Inside the Gas Chambers

by Shlomo Venezia

  We tended to stay in a group with our own people as often as we could, since this made us a bit stronger. If you were alone, you were more easily someone’s victim. This is what almost happened to me, one day. It was shortly before the Liberation. The kapos were handing out more bread. We had to form groups of six and each group was given a big brick-shaped hunk of bread. When I was with my brother or other people I knew well, this was no problem: we shared the bread very fairly. But on one occasion, I found myself, unwillingly, in a group with five Russians, including the sick man who shared my bunk. I very soon realized that all of them had gotten together and were planning to cheat me. Usually, everyone was given a number. One of the men, with his eyes averted, designated the portion that would go to each number. This system was fairer and prevented people grabbing for each hunk of bread. But this time, the Russians demanded that I be the one to turn around. When there were only two pieces left, one for me and one for the man who shared my bunk, I refused to turn around and told him to choose the piece he preferred. They still insisted I turn around. I refused, and offered him the piece that seemed the bigger. I’d realized that, no sooner had I turned around, they’d have taken the two pieces of bread. Things were looking ugly for me, since it was five against one. They had surely decided to divide up my piece. And indeed, they did take advantage of a brief lapse in attention on my part to take the two pieces. It all happened very quickly. I saw that the Russian who shared my bunk was still holding his bit of bread. What could I do? Not eating was unbearable. So, quick as a flash, I took his piece and swallowed it in a mouthful. Normally, we would try to eat in tiny little nibbles, to give ourselves the illusion we were eating more. But now things were really taking a turn for the worse. The Russian who’d been left without bread started to lose his temper and shout at me. The kapo came over and asked what was happening. The other sniveled that I’d swiped his bit of bread. The kapo didn’t ask any more questions, but started to hit me hard. I tried to protect my face, but he hit me all over. In spite of the force of his blows, I didn’t feel any pain. My sole thought was for the bit of bread that I’d managed to get into my belly and that nobody would ever manage to deprive me of! This idea was enough to lessen the pain of the blows. Eventually he got tired of hitting me and moved on to something else.

  The Russian who had not had any bread went to get some from his friends. But, of course, they didn’t give him any. We both continued to sleep on the same bunk, since we didn’t have any choice. He couldn’t do anything to get his own back: I was much stronger than he was. Anyway, he had only himself to blame.

  You said you were given more bread shortly before the Liberation. Did anything else in people’s attitudes or the general atmosphere change?

  The kapos suddenly became less violent. The kapo in my barrack, the small, vicious German who often hit people for pleasure and without any reason, made sure he didn’t get on the wrong side of the French and the Russians. He could sense that the end was near and he was afraid that we might want to take revenge as soon as we were free. All of a sudden, he became calmer and more approachable. He also tried to give more soup to the Russians and the French.

  One morning, instead of us going off to work, the Ebensee commandant ordered us to assemble on the camp’s central square. There must have been five or six thousand of us, from some twenty or so different camps. He got up on a podium. At his sides, interpreters translated into every language. He told us something like: “The Russians and the Americans are approaching. But we won’t leave this place without putting up a fight. Your lives will be in danger in the middle of the fighting. So I recommend that you take shelter in the galleries so you won’t die in the bombardments.” In all languages, the prisoners shouted that they refused to do so.

  Did he give you the choice?

  Yes, it’s strange to reflect that he did ask us the question. He could just as well have forced us to enter the galleries and killed us by blowing them up. But we’d have rebelled and that would have meant a real bloodbath. When they came in, the American troops would have found the traces of that appalling massacre. And then, the Germans didn’t have time to force us. When the commandant realized that we were refusing, he gathered together his officers and they abandoned the camp. That didn’t mean that we were free, since in their place there arrived men from the Wehrmacht, almost all of them rather middle-aged reservist soldiers. They were there to keep guard over us and stop us from going to plunder the village and perhaps try to take our revenge. I think we could have carried out a massacre.

  Do you really think so?

  Yes, we were so famished! I sincerely think we were capable of the worst just then. I’m telling you everything, and I don’t want to conceal anything or tell any lies.

  The guards took up their positions as they waited for the Americans. We could hear the noise of fighting in the distance. We waited like this for a day: nothing. Second day: still nothing. We didn’t have anything left to eat. But not many men tried to escape, since it was just a matter of hours and it would have been idiotic to risk our lives when we were so close to the end. All the same, we still had to wait four days before we saw the Americans coming in. In the meantime, I’d managed to pick up a sack of potatoes, saved miraculously from the kitchen. My companions and I managed to organize it so that there was always someone sitting on the sack to protect it. This enabled us to wait for the Americans a bit more patiently.

  They finally arrived one morning at around eleven. Some Americans of Italian descent were in the first tank, but I didn’t understand their Sicilian accent. As it happened, there were some sons of Greek immigrants in the second armored vehicle. They told me about the thousands of dead whom they had found in the other camps they had liberated along the way. They were after the SS and killed them at the first opportunity. They left us what they had on them, chewing gum and things like that, and then they set off again.

