CHAPTER 14

THE LAST WEEK AT CAMP 4-KAUFERING, DACHAU

With the last confrontation with my block eldest still on my mind, I was hanging on quietly to the arms of my brother who assisted me on the way to my new quarters. I don't remember how the weather really was on that for me gruesome day. But the grounds were still muddy and treacherous as during the worst winter days. It again crossed my mind a perception that muddy grounds were somwhow a part of Nazi torture intended to make our lives as miserable as possible.

The time to reach the typhoid block seemed to me endless, although the distance from my place to the intended destination was no more than about a hundred and fifty metres. My skeletal legs were so weak that the wooden shoes on my feet seemed to pull me to the ground with their weight.

When we finally reached the designated "typhoid hut" I thought that I felt some rain, or perhaps just a drizzle. I don't remember the exact time, but the heavy clouds were adding to the approaching darkness of the late afternoon. This seemingly sudden bad weather added a lot to my extremely depressed state of mind.

With one hand Mayer opened the little gate, and with the other he carefully led me down the several steps into the hut. He then left me in quite a hurry, as if being terribly afraid of catching the deadly desease.

The hut was completely engulfed in darkness. I was not sure whether the little bulb hanging down from the ceiling was turned off or was already burned out.

A young man who seemed to be waiting just for my arrival handed me a dirty blanket and helped me to find a place to settle down. Amid total darkness he found a narrow space between two inmates. Having completed his task without uttering a single word, he disapeared, never to be seen again.

The total darkness inside this place was frightening. Even the little window at the rear of the hut did not let in a trace of some outside light. I settled down between two conspicuously quiet patients. Not being sure if they were dead or alive I was quite relieved to hear one of them letting out a faint growl. The stench inside this so-called typhoid barrack was unbearable. In addition to the horrible odor of human excrement, there was also a mixture of staleness and sweat and most probably of decomposing human flesh.

Through the blinding darkness it was hard for me to see any faces, not even of my closest neighbour, but according to the many bony bare feet which were sticking out from under the blankets, the place seemed filled up to capacity.

Lying stretched out I was finally able to rest at least temporarily my aching bones. The depressed thoughts inside my equally aching head were chasing each other like racing cars. I tried my best to be as rational as possible under the circumstances. But felt much too tired and weak to concentrate. Willingly or not, many nagging questions started to surface inside my mind: "Why are we here left completely on our own without supervision of any kind?" "Why are we left in total darkness?" But the worst question of all was: "Why is it so frightening quiet inside - this by God and anyone else forsaken place?"

Although I had my suspicions, I could not arrive at a definite explanation. But after several hours inside this despicable place of human misery I started to see the real picture quite clearly.

When the usual standard time for the distribution of the daily rations had passed without anybody showing up, I fully realized the gravity of my present situation. Even in my quite unstable state of mind, it became clear to me that I am not inside a so-called typhoid barrack. This place was no hospital of any kind. Besides not having a doctor or nurse on duty, this place had not even a simple human being who would take care of our minimum human needs. This hut was simply a part of a "final solution" without a gas chamber.

The terribly poisoned air and the deplorable conditions inside this place and left alone without food or water, was equal to a death sentence.

Not even the filled up bucket of human excrement seemed ever to be emptied, but worst of all the already dead inmates were not being removed and left simply to rot on their bunks. This of course clearly explained the scary silence as well as the unbearable stench.

Although my stomach was completely empty, I was much more bothered by thirst than hunger. I hadn't had a bite or any fluid for at least twenty four hours. My mind kept on working in a abnormal speed. Yesterday’s events came back to me clear and vivid. I suddenly realized that my block eldest could have easily killed me. I also realized that for this man being insulted in front of his victims, must have been a terrible blow.

But the times surely did change. Zulty was indeed aware that the Americans were quite close and that his days as master over helpless inmates were numbered. So as sneaky and clever he thought he was, this shameless collaborator and vicious torturer surely must have realized that this was the time to pretend to be a nice guy. That must have been the only reason that instead of a deadly punch, he gave me a bowl of potato soup.

In addition to that human gesture, he also demonstrated how passionate he could be when a sick inmate needed help. That's why he probably decided to let me be examined by a so-called doctor who did it of course in front of the surprised inmates.

It didn't take too long for me to get used to the terrible stench inside this forsaken hut. However, the continuous total darkness became unbearable. I also missed terribly at least for a little while to talk to somebody. Even the closest neighbour of mine seemed to be dead or close to it. From time to time I could hear a quiet painfull growl or some hardly understandable whisper in Yiddish or Polish mixed with some muffled sobbing. In general the hut was engulfed in a deadly silence.

I felt terribly alone and abandoned, even by my own brother who hadn't visited me yet. The dryness in my throat and mouth was terribly irritating. Cracks opened up on my dried-out lips, and I began feeling some wetness on my neck caused by a reopening of the old scar which was again bleeding and discharging puss. It was hard for me to understand at the time why I did not feel any special pain.

From time to time I tried to talk to myself and even to utter a silent prayer: "All I need " I felt myself uttering, "is just some water and a visit from my brother." I also heard some subdued voices of a couple of other inmates. One very close to me asked God not to forsake us and help the unfortunate children of Israel.

Through the sleepless nights I could not stop thinking about my grave situation. My eyes were burning to a point where I could hardly keep them ajar. When finally the morning dusk arrived I somehow felt a bit safer and more secure. The strong sun seemed to manage to push through a little bit of light into the hut, although the window was small and covered with dirt. At such times feeling a bit more hopeful I fell asleep.

When I woke up the hut seemed a bit brighter. A few sunbeams must have shown some mercy for the abandoned creatures inside this even by God forsaken place. It took me a few seconds to realize where I was. Then I let my bony legs slide down to the muddy floor and bare footed, dragged myself over to the overflown bucket to relieve myself. The smelly full of refuse bucket brought me back to reality. When I slowly returned to my place I usually tried to sit down at least for a while at the edge of the bunk. "I can’t give up, I must continue my struggle to survive." I looked around but through the half darkness I could not see any movement or much sign of life. I estimated that at least fifty percent of patients in this typhoid hut must have been dead with the rest dying or in a coma.

I tried to convince myself that I had a better chance to survive than many of the others. They had nobody who would help them. With me it was entirely different. After all, I still had a brother who will surely show up at any minute. If he would only have the occasion, he would bring me a slice of bread, perhaps even a bit of soup. But most importantly some water, maybe even a lot of water.

