I don't remember the time when I felt so terribly as on that cold January morning. The wet snow enforced by a gusty wind irritated my ever more nagging cough, causing severe chest pains. Again dragging my tired feet with the heavy wooden shoes through the muddy grounds, turned into sheer torture. Holding tightly my container filled with the morning hot tea I finally reached the hospital hut.

I was not yet down the few steps into the hut when out came a shouting and viciously enraged block eldest, throwing the usual obscenities straight at me. Suddenly I felt his fist direct on my face. Loosing my balance I fell backwards like a sack of flour, half consciously hitting the muddy grounds.

While lying there shocked and still unaware of what had happened, I felt the entire content of my container all over me. However I could still hear the block eldest’s shouts and curses: "You bastard son of a bitch, you were supposed to be here last night, not this morning." In a rage he kept on yelling, "Where do you think you are, you little bastard, in a summer resort?"

This kind of behavior from block eldests and capos was nothing new to me, but it was very hard to digest that someone who was supposedly entrusted in helping the sick, could treat a patient in such a barbaric way.

I was helped to get up by a couple of passing-by inmates and afterwards was led into a not much cleaner stinking hut which I had just left a while earlier.

The block eldest of this "hospital" still raging mad, ordered me to occupy one of the few empty places between two other patients. This, at the moment seemingly heartless man refused to listen to my explanations and reasons for not reporting to him the night before. He turned his attention to some other patient as if for him I wouldn't exist anymore. I had to struggle with whatever strength was left in me to climb up to the platform and settle down as comfortable as I possibly could.

The only difference between the wooden platforms of the regular barracks and this so called "hospital block" was that here the sawdust was covered with some dirty blankets.

I tried, although not very successfully, to calm down. I could hardly control the tears which were streaming down my cheeks. It was very hard for me to understand the behaviour of the block eldest towards a patient in my condition, although he seemed quite decent to the other patients.

The familiar noises during the distribution of the daily rations awoke me from a short nap and brought me back to reality. In sharp contrast to the regular barracks, here we were served our rations while lying down. And I must add that the service by a couple of helpers to the block eldest was done without shouting or other sort of abuse.

The two fellows as well as the block eldest seemed pretty well nourished in comparison to the miserably looking patients. After a while I felt like forgiving the block eldest for the reception he accorded me after my arrival. I felt that the whole incident was partially my fault as well.

In addition to other exceptional conveniences was one which I considered the most important one, namely having the head count inside the barrack. For me it was the first time since I left the Lodz Ghetto, that I did not have to get up during the wee hours of the morning, many times during heavy rains, snow storms, or far below freezing weather, for the obligatory head counts.

So, after several days of rest and almost no exposure to the cold weather, I began feeling less feverish and my cough was not as nasty as before. I was provided with one white pill daily apparently some sort of aspirin, which also seemed to help a bit.

A NEWLY ERECTED SHOWCASE HOSPITAL

There was an old Yiddish proverb which could have easily applied to myself at the time: "Mehr Mazel Vi Ferstand" (More luck than brains).

Already a short while before Christmas I noticed some unusual activity on an empty lot close to the Appell Platz. Soon many trucks loaded with clean cut wood and other building materials were arriving steadily. A large crew of O.T. men with quite a large group of inmates became busy erecting some kind of a wooden structure.

As usual rumors started to circulate about the purpose of such a development. We were most intrigued by the unusual urgency and secrecy surrounding this project. After all, the weather was far from ideal for construction. "So what's the hurry?"

The rumors were intensifying with ever more bizarre suggestions, until they caused quite a panic among the inmates. One of those suggestions which some inmates began to believe in was that the Nazis are erecting a gas chamber to finish us off before the Americans will try to liberate us. Those rumors were causing sleepless nights to many of us.

By the middle of January the new structure had already turned into quite an impressive large building with a smaller extension next to it. They were both towering over our half underground huts and even over the quite large SS barracks.

While the structure was being finished, the inmates seemed to be less interested in their new building and more in their individual problems. They were especially absorbed in the ever more diminishing food rations and in their ever more deteriorating health.

It must have already been by the end of January, when my block eldest who seemed to have completely mellowed informed me that Dr. Bergman wants me to see him for another physical. The next morning during another one of those miserable cold days, but walking with more energy than on my earlier visit, I carefully negotiated the treacherous grounds to Dr. Bergman’s clinic.

The doctor seemed in quite a good mood. After some friendly greeting, Dr. Bergman, assisted by another young doctor, gave me a thorough examination, which lasted about half an hour, disregarding the fact that several other young men were waiting to be examined, Dr. Bergman seemed to have taken some extra time to check my entire body for any blemishes, fresh pimples or scars. A process which at the time I could hardly comprehend. Before I left I was told to report at a certain hour of the next morning to the bath house. Again with a pleasant smile, the doctor told me not to forget to take all my possessions with me because I might not return to my present quarters.

Until the next morning I tried to convince myself that my appointment at the bath house was a routine "entlousung" and disinfection of my clothing. It turned out however to be something of an entirely different and much more important nature.

AT THE BATH HOUSE

When I reached the bath house I became one of a group of young men ranging at the age of nineteen to about twenty one. We were told to undress while one of the attendants collected our clothing for disinfection. The large vestibule with its concrete walls and concrete floors was windowless and empty of any sort of furniture. Amid the cold and and discomfort, many of our group were engaged in peculiar conversations. Some tried to connect our presence in the bath house with the newly mysteriously erected structure.

One of the guys told us that he just had a fast glimpse through a window of the newly erected building and could swear that he saw clean double bunks, while another one was sure that he saw shelves stocked high with white sheets and new grey blankets. What I noticed however was that nobody at the time was mentioning a previous suspicion that the new building might house a gas chamber.

The worst suggestion however was that perhaps the structure might be used for medical experimentation.

While this bizarre conversation was still progressing, we returned to reality by a shouting voice of an approaching SS man, who was followed by a push cart pulled by several inmates on which a group of naked men were being brought in to the bath house. Next to the wide open door they slowly unloaded the brought in "cargo" under the watchful eye of the tall exceptionally blond young SS man.

The new arrivals were placed on the cold concrete floor, one next to the other. There were at least ten of them, all hardly alive. Except for their silent moanings, they were hardly showing any sign of pain. Their bodies were swollen with multiple colored bruises like large balloons of different colors. Part of their skin was cracked up and opened, dripping with puss and blood.

The sight of those retched individuals whose bodies were apparently being eaten up by gangrene, caused a panic among our group. Suddenly the notion about us being used for medical experiments had gained strength. After watching this unfortunate group of suffering human beings lying in the front of us, we all became convinced that we were definitely being prepared to replace those dying men.

Some of us could not resist crying loudly while others, myself included were just standing motionless and shocked without being able to utter a single word. Helpless, we were all resigned and ready for whatever was bound to happen.

