Then the train crossed Yugoslavia and Austria. Once, when the train stopped again to pick up coal, I saw a man in uniform walking past, not carrying any weapons. I didn’t know whether he was an Austrian soldier or a railway worker. He waved me over and said, “Komm raus!” “Get out!” I didn’t trust him, I didn’t know if he wanted to help me or to turn me in. He’d have won a medal for stopping me while I was trying to escape. I didn’t do anything and the train continued on its way.
Do you remember having seen any other people outside the train, as you went through the different villages?
Yes, from time to time. In Brno, the train stopped again. I remember the place, as I’d found the name of the town distinctly odd. We were begging the Germans to let us have a little water. Instead of that, a drunkard stopped in front of my carriage and motioned to us in a very explicit dumb show, telling us we were all going to be killed, hanged. He was completely drunk, but seeing him waving his hands around like that made me so angry that I spat in his face the minute he came up to our carriage. Eventually, a German soldier shoved him away. When I think back to it, I don’t know if he was doing it to make fun of us or whether he was simply trying to warn us…. After Brno, we took another two days to reach the Judenrampe in Auschwitz-Birkenau.7
Were there any deaths in your carriage?
No, in my carriage, nobody died. But this was certainly not the case in all the carriages. It suited the Germans if people were already dead on arrival. Traveling in conditions like that, for eleven days…. In my carriage, we had enough to eat on the first days, thanks to the Red Cross parcels, but the reserves were running out and nobody knew when we were going to arrive. People were starting to get seriously worried and agitated. We, the youngest people there, tried to calm them so that a general panic wouldn’t spread and make the last days in the train even more difficult.
1 Fascist youth movement.
2 For more details, see the historic al note on the situation in Greece and Italy during the war: pp. 189–96.
3 Between March 1943 and August 1944, twenty-two convoys were deported from Greece to Auschwitz (over fifty-five thousand people), including nineteen convoys from Salonika, two from Athens and one from Rhodes. A convoy of Jews from Salonika also arrived in the Treblinka extermination camp in spring 1943.
4 Guelfo Zamboni thus saved nearly two hundred and eighty people by giving them fake documents. Yad Vashem, in Israel, awarded him the “Righteous Among the Nations” title and medal in 1992.
5 Greek for “resistance fighter.” The Greek Resistance Movement was called the Ethniko Apeleutherotiko Metopo or EAM (National Liberation Front).
6 Shlomo Venezia was deported in the first convoy to leave Athens. It arrived at Auschwitz-Birkenau on April 11, 1944. According to information from the Auschwitz Museum, the convoy consisted of two thousand five hundred Jews, but other sources indicate a higher number.
7 The first arrival and selection ramp for the convoys of Jews deported between March 1942 and May 1944, before the construction of the big ramp leading inside the camp (Bahnrampe). The Judenrampe is on the road between the camp at Auschwitz I and Birkenau. See the historical note (pp. 174–5) for more information.
2
THE FIRST MONTH IN AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU
The train hadn’t blown its whistle when the transport had stopped en route. So when I heard that peculiar whistle and felt the train suddenly braking I immediately realized that the convoy had finally reached its destination. The doors opened onto the Judenrampe, just opposite the potato sheds. My first feeling was a sense of relief. I didn’t know how much longer it would have been possible to survive in this train, without anything left to eat, without any space, air, or toilet facilities.
As soon as the train stopped, the SS opened the doors of the carriage and started yelling, “Alle runter! Alle runter!” “Everyone out! Everyone out!” We saw men in uniform pointing their sub-machine guns, and Alsatians barking at us. Everyone was in a stupor, numb after the journey – and all of a sudden, fierce yells and a whole infernal din to throw us off our guard, and prevent us knowing what was going on. I happened to be near the door, so I was among the first to climb out. I wanted to stay near the door to help my mother get out. We had to jump for it, as the carriage was high and the terrain was sloping. My mother wasn’t that old, but I knew the journey had worn her out and I wanted to help her. While I was waiting for her, a German came up behind and struck me two heavy blows on the back of my neck with his stick. He lashed out with such force I thought he’d split my skull. I instinctively placed both my hands on my head to protect myself. Seeing that he was going to start hitting me again, I ran off to join the others in the queue. Our captors started hitting people as soon as we arrived; to vent their hatred, out of cruelty, and also so that we’d lose our bearings and obey out of fear, without making problems for them. So that’s what I did, and when I turned around to try to find my mother, she wasn’t there anymore. I never saw her again. She wasn’t there, and neither were my two little sisters, Marica and Marta….
How was the selection carried out?
As soon as we jumped out of the train, the Germans, with their whips and blows, made us get into two queues, sending the women and children to one side and all the men, without distinction, to the other. They beckoned us into place: “Männer hier und Frauen hier!” “Men here and women here!” We stepped into place like robots, in response to the yells and the orders.
How far away from the women were you? Could you still see them?