Why should I even think otherwise. After all he's my twin brother with whom I have shared every bite I managed to obtain. I did that from the start of our incarceration to the day my strength gave up on me. Somehow I was always lucky, probably with the help of my invisible guardian angel in obtaining some additional food. I was quite sure that he fully realized that now was his turn, and with that awareness he would show up pretty soon.

With these kind of thoughts the hours went by while the hut returned to its usual darkness. Nothing in this place however seemed to change. Although interrupted from time to time by some silent moaning or crying, the deadly silence in this hut was more than frightning. Perhaps yet another inmate passed away in silent agony? But the little gate of our hut remained constantly shut.

Nobody, not a living soul seemed to come through this little gate, not even my own twin brother.

On the third or fourth day my two bony sticks which were once strong legs were already unable to carry me over the short distance to the bucket. I was lying in a pool of urine and excrement, unable to do anything about it.

I don't remember feeling any more hunger, but was tortured by a terrible thirst. "If only my brother could manage to bring me something to drink." Tears kept constantly running down my bony cheeks. All my thoughts at the time were full of questions and doubts of why my brother was still not showing up, even for a single minute. Amid my helpless and horrible situation I began worrying about the well being of my brother. In addition to the terrible darkness inside the hut, I became blinded by my own tears.

As ridiculous and bizarre it may sound, my constant sobbing turned into some kind of blessing. I kept on licking and swallowing the salty tears which came down close to my mouth. This little bit of fluid became in a way a relief for my burned up lips and soothed a bit the dryness of my blistered mouth.

The pain and frustration and even anger about my brother’s continuing absence became much worse than the misery of the nights and days spent in this almost mass grave.

I even became immune to the horrible plague of body lice. My blanket, the one and only piece of clothing which supposed to shield my body from the chill and dampness of this hut, was literally invaded by lice. These little creatures usually had the power of constantly keeping you from getting some much needed sleep and provided you with endless torture while you were awake.

So during my present predicament, this until now terrible plague became secondary to my other problems. Whether my brother would show up or not, my determination and unbreakable will to survive became my number one goal. Even in my seemingly hopeless situation I was hoping that with my perseverence, hope and sincere belief that also this time I would overcome and manage to survive. Perhaps I was not entirely in full control of my senses, but I still believed and trusted my Guardian Angel, who somehow until now never missed to be around when I needed him (or her).

I remember once when I was quite sure that nobody was listening or perhaps at a time when I was quite delirious, silently talking and asking questions to our God himself: "Dear God, how can you allow your chosen people being tortured by the Nazi murderers and their helpers?" I also kept on asking if he doesn't think that it is time to bring an end to the suffering of his people.

Although I could hardly hear my own voice, my questions turned into an angry outburst: "What wrong have we done to deserve such harsh punishments?" ..."You took everything from us, our parents, our families, our freedom ... isn't that enough?" I continued with an ever more lower voice to plead for help for the still living souls of this horrible place. Especially in the wake of the soon approaching end of the war.

I could have gone on and on, if not of a faint but very angry voice coming from a short distance away "Shut up you idiot, there is no God", and as if in embarrassment he repeated himself, "There is no God". While continuing the same sentence several more times, the poor man turned his resentment into a silent sobbing.

Another day went by without anybody showing up to provide us with some help. Unable to count the days anymore, it was impossible for me to actually pinpoint the time of my presence inside this place without any food or water.

Being completely dehydrated and hardly able to move, I was lying on that dirty with lice infested place still hoping for some sort of relief.

Because the little gate of the hut was not opened for quite a long time, the place seemed completely airless. It became impossible to breathe. But all my thoughts continued to be occupied with my brother’s fate. I could still not comprehend why he never came to see me. I became frightened by the thought that perhaps he was not alive any more.

I kept on crying, but my tears seemed already to have dried out. I nevertheless tried not to give up and still kept on hoping for the best.

After all I was one of the very few who never subscribed to the theory that the Germans would kill us all, even minutes before liberation.

After a few days I became accustomed not only to the life in this hut but also to the steady almost total darkness. I was able to see certain things, although not too many details. I looked at my bony legs and my thoughts were wandering back to my childhood. "Is it possible that those legs were once able to play soccer or ice skate?" I was also, probably to forget a bit about my present prediciment, thinking about the many hours I was standing on my legs playing table tennis in preparation for upcoming competitive matches.

Probably in order to forget about my lonliness, I even tried to recall the time when my Father brought home the first ice skates for my brother and myself. I must have been six or seven at the time. How trivial it seemed to me while lying among dead and dying inmates, to remember the label on those skates: "turf weden stahl." This for me unforgettable day happened after I was skating for a while on only one old skate attached to my right shoe. This loving gesture by my Father seemed to me something that I would never forget.

Finally on the fourth or the fifth day of my total loneliness I thought that I heard the little gate shut open and to my pleasant surprise I also heard my brother’s voice calling my name. Apparently not being sure if I was dead or alive, my brother kept on calling my name and asking where I was. I tried to reply to his callings but my voice was so low that he was barely able to hear me. I used the maximum of strength to raise my voice, which apparently made him aware of my presence. After a few minutes of searching through the darkness, he finally found me. At first I was numb with accumulated rage, but nevertheless was happy to hear his voice and see him standing near me. I started to cry hysterically, being unable to utter a single word. "What is it?" he asked as if not fully realizing the gravity of the situation. Perhaps not to make me feel too bad he pretended that everything was quite normal.

I gathered whatever little strength was left inside my body and still crying, I asked him why he waited so long to visit me. Still crying I pleaded for his help. Without uttering a single word, he took both my hands into his and held them tight.

Finally he seemed to be talking to me, but his words made hardly any sense. I was unable to see the expression on his face but I was sure that he was also crying. What I was able to understand and clearly remember was that the camp was being evacuated. I also understood that all able bodied inmates were being taken and escorted out to an unknown destination by SS troops. In my feverish mind I could hardly fully comprehend what my brother had just told me.

My brothe’rs entire visit must have lasted about five minutes. He told me that he must join the hundreds of others who were already getting ready to leave the camp. Amid tears by both of us, Mayer handed me a medium size raw potato after he promised to fetch for me some water, "if only possible"....he kissed my forehead and promised to see me soon.

