“I’m a man of God. It is my pleasure to help you.”
As they walked back to the main church building, Eli thought about his father. His father had never turned anyone away for dinner on the Sabbath or on holidays. Many times, poor people or travelers would come to the rebbe's house on the night of the Sabbath. And the rebbe would welcome them warmly, as if they were long lost relatives, although most times they were complete strangers. Eli’s father had told Eli from the time Eli was a child that as a man of God it was his obligation to help those in need. And now, Eli found it fascinating that, this man, a Catholic priest, had the same way of thinking as his father, the rebbe. They are both kind and decent men. They are both men of God. There doesn’t seem to be much difference between them, except for what they believe. If my father had met this priest, I believe he would have liked him. So far he hasn’t asked me any questions. He has no idea what I am running away from or even if I am running away at all. He doesn’t know why I am disheveled or why I am traveling without clean clothes, or money. He doesn’t ask if I am Jewish. He only offers me shelter and food in exchange for work. And this is exactly what my father would have done.
What began as a two-day painting job, turned into a long-term position. Eli was grateful and relieved. He had a clean and warm place to stay, downstairs below the rectory, and enough food to fill his groaning belly. The priest was kind and found work for him around the church. Eli prayed that he would somehow be able to stay in this little village until the end of the war.
CHAPTER 55
January 1943, a Small Polish Village
Many months passed without incident. Eli began to enjoy the routine of his life. It was a simple life of work, food, and rest.
In December there had been a mass on Christmas Eve and another on Christmas Day. Eli attended, sitting in the back of the room, out of respect for the priest. He marveled at how lovely the service was. Tears filled his eyes as it brought back memories of attending the synagogue on high holidays, when he listened to the rebbe’s sermon and the cantor's haunting, melodious voice. He remembered the otherworldly sound of the blowing of the shofar on the high holidays, and his heart yearned for the past.
The parishioners came to know Eli as someone who was always there to help them if they needed him. The winters were hard on everyone. Once, an old man asked Eli to shovel the snow outside his home. Eli obliged. Another time, a pregnant woman asked him to bring her milk and cheese from the store because she was too far along to walk on the icy roads. Again, Eli did as he was asked.
On a daily basis, Eli kept the church clean and the wood polished. When things broke, he figured out how to fix them. He went to the market to purchase whatever was needed. All in all, he found ways to make himself useful.
One very cold winter night, after a fresh snow had just dusted the ground, Eli and the priest were sitting together at a table by the fireplace. They were enjoying the heat that emanated from the roaring fire as they were having their evening meal. For several weeks, Eli found he was feeling guilty for not telling the priest the truth about himself. He knew his secret might even be putting the kindly priest and his entire church in danger. I must tell him the truth. I must let him know that I am a Jew. I can’t believe he would turn me in. He has become like a father to me. However, I must remember that people act strangely toward Jews. And I have seen many people turn on their Jewish friends and neighbors. It’s possible that his entire demeanor might change once he learns the truth. I find it hard to believe it would, but it might. Yet I cannot continue to lie. It’s wrong. I must tell him. I cannot put this man and his church in danger out of my own selfish need.
“Father,” Eli said. The priest had asked him to refer to him as father.
“Yes, my son?”
“I have something I must tell you.”
“Go on.”
Eli felt his mouth go dry. He took a sip of water, determined to tell him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you are angry at me, once I tell you what I have to tell you. You see, I have been lying to you . . .”
The priest nodded calmly.
“I don’t know how to say this . . .”
Again, the priest nodded, still remaining silent. His hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. His eyes were warm and encouraging as he looked at Eli.
“I am Jewish. I am hiding from the Nazis. I came all the way here to Poland from Germany on foot. It’s very bad for Jews in Germany.”
The priest’s eyes met Eli’s. “I knew you were Jewish the day you appeared here, looking like a hunted animal.”
“So you won’t turn me in?”
“Of course not. I would never do that to one of God’s children.”
“I haven’t seen any Jews here, in this village. Am I the first Jew you’ve ever met?” Eli asked.
“No. There were Jewish families living in our little village before the Nazis came. When they took over Poland, they demanded that all Jews go into the big cities to register. I have not seen them since. I don’t know what’s happened to them. But I’ve heard rumors, and the rumors I have heard are frightening. You are safe here, Eli. You are welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”
“Thank you. God bless you,” Eli said. Then Eli put his head in his hands and wept.
CHAPTER 56
The small village in Poland was not exempt from the keen and vicious eyes of the Nazis. Rewards were offered to those who turned in Jews. And Eli began to worry because several of the congregants in the church had warned the priest that there were some who believed Eli might be a Jew. They told the priest they loved him for his kind heart and gentle soul, but they feared for his safety. And after one of the parishioners spoke with Eli, begging him to leave, Eli went to the rectory and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” the priest answered.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” Eli said. “I was just wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”
“Of course. Please sit.”
“I see you were studying?”
“Yes, I was reading. But I always have time to listen. What’s on your mind, my son?”
“Mr. Sabouski came to the church to talk to me this morning. He’s very concerned that there might be people in town who suspect that I am Jewish. This, of course, would put you and the church in peril. He is worried. And so am I. I think I should leave the church and go away from this village before something happens, and the Nazis come for both of us.”