As always, I tried my very best not to let myself be overwhelmed by a panicky pessimism. I tried, although it was not too easy at the moment to be as calm as possible while hoping for the best.

It was hard to believe that while the allied armed forces were already occupying parts of Germany, the Nazis would still be engaged in such bizarre practices. I tried to convince myself that there must be something else, something more logical explanation to the purpose of our being in this situation.

I had desperately attempted to convince the others to follow my way of thinking, unfortunately without success.

The hot showers may have helped a little in calming down my desperately panicky friends, but when the capo returned with our disinfected clothing, plus a new white nightgown for each one of us, I also became quite skeptical and a bit scared.

This skepticism of mine got even more fortified when the capo was leading us in the direction of the newly erected building.

The seriousness on the face of our accompanying capo, and the silent weeping of some of the scared youngsters also seemed to have a bad influence on my way of thinking. I must admit that throughout all that walk, I stopped thinking all together.

THE NEW PLACE

For a moment we stood in front of this exceptionally clean wooden structure, which hardly fit into this dirty dilapidated camp, waiting in fearful anticipation for the opening of the large double door. Even the camp commander’s quarters and the SS barracks fared poorly in comparison to this impressive building.

The doors were finally opened by a man dressed in white slacks and white coat. "We expected you," the man greeted us with a warm smile. "Come in fast, because we don't want you to catch cold," he said with a slight hint of sincere concern.

Without passing any sort of vestibule, we entered directly into a large hall. To say that I was stunned and flabbergasted with what I saw at that moment, would be an understatement of the greatest degree . In front of me I saw a picture of a real genuine hospital, almost the same as I remembered when my father was hospitalized when I was only about eight years old. The only visible difference that instead of single beds on each side of the hall, here were rows of double bunks.

The still freshly smelling natural woods of the inside walls as well as the brand new bunks, for just a second reminded me of summer camp. The wooden bunks which were covered with grey blankets and white linens were a nice match to the pure white curtains which were covering the many windows on each side of the hall. It might be odd that under the prevailing circumstances I was able to concentrate on such unimportant details. I could also not help noticing the fluffy pillows which were also white and apparently brand new. At the centre of the room there was a large table covered like anything else, with a pure white tablecloth.

There were several male nurses, all of course dressed in white which completed successfully the identical appearance of a real hospital.

Again an orderly collected our clothing while we all remained standing in our white long to the ankles night shirts. For a moment it reminded me of the night shirts we were wearing back home. Several bunks were already occupied. But the mystery of our being here was still unsolved. We were escorted to our bunks by the same orderly who collected our clothing. I was fortunate enough to be assigned to a lower bunk, so I wouldn't have to climb up and down; besides the lower bunk had also a night table which made it more practical. .

While finally resting in a clean comfortable bed, my thoughts became ever more troublesome. The question of why I was brought to this place and what kind of new torture is awaiting us here, could not be easily erased from my mind. The whole attitude of the doctor and everyone else who took care of us seemed abnormal under the prevailing circumstances, even bizarre. It felt odd to say the least being an inmate of Camp 1, and not being shouted at not constantly being showered with obscenities and not witnessing any sort of physical abuse. Being the eternal optimist I must admit that I felt nevertheless some sort of fear.

While my thoughts kept on torturing me I noticed a young man whose face seemed quite familiar, occupying the bunk just across the room facing me. For a while I was unable to make out his identity. Suddenly it hit me. This young man was one of three brothers who belonged to a group of the most influential and most prosperous inmates in camp. They were all employed at the provisions warehouse which supplied the camp kitchen and also the kitchen for the SS guards as well as other German personnel.

This revelation indeed gave me enough assurance that this hospital must be free of any dangerous or sinister plans by the Nazi administration. There is no way that his two brothers would have agreed to place their sibling in an unsure environment. At once all my doubts had suddenly disappeared. Although still unaware of the purpose of our being placed in such a beautiful hospital, I informed my new found friends about what I had discovered, and seemed to calm down most of them. Instead of sadness I had seen many smiling faces among them. The feeling of despair was suddenly replaced by an atmosphere of hopeful expectations.

It took only several days for the two rows of double bunks to become fully occupied.

With a more hopeful peace of mind, I began to really enjoy this unusual place. This huge hall with its very high ceiling and large windows gave me a feeling of some sort of freedom. After living for over a half a year in dirty huts with absolutely no air, muddy floors and a steady stench of human refuse, this place could only be described as paradise. Just a walk on the clean wooden floors to the exceptionally clean toilette could be described as pure pleasure.

Soon I began to feel human again. In contrast to my previous way of life, I felt almost liberated.

Like in any other regular hospital, our meals were served in bed. For breakfast we received a couple of large slices of fresh bread, with a cube of margarine, some marmalade at the side with a silver foil rapped triangular piece of cheese. Instead of the usual colored hot water, we were served a cup of "ersatz" coffee which tasted pretty good. At noon we received a good soup with some more bread and about the same meal at supper time. Although it was not enough to really fatten us up, it was nevertheless enough to make us look more human as time progressed. For me personally the way we were treated was not much less important than the food itself.

We had regular visits by Dr. Bergman who with his usual smile treated us as if we were paying patients. Besides the tranquility of this place, we were kept clean and most importantly free of the plague of body lice.

Pretty soon, I should say no more than two weeks, my health and apparently my appearance seemed to improve immensely. I judged my appearance by the looks of the entire group who arrived together with me.

Still puzzled, for what reason I was chosen from among hundreds of inmates to enjoy such an exceptional rich life while so many others were dying daily of starvation and diseases, I nevertheless selfishly enjoyed my feeling of being human again.

So it was no surprise to me that feeling human makes you also think human. So from time to time I became engulfed by a feeling of guilt for the many other unfortunate and especially for my twin brother whose fate was still unknown to me. And again like many times before I started to wonder what unexplainable power was working towards my well being, while at the same time thousands of others were still being tortured to death in countless concentration camps.

A TASTE OF APPLE PEELINGS

Since the first inmates of Camp I were predominantly Lithuanian, it was quite normal under the prevailing order, that the best jobs in Camp were divided among them. I was also not surprised that the entire staff at this hospital were Lithuanians. As I mentioned before their relationship towards the Polish inmates was far from being correct. It made me realize indeed that if it would have been up to them, the very few Polish Jews, including myself, would not have been patients at this hospital. However I was still grateful and thanked God for being one of those lucky few.

Most of the patients were probably inmates without any siblings or other family members still alive. So there was no surprise that my neighbour across the room was a subject of envy by the rest of us, simply because he had two brothers who often visited him and took good care of him. On each of such a visit, they brought him food items which the rest of us had not seen for several years. From time to time I noticed him eating hard boiled eggs and chocolate bars. But most of all I envied the daily red apple, one of his brothers brought him. Each afternoon during my nap I was awakened by the long forgotten aroma of fresh apples. At first I thought that I was just dreaming. "Who in this world of ours would be in possession of such a treasure." Automatically I gazed straight ahead of me, and there it was: Our famous neighbor was sitting up and slowly peeling a large red apple. But I became much more irritated when in addition to the unbearable aroma I noticed the young man disposing of the entire peelings into a waste basket next to his bed.