The next time I saw my brother was forty-five years later, when he visited me together with his son in Montreal.

EVACUATION

My brother’s gift became my only source of nourishment for the next several days. Only the tremendous will to survive provided me with the strength even to be able to bite into the raw potato, which provided me with both some food and some fluid.

Like a baby satisfying its hunger from a mother’s breast, I was eagerly sucking the cooling delicious juices of the raw potato. I was also consuming small crumbs of the potato itself. As I always did with my meager rations, I also this time had the sense of preserving this newly found treasure: "There is always another day" my mind told me. Every hour or so slowly and with care, I took the potato to my mouth and sucked a bit of strength into my dehydrated body.

Perhaps it was just psychosomatic, whether it was real or imaginary, I began feeling better and stronger. For the first time in several days I was able slowly to drag myself to the bucket of refuse to relieve myself.

After my brother had left me my mind kept on searching for an explainable reason for his unexplainable behavior toward me. To avoid unnecessary pain, I found an answer which would at once soothe my anger and also free my brother from any intentional wrongdoing. The answer in my head, but not exactly in my heart, was quite simple: Since he was convinced that my days were probably numbered, he was reluctant to take unnecessary chances by visiting a possibly highly contagious typhoid hut.

My self explanation seemed at the time quite logical especially then when he saw the Nazis leaving the camp in great panic and being sure that liberation was closer than ever before. Not thinking too much about my own situation, in my mind my brother’s behavior was fully forgiven.

With the help of my blanket I wiped my eyes dry, took a deep breath and again reaffirmed my promise not to give up. "I will gather every bit of strength left in my body and continue my struggle to survive."

"I am not going to die"...I cried out not being sure if anyone heard me. This time however nobody told me to shut up.

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL AT WORK AGAIN

On that evening I somehow fell asleep quite early. I was suddenly awakened by loud shouts in German mixed with screams and cries in other languages. The until now mostly quiet nights and days were apparently coming to an end. Inside our hut however a deadly silence still prevailed. Nobody seemed to hear or even care. Not having forgotten what my brother told me several hours earlier, I sensed something of utmost importance was happening or was going to happen.

While all kinds of thoughts began torturing my mind again the little door of our hut burst open with a frightening bang. Together with the now amplified noises, the lights from the lamp post outside brought in a brightness into our hut never seen before. Two young men apparently in great hurry were desperately trying to wake up one inmate after another, obviously without great success.

"Whoever is able to leave the bunks, we are going to help" they shouted. "You have to get out of here very fast"...They kept on shouting to a clearly unreceptive audience.

With an unexplainable power I pushed myself to the edge of the bunk and managed with my feet to reach the floor. "Here, here" I brought out a quiet cry from my throat. One of them finally heard me and after a split second they both grabbed my skeletal body, put my helpless arms over their shoulders and swiftly dragged me outside. A pushcart already quite full of some half-dead inmates were already lying one on top of the other. In another very rapid move I was then placed on top of the others. A couple of other young men were already pulling the filled to capacity push cart.

Amid the indescribable chaos and panic, our pushcart was being driven as fast as humanly possible. Scores of inmates some still walking on their own feet and others being helped by others were moving in different directions, as if not realizing what was going on around them. The camp seemed brighter than ever before with the help of the usual lamp posts, and some reflectors. The air seemed quite fresh in comparison to the stench and dampness of the completely airless huts.

Lying on top of the heap, I was able to see most what was going on around us. While the pushcart was crossing the muddy grounds of the "Appell Platz", and while I was inhaling the refreshingly wonderfull air, pleading voices and heart breaking cries for help brought me back to reality. The vast area of the plaza and all the empty spaces around the camp were transformed into virtual dying fields. Hundreds of dead and dying inmates were lying all over the place. Many of the dead skeletal bodies were already piled up one on top of the other. The pain and misery of those still alive you could see in their horrified wide open eyes. The desperate cries of the dying and their pleading for help, must have reached the heavens. But no help seemed to be forthcoming. These pictures of total devastation and horror were visible throughout the entire camp, and all the way to the waiting trains. Only several minutes after I was being taken out of the barrack and just before I reached the train I noticed a huge f1re lighting up the sky behind us. It turned out that the two typhoid barracks, one of them which was my miserable home for close to a week, were set on fire.

Still on top of the pushcart and realizing what was going on around me, my mind became again bombarded with questions impossible for me to answer. As a matter of fact I am now several decades after those horrors still unable to find answers to those questions.

"How could I explain why I was the only one from my barrack to be saved by a couple of inmates whom I knew only by the look of their familiar faces?" "What prompted those two inmates at a time when their own lives were in mortal danger to so passionately try to help others? As many times during my incarceration I was also this time mysteriously helped in a way I could hardly had expectedtv. "Why me?" I kept asking myself. Why did those people choose me while hundreds of pleading inmates were openly visible and lying all over the camp grounds?

We soon reached the place where a long train was waiting for us. In contrast to the closed up cattle wagons in which the Nazis were usually transporting their victims these wagons were similar to half trucks which were used mainly for transporting coal or construction supplies. The fields close to some wooden areas where the train was standing was also a picture of sheer hell. Amid chaos and confusion, there seemed no Germans in sight. Hundreds of half dead skeletons were walking aimlessly apparently not knowing how to settle down. For those people to climb on top of a wagon was humanly impossible. Many of them were just lying down on the terribly muddy grounds. Some of them were helped by still relatively mobile young men who had shown great passion and extreme human kindness at a time when many others were absorbed in their own well being. I will always treasure the memories of those days when I witnessed extreme human kindness from many inmates towards their less fortunate comrades.

During all that indescribable chaos, some of the helpless inmates were pleading to be placed into the wagons, while others were crying and begging to be taken off and being placed somewhere on the ground. Most however were unable to move alltogether, and were helplessly and quietly lying on the ground.

Our pushcart was slowly emptied of its cargo. One of the boys grabbed my arm and the other took hold of my legs and together they literally threw me onto the wagon.

I landed on top of a pile of scantily dressed and some completely naked inmates. The reaction to my sudden arrival on top of them was quite mixed. Some screamed out in pain apparently hurt by the weight of my bony body and most likely by the impact of my heavy wooden shoes. They kept on pushing and shoving me off their bodies while others seemed not to react at all.

Amid all that confusion the most important thing on my mind at the time was to hold on tightly to my treasured raw potato, whatever was left of it.