The priest slowly closed the book he was reading and set it down on the coffee table in front of him. Then he took a deep breath and sighed. For a moment he was silent, looking into Eli’s dark eyes. Then in a quiet voice he said, “I will never allow the Nazis to intimidate me. This is God’s house, and you are a child of God. You are welcome here. I don’t want you to leave.”
“As long as I’m living here, you are in danger with the Nazis for harboring a Jew,” Eli said. “I am afraid for you and for this church.”
“I’m not afraid.” The priest smiled. “As long as God is with me, they cannot hurt me. They may burn down this building, but if they do, God will always find a way to build another church.”
“From what I’ve heard, they’ve murdered plenty of priests.”
“Well, yes. But I am not afraid. No matter what they may have planned for us, I will not run, and I will not send you away. I’m going to stay right here and put my faith in the Lord.”
“For a Jew? You’re going to put this entire congregation at risk for a Jew? Father . . . you are a remarkable man,” Eli said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Jesus was a Jew, Eli.”
“So he was, Father. So he was.”
That night, Eli waited until it was dark and the full moon rose in a starless sky. Then he gathered the few belongings that the priest had given him, an extra pair of trousers, a shirt, and the bread he’d saved from dinner. He used the shirt to make a knapsack to pack his things. There was a stillness in his room as he began to pray in Hebrew, not on
ly for himself but for the old priest. He davened as he said the familiar Hebrew words. Then once he’d finished, he took the knapsack and quietly walked back toward the forests, leaving the safety of the little village behind.
Eli walked as far as he could until the sun began to rise. Then he sat down under a tree and ate half of the bread he had with him. His stomach growled with hunger. He missed the priest, the warm cereal that he was given each morning, and the quiet serenity of the church. But he did not regret his decision to leave. He knew he would not be able to live with himself if he caused harm to the priest and his following. So, although he was afraid of going back out into the forests and finding his own food, he was his father’s son and he would rather die trying to survive on his own than cause anyone else to suffer.
CHAPTER 57
Auschwitz
Rebecca had never faced such humiliation or fear as she did when she and Gretchen arrived at Auschwitz. They were transported to the camp in a crowded boxcar with a mass of frightened people. The smells of human waste and sweat were overwhelming. Rebecca’s stomach ached from hunger. And since it was the middle of winter, it was bitter cold. She and Gretchen huddled together, trying to keep warm. However, it wouldn’t have mattered, there were so many people in the train car that they were practically standing on top of each other. Most people were crying or begging for help. Some were praying, others were ranting about the cold, or the filth, or the hunger. Rebecca didn’t complain. She was too overcome with guilt whenever she looked at Gretchen. The poor girl was here because she had tried to save two Jewish people. Gretchen hardly spoke, either. And when she did, she seemed to be obsessed with Eli’s safety. “Do you think he was captured?” she asked Rebecca.
“I don’t know,” Rebecca answered.
Gretchen took Rebecca’s hand and squeezed it.
Then another time Gretchen said, “I hope Eli isn’t dead.”
Rebecca had no answer. All she could do was squeeze Gretchen’s hand.
When the train stopped, Rebecca felt her heart stop in her chest. She wanted to scream out of fear of the unknown when the door rattled open.
“Get out. Mach schnell!” the guards were yelling. There were dogs growling at them with barred teeth. Still holding hands, Rebecca and Gretchen climbed out of the train. A sign that read Work Makes You Free hung over the entrance, and around the entire camp was a wall. At the top of the wall was flesh-shredding barbed wire. The passengers from the boxcar were being herded quickly and separated into two lines. There was so much confusion, people were grasping on to their loved ones who were being ripped away. The guards were yelling in angry voices.
A meticulously groomed man with shiny, dark hair, wearing a crisp white doctor’s coat, was surveying the group. He was pointing to each of the prisoners. “Left,” he would say, or “Right.” And the guards would follow his directions by pushing the prisoner in the line to the left or the one to the right. A few feet from Rebecca and Gretchen, a young woman, whose mother had been sent away from her, began to weep. “Please,” she said, “My mother is old. She is feeble. She needs me,” the woman pleaded but no one was listening. The guard pushed her forward. Then she started screaming in panic. She fell to the ground and refused to move. “Please, I am begging you. Let me take my mother with me. Please, don’t separate us.” She was wailing so loudly that the other prisoners began to stop and look. A guard walked over to the woman, who was on her knees, and shot her. Blood and brains splattered on Rebecca’s dress. She wanted to vomit? or to close her eyes and faint. But she dared not, or she was certain that her fate would be the same as the woman who had just been shot. The one whose body she was now forced to step over as if it were a doll, and not a dead body. As she did, she looked at Gretchen who was as white as the snow on the ground that mingled with the ashes from the crematorium.
“What kind of hell is this?” Gretchen whispered as they were pushed forward.
They were forced to leave their possessions as they followed the line and were registered. Next, the women were sent to have their hair shaved. Gretchen looked devastated as she watched her long, strawberry-blonde locks fall into a huge pile of hair. Tears rolled down Gretchen’s face. Rebecca was next. She sat straight and tall, never making a sound. Now they were made to strip naked and then forced into a line for the showers.
