The gates opened and we were herded inside and locked solidly in. “Show us our houses, our food.” we begged. “Not likely” they said. They weren’t going to enter that disease-ridden pit for a bunch of Jews.
We managed to find the houses ourselves but it was hardly “our” house. It was a house with three other families in it already. I was left in one room with my brother and sisters. That was to be our living space for the next three months. It was grubby and smelly but it would have to do. We decorated it as children would. I was the oldest of my siblings and my parents were in another house so I was responsible. I treated it like it was a holiday. A long one. We covered the room floor with grass from outside to cover the stains and sharp wooden splinters sticking out. The walls, we covered with pictures my brother had drawn of the family, our friends, the old house and himself. We investigated the other houses and felt no sorry when, if we saw something we liked, we took it. Things like books we treasured beyond all.
A week later, another family moved into our room. And another after that. And a further set of kids.
I experienced several suicides. Mostly against the fence, but others had knives. It was the worst time I had ever experienced. All but my brother died from disease. My parents had gone long before the three months were up. The loss of my sisters was herder. It was only my brother and I when the next journey came.
One day, the third of February, the gates opened to the enclosure and a huge truck drove in. Jews were herded with sticks and guns into the truck until it was stuffed full. When it had drive off, another took its place and me and my brother climbed in. Thankfully we were near the side and therefore nearer to the window high up in the wall. I lifted my brother up until he could breathe and he in turn helped me up to the window. It lasted for several hours. By that time, people were choking in the dark and in the mass of bodies. Light shined in when the doors were thrown open but it was only for us to be kicked out of the truck and into a train.
The train journey lasted for days. Days of suffering. My brother was almost killed when he was tripped and trampled on. I hauled him up and wrapped his swollen arm in clothes. Many died on the journey from sheer lack of air and light. I survived with my brother too.
Auschwitz. I knew where we were as soon as the train arrived and I dreaded the name. I knew not of what awaited there but I had heard that that was where so many of us were going to be taken. Curiosity overcame my fear and I climbed stiffly from the train with my brother clutching my hand tightly. We were joined by hundreds of other train loads and taken to a row of desks. We followed the queues until we reached the soldiers. They took a look at me and sent me to the right with other women, young men and boys. My brother however, was shoved to the left with the other disabled, old and pregnant people. I hurried over to join him but a hand on my collar dragged me back screaming o the other line. He wept and tried to join me yelling out lies about his age. He was nine at the time and the last thing I heard was him screaming that he was sixteen same as me. He yelled and screamed and struggled I followed suit until the soldiers had had enough. A quick bullet to his head was all needed to quieten him down. The other Jews tried to turn round in shock but Nazi’s barred the way and my group was taken at gunpoint towards another enclosure. That was 1941 and I was 16.
The next year I spent at Auschwitz was bad but bearable. My job was to repair soldier’s clothes and to carry the soup to the serving table. The sewing was good. I had had some experience and I found it easy enough to bargain with the men. Several wanted to learn English and I had a little of the tongue so they paid me in food and clean clothing to teach them what I knew. I was alone though. My brother was gone and friends were hard to come across in the camp. One woman I found though. She helped me with my sewing and in return I smuggled food out for her. Her clothes were too big and her shoes were different sizes and the next time I was given clothing I vowed to collect some for her too. I bribed the guards to look the other way with my mother’s wedding ring when I stole a belt and a new pair of shoes for my friend. A week later I was to find out where the shoes had come from.
When, one day, a group of soldiers marched into the building I was working in, they exchanged a few German words with the guards and then they chose the fittest looking people from in the room. My companions were faring badly and so I was taken instead of the strong young men they wanted. I was taken to another section of the entire camp where the stench was overpowering. I had smelt the smell before. It was scorching body. I had smelt it when I had first arrived at the Warsaw Ghetto and now I was to work shovelling dead gassed Jews into pits to be mass burned. These soldiers would take no amount of bribing and I was set to the task. It repulsed me when the doors opened from the shower rooms and wheelbarrows full of gassed children and old people were tipped into the pits. We poured oil onto them until they were soaked through and then the guards threw burning splints of wood onto them and we shovelled dirt on top of that to cover the bodies, the smoke and the stanch.
This continued for another repulsive year until finally I was posted back onto the women’s work. Now I was fixing boots and as I had no skill for it, I fared badly.
In fact, during the final two months at Auschwitz I was beginning to fade. The year was now 1944.
When the American’s came it was so sudden and scary that none of us aided in the massacre of the Nazi’s. I was too shocked myself and although it seemed like we were being avenged the killing still seemed wrong. We stood and watched as the Americans did their job.
When we were taken back to the trucks some people stayed. They were too horror stricken and tortured by the whole experience that they could not bring themselves to go to a home that is probably taken up by Germans or knocked down. I went.
To answer the question “Have I kept my faith?” I would say yes. I did almost lose it when the pain grew unbearable and a truly believed that God could never let this happen, not even as a test. However when we were saved, I began to regain my trust and although I do still have my faith I do have a lack of understanding whenever the Holocaust comes to mind. I do not believe that it was a test of my faith because I do not believe any God would inflict that on his people for just a test. I don’t believe that God brought it on at all. I was entirely thought of and carried out by the men involved: Hitler, Himler, The American and the English governments.
I have written the article because I think that people need to understand what befell the Jews and the other persecuted nations. They need to make their own minds up on whether God was the cause or, whether they would have maintained their faith. People who never lived through it could not understand and will never understand quite what happened and what the people involved had to go through. I still feel the pain of my brother leaving more than any other physical or mental pain and I could never forgive his frightful ending but I know it happened to many people other than me and I must accept that it is over and that however hard I try, I cannot turn back time.