  On the following days, trucks arrived bringing us food. We were given parcels like those of the Red Cross, containing bars of chocolate, powdered milk, things that were absolutely essential, cigarettes, sugar, and wafers. But in general they hardly had time to unload the parcels. The prisoners pounced on them, grabbing as much as they could. Instead of storing them in a barrack and setting up a fair system of distribution, the Americans let themselves be completely swamped, and didn’t dare intervene among us to establish order. I wanted things to be organized in a fairer way, so that the weakest, those who could barely stand upright, would get their share too. After a few days, people managed to organize themselves at least minimally. Many people died during those few days, from having eaten too much or not enough.

  And what did you do to limit yourselves?

  The sack of potatoes allowed us to adapt more gradually. We didn’t eat them all at once, but just two or three at a time. Among the things the Americans had brought, we also found cans of pork that we mixed with the potatoes. So our stomachs didn’t have to cope with anything heavy and we got used to food gradually. It also should be said that those who had been in the Sonderkommando, like myself, had arrived in the camp with more reserves. But my brother-in-law, for instance, who had been in Auschwitz for over two years, was near the end. He was already in bad shape when he came to Ebensee. Luckily, he survived. In my estimation, over half the people who had survived up to the Liberation died in the following weeks.

  Did you try to take revenge?

  Yes, especially on the kapos, since the Germans had fled or been captured by the Americans. The twenty-four hours that followed the Liberation gave rise to a veritable kapo-hunt. The one who had beaten me in the barrack tried to escape, but he was stopped by French prisoners. They beat him until he was almost dead. He could hardly breathe. One of the French men rose up above him. He brandished a dagger and then, turning to the others, he asked in French, “What shall we do with him? Kill him?” “KILL HIM!” the others shouted. Then he placed his knee on the kapo’s chest and plunged the dagger twice into his chest. Th
en they took him and flung him into the pond nearby. Before throwing the body into the water, one of them wanted to take his shoes. But the man who seemed to be their leader forbade anyone to touch anything belonging to the dead man, and they threw him into the pond just as he was.

  The day the Americans arrived, while the camp was thoroughly agitated, I saw, passing by, the Aryan Pole who had hit me in the face. He’d been transferred to Ebensee at the same time as I and had continued to terrorize everybody there. That day, he was wearing civilian clothes and had a bag slung over his shoulder as if he was intending to slip away. When I saw him, the blood rushed to my head. The scene in which he’d almost killed me flashed before my eyes. I seized a big stick that was lying on the ground and, with my last remaining strength, I hit him hard on the head. He tried to protect his head with his hands, as I had done when he hit me. Some watching Russians came over. I simply said to them, “kapo,” and pointed at him. Without thinking, they jumped on him, grabbed his bag, and started beating him. They beat him so thoroughly that they practically killed him. He didn’t experience freedom and for me that was a great source of satisfaction, since he didn’t deserve any better.

  After the arrival of the Americans, how long did you stay at Ebensee?

  We were liberated on May 6, 1945 and I stayed until the end of June. Nearly two months, as we didn’t know where to go. The French who came with the Red Cross were well organized and with great urgency took away the sickest of the French deportees. The others were repatriated to France in trucks. They were first to organize anything. The Italians did nothing. As for the Greeks, they didn’t even think about doing anything.

  And nobody went down into the village, as you’d predicted?

  Yes, of course they did. But not to take revenge, just to find something to eat. When we were feeling a bit better, I went down with a few friends. We didn’t go directly into the village, but just to the area around it, where there were a few isolated farms. As we were walking past one of these attractive farms, we saw some hens running loose. We thought we could catch one and make a nice broth that would help us recover our strength. But as soon as we went into the farmyard, the cock started to kick up a fuss. Our heads were so empty that we’d forgotten that hens don’t let themselves be caught like dogs you whistle to. The hens scurried away and the cock started to get more and more aggressive. Finally I saw that one hen had stayed in the coop to lay an egg or hatch it, and so I grabbed it by the neck. The cock tried to attack me. An old Austrian opened the door of the house and shouted, “Was ist los?” “What’s going on out there?” I replied, “Nichts ist.” He didn’t know what to do, but above all he was scared of us, so he let us make off with his hen. We killed and plucked it near the river. On the way back, we passed through the little village of Ebensee. We soon saw that the inhabitants were terrified. We only had to ask for what we wanted and they gave it us without demur. They were as scared of us as if we were wild beasts. We just asked for some beans and salt.

  When we returned to the camp, we managed to find a knife to cut the chicken and a pot to cook it in. It stayed there for hours, but didn’t cook properly. The smoke was terrible, and that’s when I started to feel ill for the first time. I began coughing and my temperature went up. I didn’t feel too sick, just weak. My health subsequently declined rapidly.