At a time when thousands of hungry inmates were happy to find and eat some rotten or frozen potato peelings, this arrogant young man threw to the garbage such a priceless treasure. Somehow I thought that while he was doing this despicable act, he was looking over at me with a sarcastic smile on his face.

I tried my very best to avoid looking at this arrogant spoiled brat during his continuous sadistic performances. Unfortunately I could not avoid inhaling the beautiful aroma of something I hadn't seen or tasted for over five years.

The seemingly forced politeness towards us by the hospital staff was probably ordered by the camp administration. At the surface we all seemed to be treated equally.

A VERY IMPORTANT VISIT

On the third week or so when most of us had already been transformed into human beings, as far as appearance was concerned, we were officially informed that several important people were going to visit us soon. We received strict instructions not to talk to any of them unless being personally addressed. If asked, any questions should be answered simply with a yes or no.

A couple of days after we were prepared for a visit, an apparent delegation from the Swiss Red Cross arrived. They were accompanied by the Camp commander and several more high ranking officers. They were slowly walking from bunk to bunk, looking at each of us without uttering a single word or a simple greeting. They seemed quite indifferent to the entire spectacle. They left with the same expressions on their faces as they had arrived with.

After they had left, the head nurse told us that in the near future we can expect several other of these visits.

All I could think of at the time was "Why, only after five miserable years during which millions of innocent men, women and children were brutally slaughtered by the Nazi murderers, the Red Cross had finally decided to visit a concentration camp. And what were they being shown? Except for hastily erected model hospitals or other prepared show cases, did they visit the hundreds of real concentration camps? Of this we were not aware at the time.

Later on I had learned that during those special visits, the Red Cross delegates were told that the regular inmates were all at work and doing fine. The camp grounds were being properly cleaned and prepared before the arranged visits and all the huts were being closed for the time of each visit.

I can recall no more than a couple of those visits while I was a patient at the model hospital. I could only guess that there were also visits by the Red Cross in other camps of which I was really not aware. One thing however I was sure of, that there was no visible change in the lives of the average camp inmates. Life at the camps was going on in the same brutal and despicable way as before those seemingly at the time important visits.

The daily food rations kept on shrinking drastically and the load of hard labor remained the same and in many instances even increased. The death toll kept on rising drastically and so did the scores of incapable and unfit to work inmates.

However some results of those visits were shown shortly before liberation. By the end of March or early April of 1945, while I was already an inmate and a returnee to camp 4 Kaufering we were surprised with a small parcel from the International Red Cross. Unfortunately this gift arrived much too late to have had any impact on the mostly sick or dying inmates.

As far as I know, the only people who gained from these staged masquerades, were the small number of patients in the showcase hospital. This relatively small group of extremely fortunate young men were apparently used by the Nazis for their last attempts of Nazi propaganda. However through this obvious deception, these young men, myself included received a much needed boost in their continuing struggle for survival.

After the short time of uncertainty about the purpose of this hospital and after the first visit of the Red Cross delegation, life for the patients could only be described as an unbelievable sweet dream.

So as usual, when things go well small happenings of little importance are being taken too seriously.

Unfortunately and unwillingly I became involved in such a minor incident. Among many misfortunes brought on us by the Nazis and their collaborators, we also had our share of problems created by our own.

Most inmates, no matter from what country they came from were always ready and willing to help their fellow sufferers. But there were always a few who harbored some unexplainable animosities toward others.

Some Hungarian Jews for instance didn't like very much. their Rumanian neighbours while some Polish Jews felt some resentment for Hungarians and visa versa of course. We, the couple of hundred Polish Jews at this camp sometimes felt some open resentment. Even inside this beautiful hospital this problem was prevalent to a certain degree. It was quite obvious to me that the old Lithuanian staff of this place are favouring their own landsmen, although we actually did not suffer too much because of that problem. The fact was that most of the staff of this hospital were more educated and older than the average Polish patient.

As part of their recreation, our staff gathered around the only table in the hall for some sort of literary discussions. For these gatherings they also used to invite some of the Lithuanian patients while completely ignoring anyone of us. I could hear them pretty well while with a cup of tea they were talking about classical literature, old movies and the theatre. Since that table was pretty close to my bunk, I truly enjoyed these interesting discussions, to which of course, I was never invited.

Once during such a discussion I heard them review the book "The Call Of The Wild." Although they were all correct as to the theme of the book, none of them seemed to remember the name of the author. They seemed so frustrated that they came to a point when one of them proposed to postpone the discussion until the next day.

Since this book as well as the movie which starred Clark Gable, was my favorite, I not only remembered the name of the author, but almost the whole plot.

I must admit, with a bit of shame, that for a while I really enjoyed those guys’ frustration. But in eagerness to win their sympathy, I could not resist calling out the name of Jack London. In a split of a second, I had most of them next to my bunk, happily expressing their thanks and gratitude for helping to get them out of such an "unbelievable dilemma." Some of them even warmly shook my hand.

Needless to say, that from that moment on I became an invited guest at the frequent, sometimes quite heated discussion. And something more, at the time probably of no lesser importance was the fact that after my arrogant sadistic neighbour finished peeling his next apple, he called me over with a smile and handed me the entire peelings. It is also needless to say how immensely I enjoyed that special treat.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END TO THE GOOD LIFE

Since the first visit of the Red Cross delegation, the day when the charade about the model hospital was finally solved, life in this place was completely detached from the lives and problems of the regular inmates. We were like a paradise island surrounded by a sea of suffering and misery. We never learned whether the German authorities actually invited the Red Cross in order to deny the already well known facts of Nazi atrocities or the International Red Cross was seeking proof to the contrary.

As far as we were concerned, we couldn't care less. For the patients at this hospital, every day passed was a day gained and a better chance to survive.

An additional assurance about the security of this place, was the fact that there was a chance for us to remain in this place indefinitely. So far there were no discharges nor any new arrivals. It was apparently too difficult to find among the hundreds of regular inmates any who could fit the criteria to become patients in this model hospital.

So I felt secure, confident and under the circumstances pretty good indeed.

Unfortunately, as the saying goes, "Nothing lasts forever." After enjoying a quite normal relationship with the Lithuanian personnel for quite a while, I had lost this privilege due to the silly, but dangerous animosity between inmates of different backgrounds.

It actually started with my neighbour who became my steady supplier of apple peelings. On one regular afternoon when I was eagerly waiting for my "supplier", to call me over to pick up my treat, I surprisingly met his old malicious gaze followed by the torturous act of throwing the entire peelings into the waste basket.

Apparently one of his brother’s workers, an inmate of Polish background, had stolen something during his errands. So, I as a Polish Jew automatically, according to their way of thinking, became an accomplice to the crime.

