. At the time it didn't even cross my mind that if I would have been spotted by anybody, whether it would have been a farmer, a passing policeman or another SS man, I would have been shot and killed on the spot.

It is impossible for me to describe the way I felt after pushing open the small gate of the hut. A picture of unbelievable beauty appeared in front of my eyes ... A treasure beyond my imagination. The hut, an exact replica of my living quarters, had both side boards filled up almost to the ceiling with all sorts of fresh produce: Beautiful red carrots, beets of all sizes, turnips, potatoes, etc. A view that almost made me faint.

Realizing my limited time, I hastily tied up the bottoms of my slacks with pieces of string we always carried in our pockets in case something important emerged. As quick as humanely possible, I began loading myself up with whatever I could easily reach. In a matter of several minutes I was loaded with produce all over my body, which weight exceeded probably double my actual weight. With a power and energy provided to me only by the Almighty, I kept on running in the direction of our supposedly slow walking group.

It was already quite dark and without any lamp posts in the vicinity, I could not see any sign of my walking comrades.

Surrounded by complete darkness, I nevertheless ran in the proper direction, and became quite panicky when I still could not spot my group. I was running like a fox who was being chased by a vicious wolf .... Finally amid a deadly silence, I heard a variety of steps, a sound which was at the moment so welcomed that I burst out crying like a baby. It took me several more minutes to join the gang who apparently also a bit worried, seemed overjoyed to see me at last.

I walked next to my brother, who did his best to relieve me of some of my load. More relief eventually came when on the suggestion of our SS man, I distributed a great part of my bounty to everyone of the group.

My brother and I had still enough food left to last us for at least a couple of weeks. It was surely an important supplement to the ever decreasing daily rations and provided us both with some awfully needed nutrients.

Obviously satisfied with my drawings, the SS man instructed our foreman from now on to include me every morning to his working detail. Needless to say that such a prospect made me very happy indeed.

Unfortunately with deep disappointment and sorrow I was informed by Lachman that the young Ukrainian SS man was transferred to another kind of duty.

Although hurt and disappointed, I realized that in order to survive, life must go on. I still believed that no matter what, my steady protector, the invisible guardian angel will without fail appear whenever I would need him and whenever my life will be in real danger.

CHAPTER 11

CHRISTMAS OF 1944 AT CAMP 1- LANDSBERG

Rumours for a special Christmas with special treats for the inmates were apparently leaked from the camp office. As always my reaction to this sort of rumour was at best skeptical.

This time however the rumours turned out to be true indeed. On Christmas eve each one of us received a one pound loaf of bread with a slice of margarine, plus a large piece of German sausage. After that our containers were filled up to the rim with a dense cabbage and potato soup.

The joy of the inmates at the time was indescribable. The pale and bony faces of the happy young men were simply shining. Though we were all Jewish, it was nevertheless a kind of joyous event which I will never forget. We actually called this celebration a Hannuka party. Many of us were loudly giving thanks to God for the special food he sent to us.

For a short couple of hours the misery of our existence was almost forgotten.

For my brother and myself however the joy and happiness didn't even last that long. During the unusual commotion, while my brother and I were busy dividing one of our loaves of bread, one of our priceless loaves mysteriously disappeared. Apparently one of the starving inmates was looking for an opportunity to supplement his ration by stealing somebody else’s bread.

Needless to say how angry and disappointed we both were. After all, the person who stole our bread was not exactly too hungry at that moment. But after five years of Nazi Ghettos and camps, I had learned to adjust to situations like that. No matter how careful one was, things like this were indeed unavoidable. No matter how painful this occurrence was to both of us, I nevertheless tried not to blame that poor soul whoever he was. There was always someone among us who after so many years of suffering didn't have the strength to resist such an occasion.

After that special feast we expected at least on Christmas day to be allowed to sleep a little bit longer. The Nazis however had apparently already prepared a plan for a special torture for Christmas morning. After all, they didn't consider it right to have in camp too many happy Jews.

Instead of the usual six a.m. wake up call, on that Christmas day we were ordered to the "Appell Platz," about four a.m. We were standing there in total darkness with our caps removed as we always did while waiting for the camp fuehrer to arrive and perform the actual head count.

It was a bitterly cold and windy morning with snow covering our hairless scalps, which gave us a feeling of being locked inside an ice box. The snow on top of my head slowly kept accumulating probably to a couple of centimeters. I felt like the cold and the wind were penetrating deep through my skin and freezing up my whole body.