To begin with, we could, but the crowd very quickly became so dense, and at the same time so orderly, that I rapidly found myself surrounded only by men. Of all the men who’d been on that train, only three hundred and twenty of us were left after the selection.1
Everything happened relatively quickly. As I said, we didn’t have any time to think. In situations like that, you feel as if you’ve lost your bearings, as if you’re on another planet. The Germans had us encircled, with machine guns and dogs. Nobody could step out of line. I heard that some people had been given a blessing by their father or their mother. I’m happy for them. Unfortunately, not everybody was so lucky.
And did you at least manage to stay with your cousins?
Yes, we stayed together. I never saw their father or the others again.
They immediately made us all line up in front of a German officer. Another officer arrived shortly afterwards. I don’t know if was the famous Dr. Mengele; it may have been, but I’m not sure. The officer barely looked at us and made a gesture with his thumb indicating “Links, rechts!” “Left, right!” and depending on the direction he sent us, each of us had to go one way or the other.
Did you notice any difference between the people who went to the right and those who went to the left?
No, I didn’t notice: there were young men and old men on both sides. The only significant thing was the obvious imbalance between the numbers of people on both sides. I found myself on the side where there were fewer people. In the end, there were just three hundred and twenty men left. All the others set off, without knowing it, for immediate death in the gas chambers at Birkenau. My brother and my cousins also ended up on the right side with me. Our group was sent on foot to Auschwitz I.2
In your view, how long did the process take, from arrival to the end of selection?
I think it lasted about two hours. Why do I think so? Because it was still daytime when we arrived on the Judenrampe, and the prisoners had already stopped working by the time my group reached Auschwitz I. We walked the distance, just over a mile or so, from the Judenrampe to the camp at Auschwitz I, while the others unsuspectingly headed off for the gas chambers at Birkenau.
I remember that, before entering the Auschwitz I main gate, with the inscription “Arbeit macht frei,” “Work makes free,” I noticed a sign placed near the barbed-wire fence. It read: “Vorsicht Hochspannung Lebensgefahr,” meaning “Beware, high tension, danger of death.”
Once
inside, immediately on the left was block 24; we later discovered that it served as a brothel for the soldiers and a few privileged non-Jews. In the windows we could see pretty women laughing. I was told they weren’t Jewish. I naïvely thought that, if there was a brothel, the camp itself must really be a place where people worked.
Were you encircled and guarded by the SS when you went in?
Yes, all in all there must have been some ten or so soldiers; one every ten yards along our column. They accompanied us as far as the entrance, but once we were inside, they handed us on to the SS who were already inside the camp. When we went in, we saw, in the distance, prisoners who tried to come across to us and find out where we were from and if by any chance we had any news of their families. All at once, I heard a voice calling, “Shlomo! Shlomo!” Looking towards the prisoners, I spotted the fiancé of my sister Rachel, Aaron Mano, who was trying to attract my attention. He wanted to know if Rachel had been arrested too. I told him that, unfortunately, she had been deported with us, but I didn’t know what had happened to her since.
Finally, the Germans ordered us to line up in groups of five in a narrow space between two blocks, opposite the kitchens. Here there were two Germans waiting for us, with a movie-camera. They told one of the prisoners who had been deported with us to go over so they could film him. I remember that man clearly, as he had the same family name as I, Venezia, Baruch Venezia, but he wasn’t from my family. He was a very tall man, with the hooked nose and typical face of southern Jews. His features were tired and drawn after the journey. He hadn’t shaved for several days; this, and his defeated expression, made him look even more miserable. I heard one of the Germans telling the other to film him, as he had a “perfect Jewish profile.” These images were certainly used in Nazi propaganda to be shown in cinemas and thus spread a bad image of the Jews. At that moment, I realized we were in a place where we could expect only the worst. More than anything, I felt a surge of anger, of rage at having fallen so low, of being treated and humiliated like that. I would never have thought it possible. I also felt afraid, of course – we felt fear continually, whatever we did, since the worst could happen at any moment.
What happened when they made you line up?
We had to wait for an officer to come and give us instructions. We stood there motionless for a long time. Before the officer arrived, a Greek interpreter whom I knew from Salonika came over to us and warned us that the German was going to ask us a few questions. He advised us to answer without thinking twice, and to say that we were in good health, without any lice, and ready to work.
This man’s name was Salvatore Cunio. He had a limp, and a man such as he certainly would have been sent to his death if he hadn’t been able to speak German fluently. In fact, I soon realized that, in the camp, knowing foreign languages was a sometimes vital advantage. Cunio was married to a non-Jewish German woman; he had been deported with his son, Bubbi (his real name was Hans). He, too, was spared.
Finally, when the officer arrived, night had already fallen. He asked us the anticipated questions; we answered in the way the interpreter had indicated. Then the officer gave the order: “Alle nach Birkenau!” “Everyone to Birkenau!” So we turned around and set off for Birkenau. It was dark and there was a thick fog; one could see just a few lights in the distance. It must have been ten o’clock by the time we arrived in Birkenau.
We entered by the central tower, where the trains later started to come in. But, at the time of our arrival, the tracks leading right into the camp, designed to cope with the massive deportation of Hungarian Jews, were still under construction. The convoys continued to arrive at the Judenrampe, a few hundred yards from the entrance of Birkenau. Once I was in the camp, I don’t know if we continued straight on, passing in front of Crematoria II and III3 to come in from behind, or whether instead we passed down the Lagerstrasse.4 Through the fog, all I could make out were the huts lit up by little lights on the right and left of the road. At the time, I didn’t yet know who or what was in those buildings, so I didn’t pay much attention.