The same perverse logic of generalization was also used by the group of quite intelligent men who never again invited me to join in their literary discussions.

This sort of behaviour was not new to me. Fortunately it was not too widely spread, and it occurred mostly among the more ignorant and obviously among the very frustrated and starving individuals. I was however very surprised and it was very painful to me to digest that the intelligent and well read staff of this hospital displayed the same attitude.

Although I felt hurt and insulted, I did not have the time to dwell on it. A sudden discomfort and occasional pain in the back of my neck started to give me sleepless nights and quite a bit of worry. When the pain became more intense and the swelling on the neck quite visible, it became hard for me to hide my condition from Dr. Bergman much longer.

Realizing that not just with such a serious problem, but even with a simple rash or pimples, my days in this place were numbered. I tried very hard to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. Finally when the excruciating pain became unbearable, I was forced to reveal my secret to Dr. Bergman. It was probably my sixth week in this fabulous place when I decided to tell Dr. Bergman about my problem. After the examination, the kind doctor with visible sorrow in his sad eyes told me to get ready for immediate surgery. The boil on my neck, a so called "carbuncle" was apparently growing deep inside my neck and was already reaching a dangerous stage.

With obvious sympathy, the doctor expressed his regret that I could not under any circumstances return to this hospital. He added that right after the surgery I would be sent to my previous "hospital hut."

The orderly who led me into the operating room, was carrying with him the plastic bag with my clothing, as if confirming the fact that I would never see this place again.

The surgery was performed on an operating table inside a beautifully equipped model operating room. Dr. Sacharin, a well known Lithuanian surgeon assisted by a much younger Dr. Katz, did the job.

A hard slap on the face awakened me from the anesthetic, and minutes after, without any escort and hardly able to walk, I was again dragging my legs through the eternally muddy grounds of Camp I Landsberg. It took a while to reach my hated and despised regular hut.

Again lying on a joint bunk together with about twenty-five sick and starved inmates.after such a long time of enjoying a near normal life, it felt quite strange, to say the least. I was again covered with a dirty old blanket and again a potential victim of body lice and again waiting eagerly for the daily watery soup and a slice of stale bread.

Amid the never ending shouting and cursing by the block eldest and his helper, I still felt lucky and grateful for the time I spent away from this hellish hut. Every night before falling asleep with a silent prayer on my lips, I thanked my guardian angel for the help I received so far.

The pain on my neck awoke me several times during the night. The completely dark hut and the unbearable stench was more than enough to feel depressed and discouraged. Many of the inmates were snoring loudly and others were just moaning. It was very difficult to fall asleep again.

During such times, thoughts of long gone times mixed with recent events, kept on racing through my mind. It was clear to me that my future didn't look too promising, especially with an open wound on my neck which was continuously bleeding and discharging puss.

In spite of all that, I was still optimistic and resolved not to give up too easily. I felt ready to continue, with all the strength left in my body, my desperate struggle for survival.

CHAPTER 12

BACK AT CAMP 4 KAUFERING

After my discharge from the model hospital, and after spending a couple of weeks at the filthy hospital hut, I was branded as unfit to work.

On a rainy morning in the middle of March of 1945 1 joined a small group of mostly skeletal looking young men chosen for a transfer to a so- called "Shonungs Lager". Partially walking and partially sitting on a man-driven push cart, it took us almost a full day to make a distance of about eight kilometers. Although I was walking most of the time and had only a couple of slices of bread for the day, I did not feel too bad. In comparison to the others I was still in pretty good shape, thanks of course to my stay at the model hospital. I walked into the camp on my own feet while most of the group were riding on push carts. Although quite exhausted and as usual very hungry, I was nevertheless happy and surprised to find myself back in Camp 4, which was my first camp after Auschwitz. First of all I hoped to see my brother again or at least find out more about his whereabouts. Secondly, I might get the opportunity to meet some of my former comrades and perhaps even some friends from back home. Another surprise indeed was my being assigned to the same hut where I spent the first three months as an inmate, although with a different block eldest.

My first impression while stepping into the hut was quite depressing, to say the least. Most of the inmates were confined to their bunks, except for a couple of youngsters and the "stuben dienst" (the assistant to the block eldest). What had hit me immediately was the fact that most of the bunk-ridden inmates were stark naked except for a dirty blanket covering their skeletal bodies.

Many of them seemed to recognize me and were happy to see me alive, they even gave me compliments of how well I still looked. They tried to inquire of how life was at Camp I Landsberg. They complained a lot about the ever more diminishing rations and especially the little bread they were receiving.

None of them seemed to know anything about my brother’s whereabouts. However I received from them some very useful and valuable advice. They told me that under no circumstances I should willingly surrender my clothing and let myself be forced to stay steadily on my bunk. It became obvious to me that by letting myself forcefully to be out of circulation, it will mean certain death.

When my new block eldest, Mr. Zulty, told me that according to camp regulations I must undress and surrender all my clothing except my belt and the wooden shoes, I simply refused. I tried although politely and with reservations to convince him that as long as I am able to stand on my own feet, I would like to do any work around the camp. I promised him to do anything he would ask me to. "I will do anything without reservation," I pleaded, "as long as I would be able to walk on my own feet." Zulty looked at me with an expression of mockery and surprise. He measured me from top to bottom, as if asking himself: "Who the hell does this little shrimp think he's talking to."

Suddenly as if my good old guardian angel would have pinched him, this big seemingly strong man’s face turned into a pleasant smile. "O.K. you little son of a bitch," he said while leaving me standing next to my bunk, and still walking he gave me a firm warning: "but don't you ever dare to disappoint me." For a while I stood there with an open mouth not being able to utter a simple thank you. Very soon I was brought back to reality by one of the inmates who in a whisper uttered an even more important warning: "If you know what's good for you, better remember what he told you."

The very next morning after obtaining my bread ration, and some warm water, I left the hut in search for some work around the camp.

It was a beautiful sunny early spring morning, but the camp was almost deserted. Here and there you could see a capo escorting several slow walking inmates who were apparently heading to do some work around the camp. I could also see some skeletal inmates with only their blankets rapped around their naked bodies sitting next to their huts consuming their rations while getting a bit of fresh air and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

Only several months earlier this camp was busy like a beehive with hundreds of inmates leaving or returning from work at the construction company and other work details. The majority of them were young men in their late teens or early twenties still able to work and perhaps even full of hope and belief in eventual survival.

The reality however turned out to be quite different. Most of those young men were already dead and the remaining survivors were on the way to meet the same fate. It was clear to me that the Nazi intention to use us for as long as possible and finally kill us through hard labor and starvation succeeded indeed. While I was away at Camp I Landsberg, Camp 4 Kaufering went through a devastating typhoid epidemic during which hundreds of inmates had perished.