This terrible ordeal which was designed to inflict on us more suffering than on any other regular working day, had without doubt added a lot to the rapid deterioration of my health. Shaking like a leaf and using up the last bit of strength in my body I stood as patiently as possible, while waiting for the Nazi tyrant to arrive. Finally after several hours, the camp fuerer showed up. He was dressed in a seemingly fur lined warm overcoat with a large fur collar and fur hat. Shortly after his appearance we were finally dismissed and returned to our cold and smelly huts. The Nazi escorted by a couple of other high ranking SS men walked back to his comfortable and obviously well heated quarters, to enjoy his Christmas holiday together with his family.

THE TRAGIC EFFECTS OF THE HOLIDAY FEAST

Christmas day was hardly over when several of the inmates began to experience stomach cramps. Others were already running to the latrines with severe pains of a bloody diarrhea. It became quite clear that the cabbage soup in addition to the very fresh still warm bread, was much too much for the empty stomachs to handle.

Total chaos and uncontrollable panic took over all of us, especially the affected inmates. We were all afraid that this unexpected Christmas meal could bring a disaster to all of us. Even the shouting of orders by the block eldest could not stop the moanings and cries of the sick ones. We all knew that even those who were badly affected will have to join the work force on the next day.

Fortunately I personally emerged untouched by this terrible disaster. I got up as usual in the early morning ready to report for the head count. While getting dressed in the dimly lit hut I did not notice my brother’s absence. He soon appeared pale as a dead person, acting as if he would be in terrible pain. "I became one of them," he pointed to the many who were lying on their places unable to move.

Terribly worried about my brother’s condition I was forced to join hundreds of others on the way to the construction site. This morning was the first time since our incarceration that I walked the several kilometers to the construction site without my twin brother at my side.

The most dreadful moment of our always feared separation had finally arrived. After my return from the day’s work, tired and hungry, I was immediately informed that my brother with a group of other diarrhea victims were moved to a "Schoenungs Lager." (A death camp which was cynically called a place where sick inmates were taking care of.) To which camp he was sent, I could not find out. However I was told by one of my friends that Meyer was in very bad shape before his departure.

After tragically losing my Mother at Auschwitz, I was convinced that no other tragedy could ever move me; however the worry about also losing my twin brother depressed me immensely. Adding to my state of depression was the fact that no matter how we tried, we were not able to fulfill our Mother’s last wish for us to stay together.

As it turned out the time for me to worry about my family ended abruptly.

The unbearable freezing mornings during the head counts and the very cold days at the construction site had finally shown its damaging effects on my exhausted and undernourished weak body. It seemed that the warmer winter clothing which we received recently arrived too late to shield me from the cold weather. Also my recently acquired wooden shoes although much warmer than my already torn shoes from back home, didn't do much to avoid my impending illness.

A steady nasty cough kept on bothering me during my working days and became much more nasty during my sleepless nights. Feverish and hardly dragging my aching legs, I kept on following my regular daily routine until New Year’s day of 1945. After the holidays it became entirely impossible to join the work force again. Realizing that my condition seemed pretty grave, my block eldest ordered me immediately to visit Dr. Bergman in his makeshift office.

On that miserably cold morning after New Year’s, I dragged myself through the narrow muddy roads to Dr. Bergman’s "Clinic Barrack." His office was the same hut like we all dwelled in, but much cleaner of course. The dwellers of this place were several doctors, mostly men in their mid or late thirties. Dr. Bergman however who was apparently the chief doctor must have been in his mid forties. On the small table in the centre of the hut, I noticed some paper bandages, scissors, and several small bottles of white pills. Close to the table, two chairs were placed, one next to the other, apparently reserved for doctor and patients. This was all the furniture visible in the clinic.

Dr. Bergman, a Lithuanian Jew, a handsome man with a full head of grey hair greeted me with a friendly smile. After a short examination he diagnosed me with pneumonia and suggested a transfer to a so-called hospital block. With a transfer paper in my coat pocket I slowly walked back to my regular hut to inform the block eldest of my impending move. Unfortunately, although to us inmates the sound of sirens became like music to our ears, that evening was unusually busy with constant air raids.

Obviously impossible for me to walk in total darkness to my new place of residency, I failed to consider the possible consequences if I would not show up in time at the new hut. I left my hut only the next morning.