We eventually entered the Zentralsauna,5 a big brick structure used to disinfect people and clothes. The first thing we had to do was take off all our clothes. The same old problem of the “golden eggs” cropped up again. My brother, my cousins and I duly swallowed the coins for a second time.
At the far end of the first room we saw two doctors, SS officers in white coats. They watched as we walked naked in front of them. Every now and then they would motion to one of us to stay on the side. In this way they put some fifteen to eighteen people “on the side.” Among them was a cousin of my father’s. He had always seemed fragile and unhealthy. I wanted to know where they were going to be taken, so I asked a Greek man from Salonika who was working in the Zentralsauna. He told me that those people needed special care, and were going to be “treated.” He certainly told me this so as not to worry me. I didn’t ask any more questions, even if I didn’t really understand what he’d meant. In reality, this was a second, “little” selection that we had unwittingly undergone. But the selection was superficial; you just needed buttocks that were a bit on the thin side to be condemned to death.
Those who hadn’t been put aside continued on, and passed into the following room. In this room, “hairdressers” were lined up to shave our heads and entire bodies. Since they didn’t have adequate tools, or any shaving foam, they pulled our skin off until we bled. In the following room were the showers. This was a big room with pipes and shower heads above us. A rather young German controlled the taps of hot and cold water. To amuse himself at our expense, he quickly changed from scalding hot to freezing cold water. The minute the water became too hot, we moved away so as not to get burned, and then he started howling like an animal, beat us and forced us to get back under the scalding water.
Everything happened in a highly organized way, like an assembly belt on which we were the finished products. As we stepped forward, others came to take our places. Still soaking wet and naked, I followed the queue until I reached the tattooing room. There was a long table at which several prisoners had been put to tattoo our identity numbers on our arms. They used a sort of ball-point pen with a sharp point that pierced one’s skin and made the ink go in under the epidermis. They had to make these little penetrations until the number appeared on one’s arm. It was extremely painful. When the man tattooing me finally dropped my arm, I immediately rubbed the front of my arm to lessen the pain. When I looked to see what he’d done to me, I couldn’t make anything out under the mixture of blood and ink. I was suddenly frightened that I might have wiped the number out. With a bit of spit, I wiped my arm clean and I saw the number that had been correctly “injected”: 182727, my identity.
After that, we had to wait for the clothes that were to be handed out to us. For some time now, new prisoners had not been given striped uniforms. Instead, we received disinfected clothes left by the prisoners who had arrived before us. They were handed out without anyone bothering to give us clothes that fit. We were given a jacket, a pair of trousers, underpants, shoes, and socks. The clothes were often frayed and full of holes. Several of the new arrivals couldn’t get their trousers on, and others had been given trousers that were much too big. There was no way we could go and ask those who’d distributed the clothes for things of our own size. They might well have beaten us, even if they, too, were prisoners. So we tried to sort it out among ourselves by swapping clothes. But you needed to be lucky, especially with the shoes – so many of them had holes in their soles. I managed to get reasonable clothes, even if everything was a bit too large for me.
Since I was one of the first to be ready, and there were still a lot of men waiting behind me, I went over to one of the prisoners who were doing the shaving. I offered to assist him in exchange for a hunk of bread. The prisoner in charge of that work team agreed, and gave me a small pair of clippers. I knew how to use it – my father had a little barber’s shop next to my grandfather’s “Turkish” café. After m
y father’s death, I’d earned a bit of money by going into the poor district in Baron Hirsch and offering my services to people who didn’t have the means to pay for a proper hairdresser. This is the sort of thing that makes me often say that people who suffered in their childhood and had to learn to get by on their own had more of a chance of adapting to life in camp and surviving than did people from privileged backgrounds. To survive in the camp, you had to know things that were useful – not philosophy. That day’s work enabled me to earn a precious hunk of bread.
So you didn’t try to find out what had happened to your mother and your sisters?
Of course I tried. I never stopped thinking about my mother. I heard someone speaking Ladino, our Jewish-Spanish dialect, so I went over and asked him if he knew where they might have been sent. He gently told me not to worry, I’d know the next day, and meanwhile it was better not to ask myself too many questions. But this reply didn’t satisfy me, so I went over to a prisoner who spoke Yiddish and asked him in German, “Wo sind meine Mutter und meine Schwestern?” “Where are my mother and my sisters?” He didn’t reply, and just took me by the arm and led me to the window. From there, he pointed at the Crematorium chimney. I stared, disbelievingly, at what he was showing me and I realized he was telling me in Yiddish, “All the people who didn’t come with you are already being freed from this place.” I looked at him skeptically, without really believing him. We didn’t exchange another word. I can’t say I felt anything very much. It was so inconceivable that they would have brought us here just to burn us on arrival; I merely thought that he wanted to frighten me, as people do with rookies. So I decided to wait until the next day and to see for myself. But actually, he was all too correct.
Inside the Gas Chambers Page 5