Slowly I was walking around hoping perhaps to find somebody who would have heard something about my brother. I visited hut after hut asking questions but all my inquiries were in vain. Many of those inmates were already in such a terrible state that some didn't even know what I was talking about. Not only couldn't I find out anything of substance, but became depressed like never before.

Besides the terrible state of most of the inmates, each hut had the same unbearable stench and the same horrible picture of total devastation. The barracks were already half empty and those still alive were half dead.

While walking back to my quarters, I kept inquiring about some work around the camp, but this too was in vain.

During the following days I visited almost all the huts and only found one young man with whom I was pretty close prior to my leaving the camp and who was still recognizable. After a long conversation I found out in more details about the last several tragic months at this camp. He told me of many close friends who had died and of others who were deported to other camps. But the best information which I got from this man was that my neighbour and good friend Laibl Krawiecki, with his father are both alive and somewhere in this camp. Another important piece of information obtained from this young man was that all women who were working in the camp kitchen were being transferred to another camp and were being replaced by youngsters who are still able to work.

After another day of searching, I finally found the Krawieckis. Laibl looked not too bad and was recognizable. His father, a man in his late forties or early fifties, looked quite pitiful, especially without clothing except for his underwear and was like most of the others wrapped in a dirty grey blanket.

Under the prevailing circumstances finding close friends was of great importance. We were all happy and excited to have found each other. And happy that we were still alive.

Laibl as myself was fully dressed and was also searching for some kind of work in order to supplement the ever more decreasing daily food rations.

Unfortunately they were also unaware of my brother’s whereabouts.

My friend and I decided to join forces and together start a serious search for something to do before the block eldest would force us to give up our clothing, the way they did to most of the camp inmates. In the meantime the older Krawiecki, a Chassidic Jew, invited me to join in the daily prayers which he was leading inside his hut.

ONE DAY’S WORK IN THE CAMP KITCHEN

As soon as I found out on what day the kitchen was going to hire youngsters to replace the departing women, I decided together with my friend Laibl to try our luck.

It was very early and a pretty chilly morning when we met in front of the kitchen doors. There was already a line up of about twenty other boys and young men in front of us.

The capo and another kitchen worker who opened up the door were both unable to control the shoving and pushing group of eager youngsters running inside the kitchen. The understandable chaos prompted another two kitchen workers to intervene in quieting down the terribly noisy crowd.

Without any effort from my side, I was simply being shoved in by the others and in seconds I happily found myself inside a large well equipped kitchen. And so did my friend Laibl. Soon we were both assigned for the job of peeling potatoes.

For a short while I was quite convinced that not only did I find a good job but also another chance to push through the terrible period and even had a good chance in my struggle for survival.

Unfortunately my euphoria didn't last too long. I soon realized that all this was just a dream. As it turned out, the whole new kitchen staff, which was supposed to be hired at that morning were preassigned by the camp administration. Those were all youngsters whose names were being put in by capos and other camp dignitaries. This list was at the moment in the hands of the kitchen capo.

When my friend and I were eventually identified as impostors we were just quite politely told to leave the place. Surprisingly without any sort of punishment.

Our effort however turned out to be not entirely unsuccessful. Apparently out of pity several of the new kitchen workers took the two of us aside and told us to be in front of the kitchen early every morning. There a wooden stretcher loaded with potato peelings would be ready for us to carry it away for disposal at the nearby dump. They promised that under each load of potato peelings, they will place several potatoes or some other raw produce.

Needless to say.that we were both happy and grateful to our new acquired friends. Although it was not an easy job for a couple of starved camp inmates, we were both happy with the results of our not completely successful venture.

For quite a while this unexpected addition to our daily rations gave me another chance to fight starvation.

REUNION WITH MY TWIN BROTHER

The problem with raw potatoes is of course that before eating them, they have to be cooked. So, with the experience of a concentration camp inmate, I somehow managed to solve this problem to my full satisfaction. First I asked my kitchen friends to supply me with two empty tin cans. One I used as a cooking dish on which I made a couple of holes and attached to them a piece of wire. The wire which was formed in the shape of a hook was easy to hang up inside the small wood burner which was still from time to time heating our hut.

The second can I took apart and formed a straight piece of tin. Using the same large nail and a rock with which I opened the holes on the cooking can, I knocked out dozens of small holes creating a perfect shredder to make potato pancakes. My friends at the kitchen from time to time supplied me with a bit of salt to add some taste to my cooking.

So every mid morning after returning from my chores and safely leaving with several potatoes in my pockets, I felt quite satisfied. Most of the time I rested for a while before starting my cooking. The main meal which I made for myself was of course a potato soup, which I often shared with a couple of my closest neighbours. Sometimes closer to the evenings, when the small burner was really hot I made some potato pancakes by sticking the shredded potato mix to the sides of the wood burner. I must say, that those "latkes" (pancakes) tasted heavenly. But also this delicious treat I often shared with my friends.

Having an almost perfect schedule, and not living on an entirely starvation diet, I took some afternoon walks around the camp grounds with the hope to find somebody who by any chance did meet or heard something about my brother.

During the last week of March warmer weather arrived with sunshine most of the day. On those days the camp started to show a bit more of life. There was noticeable activity in preparation for the approaching nice weather. Small groups of inmates supervised by capos or foremen were helping to plant flowers in front of the SS barracks. Other small groups were busy cleaning up the walks in front of those barracks, but doing their jobs very slowly and seemingly without strict supervision. Many skeletal inmates, dirty and unshaven, were standing on their thin legs wrapped in their blankets next to the hut. Others obviously too tired to stand, were sitting on the still muddy grounds. With their sad eyes and understandable envy, they kept looking at those still able to walk, or able to do some work.

I could not help comparing those poor souls with the still healthy looking capos, foremen, and block eldest, who still looked the same as I remember them after my arrival from Auschwitz many months before.

On one of my walks I came face to face with the two highest ranking camp inmates. Hans, the camp leader and Rolf, the head capo, were both "mischlings" (half German and half Jewish). Both tall and handsome, apparently in their early thirties, looked even better and healthier than at the time of our arrival at the camp. They were both apparently having their meals together with the SS high ranking officers and as some inmates would attest, were many times spotted in the company of German female SS guards from a nearby women’s camp.

On one of my daily walks, it must have been on the last days of March of 1944, 1 met a man who travelled with us in the same wagon from Auschwitz. I am unable to recall the man’s name, but he knew my brother and myself quite well. He must have been already in his late thirties or perhaps early forties, and with his friendly personality acted like some sort of protector of the many youngsters who were travelling with him.

We were talking for quite a while and needless to say that we were both happy to have met each other again. He hugged me in a fatherly fashion and before going back to my quarters, we exchanged the numbers of each other’s huts, promising to visit each other as often as possible.

It was already past noon when I reached my hut. Since the little wood burner seemed to be quite hot, I decided to make myself a few pancakes. I was just starting to eat when I heard the noise of the little gate slamming open. I also thought that somebody was calling my name. I hastily turned around.