No matter what teriible hardship I just had to go through, the next ordeal with its fresh horrors and sufferings has always seemed to dwarf the previous one.

THE LAST VOYAGE

The train which seemed to move for a short while suddenly stopped and as I recall, never moved again. The time spent and the pain endured during those several days, I can describe without hesitation as the summit of my suffering.

Being sqeezed in between many dying and already dead inmates with some of their wooden shoes cutting mercilessly into the skin of my knees felt like a pain I had never experienced before. Blood kept gushing from both my legs. I was crying and pleading for help, but nobody seemed to be able to help me. In addition to this excrutiating pain the scar on my neck which never really completely healed, reopened again causing a steady flow of blood probably mixed with pus coming down my back.

To add to my suffering I felt a stinging pain in my right ear which was also discharging some blood and pus. This came from an almost healed up injury to my right ear drum. For the first time during my entire incarceration I felt really scared. In spite of all this however, I gave myself a vow never to give up.

Conspicuously in a way that nobody would notice, I slowly took my raw potato to my mouth and enjoyed a few small crumbs of the only source of nourishment I possessed. I can vividly recall thinking at the time that the sweet juices of this potato must have tasted better than the most expensive wine. Although I was tempted to finish what remains of the potato once and for all, I still had the sense of keeping some for later.

I really didn't know then and will probably never know exactly how many days I managed to live without food or water. Except of course for the raw potato given to me by my fleeing brother. Days seemed automatically to turn into nights and nights into days. Although at the beginning I tried to remember the amount of time during my last voyage, I finally completely lost track.

Again left completely without supervision or anybody to help me it was impossible for me to reduce the pressure on my bloody knees. In addition I had to endure for quite a while a heavy load of new victims which were thrown into the wagon on top of me.

On one morning I was awakened by a sudden outburst of shouting and crying. When I opened my eyes I saw on the other end of the wagon a couple of young men holding a basket full of sliced bread. Obviously unable to distribute the bread in an orderly fashion, they were just throwing slices into the crowd. Suddenly as if the dead inmates returned to life, most of them tried to push forward with all the power and energy seemingly still left inside their skeletal bodies. The two men probably fearing the worst swiftly emptied the entire content of the basket by throwing the bread randomly at the hungry inmates.

Being tightly pinned in between several unmovable bodies and quite far from the point of distribution, none of those treasured slices of bread ever reached me. My pleading in the direction of the two benefactors was apparently never heard. Silently crying I remained in my helpless condition. Even while being ignored or most likely being taken for already dead, I could not help admiring those young inmates who were still trying to help their fellow sufferers.

No matter how bad and how disturbed I felt at the moment, I could not help to compare this display of human kindness to the many years of witnessing men’s inhumanity to man.

In addition to all the suffering we were also plagued by a constant drizzle. At the time when some warm weather and a bit of sun might have helped the poor sufferers, the sky was constantly covered with dense clouds. At some point when the sun managed to push away some clouds, I felt a bit better even while the pain in all my open wounds was still bothering me. My worries at the moment however were mainly about the fact that my raw potato was slowly vanishing.

As time passed it became more quiet on top of the previously noisy wagon. This silence however was suddenly disrupted by a German military train which seemed to have stopped just paralell to our train. Armoured vehicles and tanks loaded on top of the wagons were visible in spite of their camuflaged covers. Again shouts in German were sounding all over the place.

Suddenly a roar of incoming planes accompanied by several explosions became a simple affirmation that the war was not over yet. Together with the German shouts, screams and cries in Yiddish, Hungarian and Polish became a mixture of chaos and panic.

Bombs exploded in the vicinity of our wagon and I could clearly hear shrapnel hitting the outside of the wagon walls.

A fresh outbreak of panic occurred immidiately after the several explosions. Whoever was still able to move began crawling to the wagon walls unwillingly causing serious injuries to others in their quest to save themselves. In their desperate attempts to get off the wagons, many of them simply fell down to the ground and some of them apparently remained there lying helplessly. The stronger ones or at least some of them managed to crawl into the nearby woods. Most of them however were being hit by flying shrapnel and killed instantly.

Screams and cries for help were heard all over the place, only to be overwhelmed by the roar of flying aircraft and many explosions.

The wagon I was in became half empty. I was finally able to release my bloody legs and like a baby managed to crawl on my knees and arms to finally find a more comfortable spot near a wagon wall. At last I was able to stretch out my aching legs. Several others pulled themselves over next to me. I was glad they did, somehow feeling a bit more secure and what's more a bit warmer.

In a while the explosions seemed to have scaled down, though some were still being heard from a distance away. Also the desperate cries of our suffering brothers seemed more distant. The dark clouds and the constant drizzle seemed to remain without interuption.

At first I considered the weather an additional hardship, but changed my mind when I decided to use a part of my wet blanket as a remedy to my dried up lips. Besides licking the wet dirty blanket, I was also trying to catch some rain drops into my palms, and drink them.

On approximately the third day the blanket which was my only piece of clothing began literally dripping with water. Also the wagon floor slowly turned into a black muddy mess. Little chunks of coal obviously remnants of previous transports were almost swimming on top of the ever more accumulated rain water.

"Look around, my friend", one of my nieghbours whispered... "besides the few of us, everyone on the wagon seemed already to be dead." I did not say anything. I was clearly unable and perhaps even unwilling to count the number of my dead comrades. But by judging the piles of dead bodies, I could estimate that at least thirty young men and teenagers were spread out all over the muddy floor. At a couple of places some of the corpses were piled up one on top of the other.

Most of those young innocent victims of "Hitler’s final solution," were lying on their backs staring with their wide open bewildered eyes at the skies above. Already dead, their grim faces still revealed pain and anger at a world that did nothing to help them. I was quite convinced at the time that their anger was also directed at the heavens. They all remained with wide open mouths, as if asking "why" and perhaps even shouting the same question.

Probably the same question was asked by the Jewish people for many centuries: "Why did God stand by idle while his chosen people had to endure so much suffering?"

Without really considering my extremely grave situation and as always still being optimistic about my own fate, I uttered my own questions to God. "Why now, obviously days or even hours before liberation, have so many young innocent Jewish people to die? ... Weren't there enough victims already?"