  But on the first days I was still feeling quite sprightly. Three days after the arrival of the first tanks, I saw an American jeep enter the camp. The driver was alone. He climbed out of his vehicle and headed into the camp. I suppose he’d come here out of curiosity, just to see what a camp looked like. As soon as he’d gone in, I alerted some friends and we went to see what was in his jeep. Everything was there for the taking: clothes, cigarettes, anything. I lifted up the canvas covering the rear of the vehicle to see if I could find anything of interest. In the darkness, I managed to make out a crate and a few cans of stuff within arm’s reach. I took everything I could, stuffing it all into my pockets. But we already had company. Many other ex-prisoners came over when they saw us. I slipped off, but when I put my hands into my pockets, I realized I’d been left with nothing. The others stole everything that I’d put into my pockets without my realizing it. I was angry and disappointed that I’d taken all that trouble for nothing. So I elbowed my way through the others to go back to the jeep. I didn’t care that I was shoving them out of the way, as we’d all become savages. In the jeep, the crate was empty. I spotted one of my friends near the door. I told him in Greek to lift the lever and let down the rear door. Naturally it fell onto the heads of the people standing there. But I didn’t give a damn about anything anymore; I was furious that I hadn’t managed to keep anything. Inside, in a corner, I saw a big sack. Instead of helping myself to some of its contents, I preferred to take the whole thing to avoid the same mishap. Everyone pounced on me and tried to steal the sack. I told my brother-in-law and my friends to hit out at the others and push them away so we could keep the sack for ourselves. Finally, we managed to get it safely back to the little barrack that the SS had used at the entrance of the camp.

  My friends immediately tried to open the sack to see what was inside. But I told them to wait, since I wanted to see how the soldier was going to react. I heard him coming back, whistling to himself. When he saw his jeep and all the prisoners gathered round it, he pulled out his pistol and fired two shots into the air to send everyone away. Then he merely raised the rear door and drove away. Only then did I open the sack. Inside, there were several packs of cigarettes – Camel, Lucky Strike, and some others, as well as some matches. I took out one cigarette and passed it around to everyone, as if it were a marvelous treasure. Then I lit it, but it was much too strong compared to the handmade fags I was used to. I started to cough, I felt dizzy because of the tobacco and the illness to which I was gradually succumbing. In the sack, we also found some towels, a handsome cap, and two cameras. We shared out the booty among us. The problem lay in finding a safe hiding-place for all of it. The cigarettes were hidden under a mattress, but it was impossible for someone to sit there all the time to protect them.

  Actually, they were stolen from me shortly afterwards. I knew that Salvatore Cunio (the Greek who had acted as an interpreter on our arrival in Auschwitz – he spoke English as well as German) had been sent to the rail station to supervise a group of Austrians whom the Americans had set to work to clean up the station. These Austrian civilians were doing the same work they had forced us to do. But now they were under the supervision of ex-prisoners who stood guard over them. The recently liberated were happy to be able to savor a bit of revenge in this way – but of course, all this happened under the overall control of the Americans. So I went along, curious to see for myself. But I’d have done better not to get out of bed on that day. When I came back, someone had stolen all my cigarettes, as well as the two cameras that I’d left in the sack. I went to the bed of a sick man who never left his bunk, opposite mine. I asked him who’d come and stolen my cigarettes. He pretended he hadn’t seen anything, but I merely had to raise my voice and he admitted that he had stolen my things. I got my cigarettes back without difficulty, but not the cameras, which he claimed he’d thrown into the lake.

  Did you still have enough strength for a convincing show of force?

  Yes. Even though I already was very ill, I still didn’t realize this. I discovered it only when the Americans decided to transfer us to a military camp they had set up for that purpose. The place we were in was actually quite filthy and the Americans realized they’d have to disinfect everything to avoid risks of an epidemic. So that we wouldn’t contaminate the new place on arrival, the Americans made us take a shower, spraying us with DDT to eliminate lice. Then we had to be X-rayed. If the doctors spotted anything abnormal, they set us to one side so we could be treated. I was X-rayed and they told me step to one side, but they didn’t say why. They examined me a second time, before confirming that something was wrong with my lungs. They immediately took me to the tent that
served as a hospital. The beds were comfortable, the white sheets immaculate. For me, it was like sleeping in a palace. But I stayed there for just a few days, because I didn’t feel ill, and I wanted to go back to my friends. When I found out they intended to go to Eretz Yisrael, to Palestine, I left the hospital – I wanted to go with them. There was nowhere else for me to go, and nobody with whom to be reunited. I didn’t want to stay all by myself, with nobody at all.

  Did you know exactly what kind of illness you had?

  I found out when a friend came to see me. He picked up my medical notes and read “TB.” I didn’t know what that was. He explained it to me: “Tuberculosis – it means you’ve got a lung disease.” I wasn’t worried; I was sure that with the food and the medicine they were giving me, I’d soon be cured.

  So, two or three days later, I declared that I wanted to leave and I joined up with my friends, who were heading for Palestine via Italy. The Americans handed us over to some British people and so we set off, five or six truck-loads of us. That’s when I started to feel really ill. I was in great pain. The truck dropped me and other patients off at a hospital in Udine, in the north of Italy. I was filled with anguish at the idea that my friends were going to leave for Palestine without me. An agent of the Haganah1 came to see me in the hospital to assure me that I’d be able to go too, as soon as my health allowed. So I stayed with the other patients, all of whom came, like me, from the camp at Ebensee.