Holding the gate wide open, the man with whom I had just spoken a short while ago excitingly told me that he brought me a precious gift. While he was trying to tell me what it was all about, my brother came running towards me. To describe the remarkable scene of our reunion is for me truly impossible. I can't even recall our first words that we had said to each other, while hugging and kissing. However, I clearly remember what he said when he saw the pancakes in front of me. Looking at me with wide open eyes, he whispered: "You have food?"

After pleading with my block eldest, he permitted my brother to move in into our hut and secured for him a spot next to me.

My brother’s story of how he survived the bloody diarrhea and then how he found the place where I was staying was quite miraculous.

Soon after he left camp 1 on that miserable day after New Years, he started to feel much better. The fresh air during his ride to another camp seemed to have helped a lot in his recovery. He landed in camp 7, which was also designated as a "Schonungs Lager". Since he felt pretty good after his arrival he was also permitted to wear his clothing and the same as I did here, he performed all kinds of work around the camp. Before the liquidation of camp 7 he was transferred to camp 4 in Kaufering. The same as I, he also was hoping to find me here.

Exactly as I did after my arrival, he was also venturing around the camp hoping to find somebody who might have known something about my whereabouts.

Incidentally or miraculously, the first person he met was the same man I was talking to a short while ago. Being happy to see a familiar face, Mayer approached the man greeting him warmly and asking him how he was. The man looked at him in bewilderment, asking him if he is, "Out of his mind"... "I was just talking to you a short while ago, and you are asking me again, how I am?" A bit confused, he added, "I hope that you are not loosing your mind."

Needless to say that my brother immediately understood the mix up. Although we were not identical twins, people used to confuse us, especially in the camps with both shaved heads and wearing the same Prison uniforms.

Without further explanation, Mayer grabbed the man’s arm and begged him immediately to take him to my hut... "You were talking to my brother, not to me", he tried to convince our good friend. Happy about the turn of events, our friend whose name I unfortunately am not able to recall, brought me the best present imaginable.

A SMALL FOOD PARCEL FROM THE RED CROSS

Being together again with my brother was advantageous for both of us. First of all it was a fulfillment of my Mother’s last wish. Besides that, we both felt more secure and ready to help each other in any way possible. In the meantime Mayer took over the duties of preparing the additional meals made from my daily limited supply of potatoes. His presence gave me a chance to rest up after my morning chores.

Even with the additional few potatoes, the task of carrying quite heavy loads of potato peelings became harder by the day. With ever smaller bread rations and the replacement of a little bit of marmalade instead of margarine, my strength seemed gradually to diminish.

In the beginning of April, rumors began to spread among the inmates that we might soon receive some food parcels from the International Red Cross. As fantastic as it may have sounded, it really happened. Sometime before Passover on one of those sunny spring days, the camp loud speakers were calling for the block eldests and their helpers to report to the camp warehouse. Soon after they returned with a pushcart full of small boxes with the "Red Cross" stamped on top of them.

Unfortunately this first ever unexpected gift which arrived just a few weeks before liberation, turned out to be a curse instead of a blessing. The content of the parcel, one kilo of sugar cubes, one small can of coronation cream, and a pack of twenty cigarettes, triggered one of the worst disasters this camp had experienced since the disastrous typhoid epidemic.

The overwhelming majority of the half dead and skeletal inmates were unable to digest the fat cream and the many sugar cubes which they eagerly consumed as fast as they received them. Non-smokers immediately exchanged their cigarettes for another can of cream or some additional sugar. Many finished their entire parcel in one sitting.

The result was indeed devastating. In our hut alone several victims died during the night while others complained bitterly of stomach cramps and diarrheas.

As usual, there was no medical help available, and many more victims were found dead on their bunks the next day and after.

My brother and I ate only some of the sugar cubes and shared one can of cream. The rest we kept hidden under the saw dust of our bunks. The cigarettes we gradually traded for additional slices of bread. This additional food made our lives a bit easier for another week or ten days.

Even with all that my physical situation kept on deteriorating until I reached a point of no return.

CHAPTER 13

CAMP 4 KAUFERING (PASSOVER 1945)

At first after my arrival at camp 4, the place was filled up to capacity. This was of course almost eight months earlier. Each hut was then fully occupied with about fifty inmates, all laboring at the large construction site of "Leonard Moll-Munich."

On passover of 1945, the camp was less than half empty with mostly unable to work, sick and almost half dead inmates. The overwhelming majority of the first arrivals, mostly from Auschwitz, were already dead. Starvation, hard labor, constant harassment, and all kinds of diseases, were causes for this tragic and devastating situation.

Even with the steady daily influx of new arrivals from camps of Eastern Germany, this place could never reach its capacity again.

Since none of the present inmates were doing any outside work, the daily rations for the mostly and slowly dying inmates was kept to a bare minimum. A slice of stale mostly greenish with mold black bread with some colored lukewarm water for breakfast and a watery soup with a single slice of potato, if you were lucky, could hardly keep us alive.

So ever fewer of these skeletons dared to venture outside of their huts to catch a bit of fresh air or a glimpse at the spring sun. Inevitably the death toll kept rising.

The blue sky of spring and the beautiful sunny weather kept on teasing the helpless inmates as if daring them to get off the smelly bunks and come outside to enjoy nature. However, we the members of the chosen people, were not granted this great gift of nature. Nobody or very few were able to step outside or even care any more to do that. Fortunately my brother and I were still able to move around, while I with my friend, Laibl were still, although with a much slower pace, continuing with our daily chores.

I was still hoping to make it to the end, and my optimism of surviving this terrible war remained as strong as ever.

After all, we were all aware of the fact that Germany was losing the war. We also knew that allied forces were already on German soil. But most of us lacked physical or mental strength to celebrate. We were also aware of the recently established "United Nations," which had already drawn up plans for a new world order. The question at the time however was who among us was going to live to enjoy the planned new world.

Most of the inmates in this camp and most likely in any other Nazi concentration camps had given up and lost their will to continue the daily struggle for survival. "What is the use to continue suffering, when by the end the Nazis are going to kill us anyways?" was the accepted argument by most of us.

Although my intentions were not to give up, I was finally forced to quit my daily job. My health and strength deteriorated to a point when I could hardly get off my bunk and venture outside the hut. Just a short while ago I was still among the few fortunate ones who was able to supplement my meager daily rations. I had an exceptional break and help from friends who were working in the kitchen. However as it seemed, all this was not enough to keep me on my feet. For a while I was quite sure that this additional help would let me continue my daily struggle while still standing on my own feet. Unfortunately it was just the opposite. It seemed that I was working too hard to sustain my ever diminishing strength.

For some, the shining sun became like a magnet for those still able to move. Slowly they dragged themselves outside and sat down resting their skeletal bodies on the hut walls, trying to enjoy as much as possible the warm spring weather.