My comrades next to me were already sleeping soundly. I however was not able to close my tired eyes. The constant thoughts about my parents and the whereabouts of my brothers, kept me wide awake. Exhausted and weak, I also fell asleep.

The brightness of the morning, though still cloudy did not help much. It only brought new pain and tribulations to the ones still alive.

Only three of us seemed to have woken up. The man on my right pulled himself closer to me. He kept staring at me with his sad wide open eyes as if in search for something of great importance. Suddenly he opened his mouth and with visible excitement in his weak voice cried out my name. Instinctively and swiftly came my response: "Bialik', I managed to whisper, and before I was able to utter another word, Bialik’s head fell backwards. With his eyes and mouth still wide open, my former factory coworker from the Lodz Ghetto who in his last minutes was able to recognize an old friend became another victim of the Nazi horrors. This decent young man, probably in his early thirties was joining his young wife and two small children who about eight months earlier perished in the gaz chambers of Auschwitz.

While tears were running down my cheeks I tried in vain to shut my friends eyelids, and at the same time was wondering how it was possible for two skeletons to recognize each other.

When I settled back to my previous position, I noticed a can of conserved meat lying next to me. I also noticed that my only living comrade was clutching in his hand a piece of dry salami.

Probably seeing some sign of life on our wagons, someone from the military train tried to ease his accumulated burden of guilt by throwing into the wagons some food for the poor souls.

There was obviously no way for me to open a can of meat. I wouldn't even be able to lift that heavy can. In case there would have been someone to do it for me, I am sure that even one spoon of that apparently pork would have killed me instantly. My neighbour however seemed to be much luckier. Although it was quite impossible for him to bite into that seemingly already hard fully dried out piece of salami, he kept on vigourisly licking his unexpectedly acquired treasure.

The night before I consumed the last bite of the potato, my brother gave me several days before. I hardly realized at the time that my brother’s goodbye gift would sustain my life for so many days. It would be hard for anybody to understand how it could be possible for a human being to survive such an extended period of time without food or water. And even less understandable is the fact that I made it with the only help of a medium sized raw potato.

It seems that my perseverence and tremendous will to live combined with my belief that someone, somewhere is really taking care of me gave me the strength to survive that far.

I could not help staring at my nieghbour while he was enjoying his gift from God. I desperately tried to dismiss my hidden envy. After all I also kept my potato from the others without even offering a little bite to anybody. The night before we both had a sort of a introductory conversation. My friend told me his name, his age and some other small details. He was born and raised in Sosnowiec, a city in South Western Poland. He was twenty years old and as far as he knew he was the only survivor of an extended family.

Without really realizing how I looked at that time, I felt some heart breaking pity for this obviously dying young man. I was quite convinced that this young man had little chance to survive another day.

My constantly bleeding open wounds were still bothering me, but were somehow not as painfull as before. Also my previous hunger for some food somehow diminished, but although I still was able to wet my lips on the wet blanket, I would have been gratefull at the time for a drink of water.

I thought that perhaps my friend would be able to help me. If I could only gather the strength to ask him just to let me have a couple of licks on his piece of salami. It reminded me of the hot summer days when I and other children used to ask for a lick of each other’s ice cream. I nevertheless decided not to ask him. The usually beautiful Bavarian spring seemed to come late on that season. The grey skies and the constant drizzle and the whole environment around us was a perfect match to the situation I found myself in.

Not being able to resist the temptation, I finally dared to ask my friend to allow me a couple of licks of his salami. With all his strength left in him he pulled backwards, as if someone was going to hit him. He was holding his treasure with both his bony hands as tight as he possibly could. Having very little strength left in me, I was not able to continue begging or pleading. Besides I still had some pride left in me to do that.

I was lying on my back looking upwards like all the others did....the dead as well as the two of us who were still alive. Although there was hardly a sign of some life in the whole area, I did not feel that I could soon be one of the dead ones. I simply refused to think about it.

Also this long day, which turned out to be the last day of my voyage slowly came to an end. The skies were getting darker and it looked like night was approaching pretty fast. The rain or drizzle seemed to have come to an end. It became colder and with only a wet blanket to protect my skeletal body, my situation in reality must have been much graver than I actually felt.

Just before it became really dark, I felt a light touch on my shoulder from my neighbours hand. I moved my head in his direction. He was half lying, apparently trying to sit up, staring at me as if in a daze. His right arm with his hand holding that covetted piece of salami was slowly moving toward me. And from his opened mouth I could hear a faint whisper, "Here, here, take it." With this unforgettable humane gesture of brotherhood, my only living companion and the last inmate alive also passed away. I remember somehow a thought crossing my mind at that moment: "Probably only several hours before liberation"...

His half sitting-up body slowly took on the position of all the rest of them. His mouth and eyes like on all the other victims remained wide open. They all somehow seemed to look in bewilderment at a cruel world which had permitted such a terrible disaster to happen.

ALONE AT THE END

When recalling the last hours on the train which apparently was supposed to take the remnants of the camp to the mountains of Tyrol for a final liquidation, it is still impossible for me to comprehend how I went through and endured all that suffering without giving up hope for my own survival.

After losing my last living companion, I attempted to settle down for a "normal" night’s sleep.

With one part of my body already quite irritated, I desperately tried to change my position, but was unable to move a single inch. Finally I gave up, but did not feel aggravated or distressed. I took a few licks of that delicious salami. I felt like putting it away for tomorrow, but was unable to resist the heavenly taste of this precious gift. Before hiding it under my blanket, I allowed myself several additional licks. I even tried unsuccessfully of course to have a little bite.

The night seemed to have been exceptionally dark. There was not a single light visible in the whole area. There were no more explossions heard or any particular noices even from far away.

There was no more shouting, screaming of any sort or even silent crying. The whole area was engulfed in total darkness and in deadly silence.

For an instant I thought that I heard some footsteps near by. Excited about the prospect that someone might be able to hear me, I desperately tried to call out for help. But what my vocal cords were able to bring out, was a faint whisper. Obviously, I decided to give up.

I felt cold but no pain whatsoever. An unusual lightness seemed slowly to have replaced the terribly heavy load accumulated inside my head. A weakness never felt before overwhelmed my entire body. My tired eyes stubbornly refused to stay open.

"Why am I suddenly so terribly sleepy"? Were my last thoughts.