“I’ve heard rumors that the shower’s aren’t really showers at all. I’ve heard that they are gas and that the Nazi’s plan to murder us all.” A woman in line behind them told her companion. Rebecca overheard the woman and shivered as reached for Gretchen’s hand. Then they were ushered into a large room filled with showerheads. Several terrifying moments passed. There were sounds of a woman weeping, praying, children crying. Gretchen looked over at Rebecca. Rebecca was praying. She swallowed hard and hugged Gretchen. “Are we going to die?” Gretchen asked. Rebecca didn’t answer; she just held Gretchen tighter. Waiting . . . waiting for the gas. And then . . . the water came down. Some of the women fell to their knees and began to thank God. The water was cold but welcome. Rebecca had never felt such relief. She said a silent prayer of thanks to God.
Each woman was given a small piece of paper with a number on it. Then they were ushered into a line where the numbers were crudely tattooed into their forearms.
After the painful tattooing, Rebecca and Gretchen were given gray-striped uniforms. Gretchen’s uniform had a green triangle. Rebecca’s had the yellow Star of David. One of the kapos, a Jewish woman who was broad shouldered and thick armed, told them that the green triangle was for criminals.
“What was your crime?” the kapo asked.
“I was a humane person. That is a crime to the Nazis. All I wanted to do was to save my friend’s life,” Gretchen said.
“You were hiding a Jew?” the kapo asked.
“Yes,” Gretchen said.
The kapo nodded.
Rebecca and Gretchen, along with the rest of the new prisoners, were taken to a wooden building. “Welcome to Auschwitz/Birkenau,” said a kapo, who was waiting there. Her tone was sarcastic and bitter. The room was a gray, dismal, smelly place with no windows, only a skylight on either end of the building and a chimney duct that ran the entire length of the building. There were no actual beds, only paper mattresses stuffed with a strawlike material that were piled in the corner of the room.
Rebecca gagged when she caught sight of two buckets that stood in the two stalls at the back of the barracks. They were overflowing with human excrement.
The kapo indicated the mattresses. “You’ll take these down at night and line them up on the floor. That is where you will sleep. In the morning, after you line up for roll call, which you will learn to refer to as appeal, you will return to your barracks and pile your mattresses back up in the corner, the way you see them over there right now. After the mattresses are all put away for the day, you will be sent to your work duty. I’m afraid that you will find that these barracks are very crowded. Therefore, in order to make room for everyone, you must sleep on your side.”
A rat scampered across the room. One of the women screamed. The kapo laughed. “You’ll get used to the rats. You’ll get used to the lice too.”
Gretchen stole a glance at Rebecca, who mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry that you’re here. I blame myself.”
“I know you do, but it’s not your fault,” Gretchen mouthed back.
CHAPTER 58
At roll call, or appeal as it was known in the camp, the following morning, the prisoners were counted as they stood outside in the snow. After the count was finished the guards made no move to excuse the prisoners. And they dared not move. Gretchen’s teeth were chattering from the cold, but the guards seemed oblivious to the suffering of the prisoners. A young woman standing beside Rebecca was whimpering.
“Shut up,” said the guard, who was wearing a heavy coat and boots.
“But I’m freezing. Please, can we go inside?”
“She’s freezing.” The guard turned to one of her cow
orkers. She was mocking the prisoner.
“Oh? What a shame. What an ingrate this girl is. She is so brazen as to complain, with all that we do for these scum.” The guard shook her head. “Perhaps we should show them just how good they have it?”
The other male guard nodded and turned to the kapos. “You, you, and you, bring buckets of water. Warm water, of course. These girls say they’re cold. So we must warm them up. And there is nothing like a good hot shower to do that.”
Gretchen could see that one of the kapos was wearing a Star of David on her arm. She was a tall girl, and her head was bent. Quickly she ran with the rest of the kapos to get the buckets of water.
When the kapos returned with the full buckets, the guard said, “Pour the water over the prisoners. Make sure you get everyone of them. And get that one first.” She indicated the girl who had said she was freezing. “Everyone of these girls should be drenched. I don’t want to see a single dry uniform. Get more water if you have to, but wet them all down.”
Once the kapos had poured water on all the prisoners, the guard said, “If you think you were cold before, now you’ll really know what it’s like to be cold. You’ll all stand out here until I decide that you’ve had enough. If you try to run or move out of line, you’ll be shot. And remember, you have your fellow prisoner to thank for this. This is what happens when you complain.”
Before Gretchen was drenched with water, she’d felt the cold, but now that her uniform was wet she was truly freezing. She glanced at Rebecca who looked pale. Her body was shaking, and her teeth were chattering.
For the next two hours, the women were forced to stand in line as the guards watched them. Some of them wept, the tears freezing on the eyelashes. Others just stood with their arms crossed over their bodies, trembling. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the guard who had assigned the punishment came strolling outside. He smiled at the prisoners and casually said, “Now you are ready to receive your work details.”
The Darkest Canyon Page 19