They hardly talked to each other. Not that there wasn't enough to talk about, but they all seemed to be engulfed in their own thoughts. Some of them were sitting there with wide open eyes as if wondering what this world is all about, while others seemed asleep, perhaps dreaming of the past, of being together with their families and perhaps even dreaming of a bright future.

During rare occasions when I was also sitting down among my fellow sufferers, I did my best not to think at all, especially not about the past. I tried my best to enjoy the few precious minutes which I hoped would help me to push through another day. It was however very depressing to look at the people around me.

I knew most of them, they were all young men in their early twenties and some still teenagers. I remember them when they were still looking quite human, and some of them used to be my co-workers at the construction site.

Dear God, how they all changed. Living skeletons with greyish pale faces and terribly sad eyes which were placed deep into their skulls. How many of them, I thought will be strong enough and fortunate enough to survive under the prevailing circumstances?

It looked to me quite bizarre that even during those moments it never really crossed my mind that I would not survive. I somehow witnessed horrible suffering all around me without really realizing that I am one of them.

I used to whisper to myself, even trying to convince myself that I must survive, and even that I am destined to survive: "How is the world going to know what was happening to our people if we would all perish?" I was sure even during the worst moments of suffering that by the end there are going to be survivors, and that with God's help, I would be among them.

THE FIRST CONFRONTATION WITH MY BLOCK ELDEST

It happened during Passover of 1945. Until that day I was fortunate to belong to very few favorites of this monster.

The supreme master of our hut who was known as the block eldest was a well known sadist by the name of Zulty. In Warsaw and later in Paris before the war, he was working as a baker. As a capo at Auschwitz and later as a foreman of a clean-up squad after the Warsaw ghetto uprising, he apparently single-handedly had killed several inmates.

The irony of all that was that ZuIty considered himself a marxist, a saviour of the suffering working class. At every occasion he kept on preaching about the superior quality of life in the Soviet Union while denouncing the oppressionist regimes of capitalist countries. He also considered himself an ardent music lover but his preference in songs were mostly tunes which were denouncing capitalism. Since I remembered quite well several such songs, he designated me and a couple of other youngsters as his "block singers." After noticing some of my pencil drawings he also considered me as his block artist. So every night before turning off the light he confortably stretched himself out on his bunk and together with his ever-present boy friend at his side, enjoyed our songs praising the victorys of the world proletariat. For this task and for my"art work" he rewarded me with an extra spoon of marmalade and sometimes even with a slice of bread.

Many times during our "concerts," Zulty used to open his little window, actually the only window in the hut in order that the SS man on top of the nearby tower could also enjoy himself and arrive at some sort of satisfaction by hearing young Jews singing for him.

Apparently this was a Ukranian SS man who was on exceptional friendly terms with our block eldest who was a well known homosexual. According to Zulty, this guard was once an active communist who was forced into the "Waffen SS" against his will. On this particular night before the first day of Passover, after our nightly "performance" the hut became engulfed a deadly silence. Somehow at once everybody’s thoughts became occupied with the fact that this was supposed to have been the first Seder night.

While my mind was completely absorbed with thoughts about the Passover Seder together with my family and almost hearing myself asking the "four questions," I returned to reality by a tap on my shoulder. Unwilling to abandon the beautifully served Passover table, I tried to hold on to that vision a bit longer. But my neighbour’s pleading voice kept on repeating itself, although in a sort of a whisper.

My neighbour, a Hungarian born Orthodox Jew, pleaded with me to perform a "great Mitzvah" (a good deed). This thirty something ultra religious man asked me to intervene with Zulty on his behalf. Since he would never eat bread on Passover, and as he put it, he would rather die instead of becoming a sinner, he would like me to ask our block eldest to give him during the Passover days an extra soup instead of the bread ration.

I tried as much as I could to convince this skeletal young man that in his condition he would be better off with his bread ration, and might even commit a sin by not eating it. My arguments were obviously unsuccessful. Apparently I found Mr. Zulty in an exceptional good mood, or perhaps he pretended to be, because without hesitation he promptly agreed to give the poor man an extra soup instead of the bread. When I gave the good news of the arrangement to my neighbour, his pale skinny face seemed to had lightened up from happiness.

It did not take me too long to realize that Zulty’s deal was worth as much as his reputation. The poor inmate did indeed not receive his daily bread ration, but the promised extra soup was never given to him. All this poor starving man could do at the time was moaning and quietly complaining to his helpless fellow inmates.

I can not recall exactly on which day it happened, perhaps on the third or the fourth day of Passover, when my starving neighbour kept whispering into my ear, "Please, my friend, please help me", he was crying bitterly. Feeling a sense of guilt for actually believing the block eldest, and making the deal with this monster, I could hardly hide my frustration and anger.

Obviously not realizing that Zulty might hear me from quite a distance, I apparently,a bit too loud, urged my starving friend to walk over and with the little strength left in him, demand from the block eldest to keep the deal as promised. "Don't wait any longer if you want to survive the holidays" were my last angry words before a deadly silence overtook the dimly lit hut.

Suddenly the hoarse voice of a obviously angry block eldest, broke the silence like a thunder during a bad storm: "You f ... ing bastard son of a bitch painter" he shouted like a wild beast..."Come over here at once, you little creep".

All I managed to notice on the way to his part of the hut were the faces of my scared fellow inmates and friends. Walking like in a daze, I apparently did not fully realize the seriousness of the situation.

A bit of light from an outside lamppost managed to steal itself into the almost dark hut and allowed me a glimpse at Zulty’s viciously angry face. Before I came near him and before I was able to open my mouth, I found myself flying backwards in the direction I came from. Fortunately our tormentor hit me with a vicious slap to my face which was so powerful that I completely lost control of my entire body. In seconds I found myself on the floor at the other end of the hut. Although my face seemed bruised, and swollen, I was grateful that the brutal monster didn't hit me with a clenched fist. In pain I could hear Zulty continue his vicious diatribe for at least several more minutes. Even in a much worse hoarse voice than before, he kept on shouting obscenities in my direction: "If it wouldn't have been you, you bastard son of a bitch, I would have killed you." Several times he repeated the same sentence.

I am not quite sure if my poor ultra religious neighbour received any additional soup on the remaining few days of Passover. However, I do remember well that a couple of days after Passover of 1945 only a few short weeks before liberation, this deeply religious man was found dead on his bunk. In contrast to other victims of starvation he looked exceptionally peaceful as if being already liberated.

This was about the same time when my own health was already rapidly starting to deteriorate. I became almost completely bunk ridden and could hardly walk on my own. I had to have the help of my brother even to walk over the few meters to the "relieve" bucket.

Without the extra few potatoes I earned by carrying heavy loads of potato peelings, plus the recent loss of the small privileges granted to me by our block eldest, I became weaker by the minute. The ever more reduced bread ration, and the ever more thinner daily soup added to my physical deterioration.