LIBERATION

I heard voices. It sounded as if several men were talking, all at the same time. I could hardly understand a single word. The language or languages I heard seemed very foreign to my ears

"Perhaps I am dreaming?" I desperately tried to open my eyes. It took a while, but after several attemps and a bit of a struggle I finally succeeded.

I couldn't see much. As if through a dense fog, I was able to make out some contours of people, shaddows only. But no faces. I was totally confused, didn't know where I was and who those strange people were. After a while the fog slowly lifted. The voices became much clearer, though still not understandable. Also the confusion inside my head seemed slowly to stabalize.

I began to recall certain things: The wagon, the dead inmates, the bombing of a military train parallel to our train. Most of all I recalled that by the end there were no more Germans in sight.

I was lying on a table face up. A very bright light was shining down from the ceiling terribly irritating my aching eyes.

The shadows next to the table slowly turned into people. Men with faces, surprisingly smiling faces. They were all wearing some kind of uniforms, military uniforms, clearly not German ... "Who are they," I kept asking myself.

Without feeling the slightest hint of pain, I noticed a needle in my left arm from where a thin pipe was attached to a hanging from somewhere bottle with fluid.

Then I heard voices talking directly to me. At first someone asked me in German who I was and from where I came from. I stubbornly refused to answer, not even realizing why. Then it seemed that I was being asked the same questions in other languages, which I obviously could not understand.

Finally I heard someone addressing me in Polish, although in quite a halting Polish, but to me quite understandable: "Don't be afraid to talk to me", he said and with a pleasant smile on his face he continued, "you are liberated, you are free, you don't have to be afraid any more, we are Americans." When he asked me my name, and where I was born, I was hardly able to answer. I was weak and confused, but looking at his smiling face, I was finally able to whisper my reply to his questions.

Apparently too weak to show my real feelings and happiness, I was lying motionless waiting for further questions. What came next was the seemingly excited voice of the American officer asking me what I would like to have at that moment. I could clearly remember asking for water. Instead I was given a few sips of milk through a glass straw, which I also remember was my first taste of milk since the start of World War 2. It was also my first drink in probably more than a week.

All I can remember, before I blacked out again was a room full of men with smiling faces.

LIBERATED BUT STILL NOT FREE

When I opened my eyes again I was still lying on my back. This time, however, on a stretcher inside a speeding ambulance. I did not know where I was and much less where I was being taken too.

Confused and scared, I desperately tried to recollect what had really happened to me in the last day or two. With my mind speeding in different directions, it became quite a struggle for me to remember clearly anything that happened. After a short while however, one episode of the nearest past came back to me vividly indeed: I was told that I was liberated ... An American officer told me that I was free. I understood him well because he spoke to me in Polish.

Lying with my feet towards the ambulance door, I tried to move my head backwards, in the hope to be able to get a glimpse at the driver. In fact I managed to see with the help of the front mirror the face or part of the face of a military man. Although his helmet did not resemble one of the Germans, I was still unsure of who he was.

My terribly confused mind began to work on my worst fears. I somehow became convinced that the Germans found me and were taking me back to the camp.

This terrible nightmare was further reinforced when I turned my back and in horror noticed a fully uniformed SS man lying on a stretcher next to me.

When the SS man returned my frightend gaze, with a pair of a typical SS man’s hatefull eyes, there was not a slightest doubt in my mind that I was on the road back to the Nazi camp.

According to the time already past, I somehow figured that I was being taken much further than camp 4 Kaufering.

Terrible thoughts of being taken to the gas chambers became completely devastating. My thoughts kept on racing one another in an unbearable speed. For the first time in all those years I was anticipating my own death..."This is finally it." I thought "But why does it have to happen after I was already liberated?" Again as always I attempted to calm my fears by trying to awake in myself my ever lasting optimism.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud squeak of the ambulance’s brakes. The ambulance’s doors abruptly opened and two men dressed in white swiftly pulled out the stretcher with the SS man and disappeared.

Although the commotion inside my mind was for a short while completely uncontrolable, I finally realized that my fears and tribulations were completely groundless.

After they removed the SS man it became clear to me that the Nazi who I thought was placed there to guard me, was actually an injured P.O.W. being transfered to a military hospital.

Although I was not fully aware where I was taken to, I soon learned that all events following my liberation were done exclusively for my benefit. Apparently I was taken away from an area where fighting was still going on, to be placed in a field hospital deeper inside the American occupied German lands. At the new field hospital, where I stayed only several days, all my opened wounds were finally being cleaned up and properly bandaged. I received mostly fluid and mashed foods fitting for a person in my condition. During that time I was being taken care of by a personal nurse.

I will always remember and remain gratefull to the many wounded American soldiers who treated me with love and respect. There were moments when I had to beg them to remove from my blanket the too heavy loads of Hershey bars with which those young Americans kept on showering me.

I was especially gratefull to one of the American patients, a young man from Chicago who spoke some Polish and became my official translator.

After that second field hospital I was transferred to a regular U.S. military hospital. There I was placed in a private room, and being taken care of exclusively by a nurse with a Czeck backround, and Dr. Pavlowitz, a Yugoslavian American. Both of them were easily able to converse with me in Polish. They both took care of me like devoted parents of a new born baby.

During the first days at the hospital, the Americans turned my room into a sort of freak show, (at least this was how I saw it at the time) showing my skeletal body to an array of guests sometimes high ranking U.S. officers. All of them used to snap pictures of my naked body.

However, when they also started to present me to seemingly high ranking Nazi P.O.W.s, I vigorously protested, especially because of their insistence that none of them was aware of the atrocities committed in the concentration camps. Finally these annoying to me shows finally ended.

During the couple of weeks I spent in that hospital, while constantly bed-ridden, I had plenty of time to reflect about my recent past, as well as about my immediate future.

The most difficult thing for me to understand was how under the prevailing circumstances, I was rescued and obviously still alive taken off a wagon full of dead bodies.

Now after so many decades after liberation, while watching documentaries and pictures of how this procedure was handled, (by using baggers and shovels) it is impossible for me to comprehend how my equally skeletal body was being separated from all the dead ones and rescued.

To say that I was just lucky would have been too simple an explanation of something surely much larger. I could also not be sure that if I would remain among the hundreds of other skeletal half dead survivors, I could have had a chance to live for another day. Therefore my old belief that I was being taken care of by a special guardian angel crossed my mind again, this time indeed with more conviction than ever before.