Since I was not able to continue my daily chores at the kitchen, I desperately tried to talk my brother into taking over my job. I attempted to convince him that the few extra potatoes might help me in my recovery as well as help him to continue to stand on his own, moved him. Realizing in what condition I was in, his argument seemed quite logical: I would rather not eat" he argued "than use up my last bit of strength for a couple of rotten potatoes. At first I was quite upset by his refusal to help out. After all he was always an equal partner to whatever food I managed to bring in. Later however I fully realized that he was right indeed.

During those last weeks of April, hundreds of new arrivals crossed the gates of our camp bringing with them tales of horror and devastation. Many concentration camps in East Germany, including the infamous camp of Buchenwald, were liquidated and their Jewish inmates were being dragged by foot in the direction of the Tyrol mountains. When the surviving inmates reached our camp they were already half dead.

For several weeks under most gruesome conditions, those unfortunate Jewish men and women had to endure torture, cold and starvation. Those unable to continue walking were shot or beaten to death. Their bodies.were dumped into the ditches alongside the roads. According to the survivors thousands upon thousands of those unfortunate men and women perished on the roads and byways of Germany.

A relatively very small percentage of those "marchers", managed to survive this terrible ordeal. After arriving in "camp 4" they were assigned to different huts where they shared the miserable lives of the already "native" inmates.

Surprisingly also large groups of Soviet P.O.W.s arrived at the same time. Those separately kept prisoners did not look much better than the Jewish inmates. They were only recognizable by their dilapidated Russian military uniforms. In a blatant violation of the "Geneva convention," those prisoners of war were starved and tortured in the same way as the Jewish inmates.

Those already walking skeletons were wearing uniforms which seemed several sizes larger than their bodies. To those who watched those former brave soldiers, they appeared tragically ridiculous. After several days we learned that the Soviet prisoners left the camp for an unknown destination.

MY SECOND AND LAST CONFRONTATION WITH ZULTY

It was probably about ten days before liberation. I was already one of those helpless skeletons as most of the occupants of my hut. Unable to wash myself or even to walk over to the bucket to relief myself. From time to time my brother who was still in relatively good shape helped me drag myself outside to get some fresh air and enjoy the beautiful Bavarian spring weather.

But most of the time when Mayer with a couple of friends who were still able to walk ventured outside by himself, I remained quite lonely on my bunk listening to the moaning and silent cries of dying inmates. However I felt sometimes much worse when some of them seemed too quiet. It turned out that those silent ones, most of the time were already dead.

Sometimes I used to hear loud complaints addressed to God ... They kept asking "Hashem", why he created such a gorgeous spring "while none of us is able to enjoy it?" "Do you care more for the German people than for your own chosen ones?" Some in their distress and anger were even cursing their God.

Others were simply complaining about the stale piece of molding bread which they were already unable to swallow or for the awful watery daily soup.

Considering my own condition I suddenly realized that theirs was a truly legitimate complaint. Lately it was getting very difficult for me to bite into this hard like a rock stale bread and the soup which contained just a hint of potatoes was causing pain to my stomach instead of stilling my hunger.

I remember telling my brother about not being able to eat the slice of bread or swallow the always cold watery soup. He told me then that the block eldest is cheating us by distributing to the inmates only the water from the soup barrel while the potatoes which were left at the bottom, he enjoyed together with his little boy friend. Mayer assured me that he himself saw the two large plates of dense soup on the block eldest table.

Although it was always obvious to all of us that Zulty was stealing from our rations, it nevertheless irritated me this time more than ever. It was hard to comprehend that this sadist would continue to steal from us under the present conditions and so close to our possible liberation.

Full of rage and obsessed with a desire to let this beast know what we felt about this practice, I was looking forward to next distribution of the daily soup.

On the next day when Zulty with the help of his "stuben dienst" began to distribute the soup, I was already armed with a prepared verbal attack, which Zulty did probably remember until the day he died.

The moment I took the container of soup into my bony hands, I realized right away that all I received was a container full of luke warm water. Without the slightest fear of any possible consequences, I started a tirade of insults, I myself hardly believed were coming out from my mouth and my weak body.

I began with Zulty’s own expression: "You bastard son of a bitch" and continued with a rage of obscenities which almost paralized the shocked and scared inmates of our hut. I noticed Zulty standing next to the soup barrel seemingly not less shocked than the others. My brother kept holding me tight trying desperately to calm me down. His attempt to restrain my outburst, didn't seem to help. Without the last strength in my body, I kept on shouting: "Don't you know, that your judgement day is fast approaching?" "Didn't you kill enough of us with your fists and especially by stealing from our daily rations?" "Do you have to continue those murders, even now at such a terrible time and at our last struggle for survival?" I recall shouting at him to take this watery soup from me and choke on it, because "I am not able to swallow this anyways." Already exhausted with a completely hoarse and still angry voice, I told him to "Take it and go to hell with it." I finished my tirade amid a deadly silence.

As if in a daze, Zulty was still standing next to the soup barrel holding his large ladle in his right hand. The deadly expression on his fat face did hardly give a hint about his possible reaction. As far as the inmates were concerned, they probably expected to experience another killing.

I however remember being very calm and most of all very satisfied. I finally let that beast know who he really was. Something that I am sure many of us had the urge to tell him but were somehow to weak or were just lacking the energy and guts to do it. I am sure that deep inside they were all satisfied by what had just happened.

Suddenly we heard Zulty’s quite subdued voice calling to my brother, "Mayer, come over here." In a split of a second, Mayer stood in front of him apparently not knowing what to expect. "Bring me over his soup" he requested from my brother, who rapidly followed his order. Zulty took my soup, poured it back into the barrel, and waited for a second. While all eyes of the scared inmates were focused on him, Zulty slowly dipped the ladle down to the bottom of the barrel, and filled my container up to the rim with a dense soup full of large slices of potatoes.

"Give it to your brother and let him eat it" he said with a tone which sounded quite cynical. He then continued to distribute the soup as if nothing had happened. This time as I found out to everyone’s satisfaction, each soup contained at least a few slices of potatoes.

EXPELLED FROM THE HUT

The next morning Zulty came in with a man I had never seen before. He introduced him to me as a doctor, who examined me thoroughly (or pretended to conduct an examination). After the examination the alleged doctor decided that I had typhoid. To my reaction that this is impossible, since I already went through this disease during an epidemic in the Lodz Ghetto, the "doctor’s" answer was complete silence. Nevertheless his swift recommendation was an immediate transfer to a so-called typhoid block. I must admit, that at first I was almost fooled by Zulty’s change of heart. But as it turned out his seemingly kind gesture was just a calculated way of revenge. Being already afraid of fresh accusations of cruelty, in the wake of the obviously near liberation, he conveniently expelled me from my familiar environment and effectively separated me from my twin brother.

In 1945 or in the beginning of 1946 1 had learned that my former block eldest, was shot dead while walking on a street in Paris. Zulty was apparently gunned down by a sibling of one of his many victims.