Very slowly I started to gain some weight and some flesh began to cover my transparent almost blue skin. My dramatic rescue, which of course in general was a blessing had also unfortunate side effects: When the first American doctor asked me in Polish my date and place of birth, I hardly realized that according to the Americans the place of birth meant also the nationality of the person. So soon after spending some time in U.S. army hospitals, I was eventually transferred to a D.P. hospital exclusively for Eastern European refugees.

Close to seven months I spent in this type of hospital where I was all the time the one and only Jew.

Although I found several good friends among the Polish patients, I had to endure seven months of anti-semitic abuse by many of the others, especially the Ukrainians. The whole seven months while still sick and almost helpless, being the only Jew among people who hated me only because I was born Jewish, I still consider as some sort of extension to the Holocaust.

FINALLY LIBERATED

One day while visiting a barber shop outside the hospital in the German town of Lohr Am Main near Frankfurt, I noticed a small item in a German newspaper where they mentioned about the existence of a Jewish committee in the Bavarian city of Munich.

Without waiting to get my haircut I immediately returned to the hospital. Although the chief doctor vigorously opposed my leaving the hospital at the time I nevertheless insisted on leaving immediately. With a stern warning to be carefull because the approaching cold November weather might worsen my existing state of an acute pleuritis, he gave me permission to leave.

With the help of my good Polish friend Kazik who literally took off his own shoes and gave them to me, plus one of his warm jackets, I soon found myself (without a single penny in my pockets) in front of an overcrowded train at the rail station at Frankfurt Am Main.

After several hours of travel squeezed among a mass of travellers on an outside ramp of a speeding train, I finally arrived in the Munich Central Central Station.

Standing under a light first winter snow in front of a bus stop, I finally heard a first Yiddish word in over seven months. Standing next to me, a tall slim boy, who later introduced himself as Marek Landau, whispered the commonly used Hebrew expression: "Amchu?" which meant the question, "Are you one of us?" At that very moment I finally felt liberated indeed.

EPILOGUE

After liberation, a substantial number of survivors had filled up dozens of hospitals and sanatoriums all over Germany.

In spite of the tremendous efforts by the allied forces, thousands of already half dead survivors kept on dying daily. Obviously their vital organs were already damaged to a point at which help came much too late.

So I again found myself in an exceptionally unique position. Instead of being one of those unfortunate souls I was extremely lucky to find myself the one and only survivor among scores of injured American soldiers.

Being put into a fairly large single room and being taken care of by a specially assigned nurse who took care of me as if I were a newborn baby. Maria was of Czeck background who could easily communicate with me. Also a doctor with a Slav background became my personal physician. Dr. Pavlowitz was a Yugoslavian who was also able to speak with me in Polish. Slowly and with utmost care the two of them brought me back to life. I am convinced if many others could have had received such a unique treatment as I did, many thousands of lives could have been saved. It seemed however that under the prevailing conditions such a general treatment was quite impossible.

In all those fabulous places I did not meet (or hear of) a single Jewish survivor. "So why, me?"...I am still searching for a proper answer.

The seven months I had spent in various U.S. and D.P. hospitals, being the only Jew among Gentiles and my eventual return to my people were, to say the least, quite traumatic. This period followed by several years of actual healing and my eventual immigration to Canada in 1951 were so eventful that they warrant a continuation of my memoirs. This second book, on which I am working on already for some time, I hope to have completed soon.

My arrival in Munich, and again becoming a member of the Jewish community, I consider to have been the end of my uniqueness. I started to live and being treated in the same way as all the other survivors of the Holocaust.

During those years of rehabilitation, and quite a degree of suffering, I also experienced, perhaps even more than others, a great deal of happiness.

By the end of 1946 my two older brothers returned from their exile in the Soviet Union and after a short period spent in Lodz, they immediately found their way to Germany. Needless to say that our reunion was one of the most happy events in my life.

Understandably the happiness was mixed with a lot of sadness when they learned from me about the fate of our dear Parents and relatives. There was also a great disappointment due to the absence of my twin brother. While in Lodz, in addition to my letter to the Jewish committee, they had also found a letter from my twin brother who was at the time in Kaunas, Lithuania. Being sure that Myer was already in Germany with me, they didn't even bother to reply to his letter.

They were also quite disturbed by the state of my health.

After a short while Isaac returned to his wife and one year old son Allen, who were staying at a D.P. camp somewhere near Frankfurt. They were living there until their immigration to Canada by the end of 1948.

Moshe, however, with his wife Sonia and his equally one year old daughter Chava settled in Munich, where he found a job in the garages of the A.J.D.C. (American Joint Distribution Committee). They made that move in order to be near me.

During my extended stay at the sanatorium, Misha and Sonia became my virtual parents. They devoted most of their time and energy helping me return to my full health. This feeling of security, provided me with a will to continue my education. Which I did.

In 1949, completely cured and transferred to a school near the Austrian border, at a small town close to Bad Reichenthal, Misha and Sonia decided that it was time for them to leave Germany. With a clear conscience they emigrated to Israel and settled in Jerusalem where Sonia had two older brothers with their families. Misha was also reunited with my Mother’s younger sister Rachel and her children who were living in Tel- Aviv since 1935.

After my arrival in Canada in 1951, 1 became one of the thousands of Holocaust survivors who had emigrated to various countries of the Western World. Exactly as the others I worked hard to make a living. Saved up a bit of money, got married, and had two beautiful children (girls), went into business for myself and as most of the others I did my best to live a normal and productive life.

I consider the day when my first daughter, Ella was born to be one of the happiest days in Canada. She was the only one to be named after my dear Mother.

As most as the others did, we sent our children to Jewish schools, regular high schools and Cegep. Eventually both of them got married and shortly after my wife and I were blessed with four grandchildren.

And the years seemed to pass as normally as a person could only wish. Until tragedy struck. In 1990 our loving and devoted daughter Sara was diagnosed with breast cancer. This happened shortly after I had lost my brother Misha who lost his battle with acute leukemia.

In 1993 on the same day we returned from our grandson Ron’s Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem, my brother Isaac was taken to a hospital with an apparent heart attack. On the same evening he passed away.

In 1995 after a five year struggle, our devoted daughter Sara, (Sue) passed away. She left two grieving children, Shannon, fifteen, and Ashley, seven. Her sister Ella lost not only a sister, but a dear friend and my wife and I will remain broken hearted forever. And life must go on.

In the year 2000 1 finally retired and soon after became a volunteer at the Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre, where I was speaking mostly to students about the Holocaust. A year later I also began work on the "Information Line for Holocaust survivors and their families." Recently I took on an additional job as a member of an advisory committee to help needy Holocaust survivors.

Being married for forty eight years (February 14/1954), my wife and I are blessed with lots of "naches," (pleasure and satisfaction) from our four exceptional grandchildren.: The oldest, Ron is a student of political science at Concordia University (Montreal); his younger brother Michael studies humanities at the same university. They are both graduates of Bialik High School.

Shannon who will soon be twenty two, is on her third year at the University of Ottawa soon to be majoring in biology. She attended the Hillel Academy in Ottawa from where she graduated with distinction. She graduated from high school with a four year scholarship. Her sister Ashley (Orly) is now graduating from the Hillel Academy, probably also with distinction. She will be fourteen on June 5th of this year.

AT LAST A REUNION WITH MY TWIN BROTHER

After years of just corresponding and lots of telephone conversations, I finally managed to bring my brother to Canada for a two month visit. The year was 1990, several months after the untimely passing of my brother Misha, Myer arrived in Montreal. He was accompanied with his son Oleg.

Needless to describe the happy scenes of our reunion. For days we did not tire from the constant nostalgic conversations. He envied my good fortune to have spent so many happy moments with our brother Misha, during the countless times my wife and I had spent in Israel. During each of those visits Sonia jokingly used to tell us that for Misha, our visits were always considered his most happy times. As always Sonia used to treat us not just like a sister-in-law, but like a devoted Mother.

Among most of Misha's few regrets in life was his insistence for me not to emigrate to Israel. The main reason for him to do that was his constant worrying about my health: "The times in Israel are too difficult now, and it would be better for you at least temporarily to choose a better place." And with fatherly concern continued: "Didn't you suffer enough?" Sometimes during our conversations, Misha used to confess regretfully that if he would have been a bit smarter we could have been living together all our lives in Israel.

Myer and his son spent a terrific two months in Montreal. A time he would never forget. We met again at both Bar Mitzvas of our grandsons in Jerusalem, Ron's in 1993 and Michaels in 1995. Also two of his sons were guests at both Bar Mitzvahs. His son Oleg soon after his visit in Montreal decided to emigrate to Israel. With the help of Sonia and his cousins he established for himself a new and happy life.

Recently Myers oldest son with his wife became new immigrants to Israel. He himself however claims to be too old to start a new life, a claim which he started to express twenty years ago ... While in Montreal Myer did his best to explain the circumstances of his misinformed departure from Germany to Lithuania: "After the Americans entered Camp 4 Kaufering, he returned to the camp searching for me. When he came close to the two typhoid huts expecting to find me inside, he saw instead two piles of rubble. Being convinced that I was killed in the apparent explosion, he helplessly stood there for several minutes reciting Kaddish, (the prayer for the dead). He left the place where he was spending a most terrible period in his life as if he would be leaving a cemetery.

Not being fully aware about life in the Soviet Union, he let himself be talked into a misguided venture by some of his newly acquired Lithuanian friends. They convinced him that by going with them to Lithuania, he might be able to find his two older brothers. Disappointed and miserable all his life. he was a Father of three sons with an always sick wife. He had to wait forty five years to finally get the chance to visit Canada.

Now we are in touch by often having endless conversations on the phone. We both sincerely hope to see each other again.

Our Mother’s last wish while being taken to the gas chambers of Auschwitz "For us to stay together" was unfortunately only partially fulfilled. We only managed to stay together during the period of our incarceration at Dachau.

With Sonia and her children we are in very close contact. We speak with them very often, sometimes once and even twice weekly. Unfortunately we did not have the opportunity to visit them in Israel in the last several years. However, Chava with her husband David were here several times and so was her brother Chanoch, with his wife Mira. During our grieving period for Sara and during the Shiva, all of them were here to comfort us.

Our closeness and love between both our families will remain forever.

APPENDIX

IMMEDIATE FAMILY, RELATIVES AND FRIENDS WHO PERISHED DURING THE HOLOCAUST

I will start, of course, with both my parents, and continue with the names of our immediate family and relatives:

My Mother’s parents, Naomi and Mendl Rosenbloom.

Her three brothers, Isaak, Hillary, and Nathan, with their wives and children.

My Father’s brother Samuel and sisters Esther, Chava, Tayga, and Yeta, with their families.

Two of my cousins, a nineteen year old girl and her seventeen year old brother (Fela and Jurek Rosenbloom) survived the Lodz ghetto and several concentration camps but were murdered after liberation. They were taken out from their apartment by members of the Polish Home Army, and mercilessly killed. Members of this right-wing resistance group murdered thousands of Jews during the Holocaust and continued doing that also after liberation. Thousands of concentration camp survivors and returnees from the Soviet Union were being killed by shootings and during organised pogroms.

Beside the above-mentioned close relatives we had lost all our second aunts and uncles with most of their children and grandchildren.

Among the survivors, in addition to my brothers, were several cousins. Some of them survived in the Soviet Union and some the German occupation.

Without exaggeration it would be safe to estimate the number of victims in both my parents’ families between eighty and ninety men, women and children.

The few survivors established themselves in Israel, the U.S.A. and Canada.

It might be of interest to mention that one cousin of mine, a woman about thirty years old, survived with her ten year old son by working as a Christian at a Nazi officers’ cantine. After liberation Bronia and her son Marek settled in Israel. Her husband however perished while in hiding. Her older sister with her two young children were killed in 1941 during a pogrom by Ukrainians in the city of Stanislavov. After her husband buried the mutilated bodies of his family he committed suicide.

One more cousin, Hershy Rosenbloom, survived in hiding and also settled in Israel.

In sharp contrast to the staggering number of relatives our family has lost to the Holocaust, the number of survivors was very small indeed. However, in a relatively short time we had managed to rebuild our shattered lives and secure a "hemshech" (continuity) of the large Kujawski family.

I am grateful and thank God for granting me the privilege to be alive and able to see our family grow and prosper. Most of our second generation became professionals with the third generation following in their footsteps.

Now at the start of the second millennium, the Kujawski family including their spouses with an already emerging fourth generation, number close to 45 young men, women, and children.

Although we are spread over three continents, we remain a family united by a tragic past and a promising bright future.