“They are going to kill us,” one of the men said.
“Why would they do that? They need us to do their work,” another said.
“Don’t you smell that odd and horrific odor that’s everywhere in this place? That’s the smell of burning bodies.”
“Shut your mouth and move. You're wasting time. Faster, I said. Faster!” the guard roared, hitting the man in the face with his rifle. The man’s face ran with blood.
“Remove your clothes, and fold them neatly," one of the guards announced in an official tone, "then put them on the bench. Be sure you remember where you left them.”
Ben removed his clothes and laid them on the bench as he was told. There were prisoners who were walking, collecting the belongings of the men who were being herded into the showers. These prisoners wore yellow Stars of David sewn on the chests of their gray-striped uniforms. Ben recognized one of the men who was gathering the clothes as someone he’d known briefly from the Lodz ghetto. It was a young, muscular man of about twenty-five years. He couldn’t remember the prisoner's name, but he saw kindness and sadness in the young man’s eyes.
Naked, Ben followed the others into the line. The guards were busy tormenting a cantankerous man who was refusing to cooperate. When the young man, whom Ben recognized from the ghetto, walked by, Ben felt it was his opportunity to ask a few questions. There were only a few seconds for Ben to speak up, and although he was terrified of the answers he would receive, Ben said, “Excuse me. You look familiar. Were you in the Lodz ghetto?”
“Yes, I recognize you. You’re Ben Rabinowitz, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I don’t remember your name.”
“Jake Aaronstein.”
“Jake, I know you are probably not supposed to tell me anything, but please, I have to know. Are the Nazis going to kill us now? I heard someone say that the showers are not really showers. They said that the people who go in never come out alive. But if that’s true, then why would the guards tell us to fold our clothes and remember where we put them.”
“The Nazis are full of tricks and lies. I can tell you for sure that you won’t get your clothes back. Look around. Don’t you see that me and the other fellows are busy collecting them? The Nazis take everything of value that is brought in here, but from what I have overheard, this transport is one of the lucky ones. You won’t die today. They need the men from this transport to fill various jobs. So you will be sent to work.”
“Have others been killed here? Is it true? Do people go into the showers and not come back alive?”
“They have killed people here. The first time I saw it happen, they murdered an entire transport of Soviet prisoners with some kind of gas in those showers. And since spring of this year, I have seen them sending more and more of the transports of Jews that are coming in to be gassed. Like I said, Rabinowitz, you’re lucky. You came at the right time. They need workers in the rubber factory, so from what I’ve overheard, this group of men who came in today is going to be spared.”
“My God,” Ben said.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“What are you two standing around and talking about? This isn’t a lunch date at a beer garden,” a young guard said. “You get in line.” He pointed to Ben, then he glared at Jake and said, “And you get back to work.”
Jake nodded.
Ben walked into the line feeling a little better but wondering if Jake had told him the truth or spared him out of pity. Perhaps they were not really spared. Perhaps they were on their way to being gassed.
The men stood packed so closely they could smell each other’s rank breath. It was a dimly lit room with showerheads above them. A hundred thousand hours seemed to pass, although in reality it was only a few minutes. The smell of sweat and filth filled the area. The prisoners stood together trembling, not knowing if they were going to be cleansed or murdered. Ben heard men crying. He heard men praying. Then there was a noise, a rattling of the pipes, and his heart nearly burst with fear. For a single second he thought this might be his last breath, but then water rained down on him, and he began to laugh and cry at the same time.
CHAPTER 17
November 1942
On Ben’s first day in Auschwitz, following his shower, a shaving of his head, and a painful visit with a tattoo artist who scribbled a number into the flesh of his arm, he’d been ushered by a guard into a room that was lined with wooden cots and told he must find room for himself. Each bed was already overfilled with men. It was so crowded that they were forced to sleep on their sides to make room for each other. Ben searched the room, frantic to find a place to sleep before the guard returned. As he passed each of the bunks the men turned away from him. He knew they weren’t being intentionally cruel. There was just no room. Sweat formed on the back of his neck. If the guard returned and he hadn’t found a place for himself, he was sure he would be severely punished. As he walked to the end of the long aisle of beds, a young man walked up to him. “Follow me; there is room over here,” he said.
Ben followed. Someone called out, “Watch out, he’s a fagela.” Several of the men started laughing. He must be a homosexual, Ben thought, but he ignored the warning and continued to follow the man.
“Here’s where I sleep. I have a little room on the other side. You could sleep there. But I think you should know that everyone avoids sleeping by me because I’m a queer. When I first got here I thought the Nazis would kill me on the spot. Instead, they gave me this lovely pink triangle to let everyone know what I am.” He pointed to the triangle on his uniform. “I guess the men are afraid of me. I’m not an animal. I won’t try to do anything to you during the night. You’re perfectly safe here. But I thought you should know everything about me before you decided if you want to sleep over here. We all sleep like this,” he said, showing the way they would sleep. “We have more room by sleeping this way. I will sleep with my feet at the foot of the bed. You’ll sleep with your feet at the head of the bed. Do you see?”
“Yes, I understand. And thanks for explaining. Now maybe you can tell me your name too?”
“Joshua Greenspan. I am a Jew,” he said. “I want you to know that just because you’re sleeping beside me doesn’t mean I have designs on you. Actually, you’re not my type.” Joshua smiled.
“You’re rather outspoken. I’m Ben Rabinowitz. I’m a Jew, but I’m not a fagela. However, I don’t hold it against you either,” Ben said, smiling. “Thank you for sharing your bed with me.”
“I’ll show you around this lovely palace, and I’ll help you to master our routine here at the grand and glorious Auschwitz.” Joshua winked.
“Some palace,” Ben said.
“It’s horrific, I know. But listen to me. Just do whatever they tell you. Keep your head down, and with a little luck you’ll make it through.”
“I can’t help but wonder how people can treat other human beings this way. This place looks like it might have been a stable at one time. It’s hardly big enough for all the people they have stuffed in here. And to make matters worse, it stinks like shit.”
“That’s because a lot of the prisoners in here are very sick. They have constant diarrhea. Try not to be the last person to get to the toilet because if you are you will be expected to empty the pot. That’s a tough job. Sometimes, because it’s so crowded, and so many people are sick and running to the bathroom, you’ll find that you won’t be able to make it to the pot in time. That’s when you’ll have to urinate or defecate in your food bowl.”
“Oh my God. My food bowl? I can’t imagine that,” Ben said. “I could vomit just thinking about it. I have to tell you the truth; I don’t know if I’ll survive here.”
“No one knows for certain if they will be able to endure. But you have to keep believing that you will. If you let yourself fall into a depression, it’s just a matter of time before you’ll be dead. I’ve seen it happen in here plenty of times.”
“How can I not be depressed? I don’t know what happened to my son, or to m
y girl and her children. They could all be dead for all I know.”
“Everyone here has a story. Everyone here has a family and friends and loved ones. We are all worried about their safety. But you can’t dwell on it, my friend. If you do, it will eat you alive. You want a suggestion?”
“Yes, I need all the help I can get.”
“We all need a reason to go on. What I find works well is thinking about someone you love. Don’t let yourself wonder if they are alive or dead because that will drive you mad. Just make yourself believe that they are alive. Talk to them in your mind. Make them so real to you that it feels as if they are standing right next to you.”
“Is this what you do?”
“It is.”
Ben nodded. “I’ll try,” he said. “I was going to ask my friend Jake, who works as a sonderkommando, if he could find out if my girlfriend is here.”
“You can ask, but you might not want to know the answer. If you find out she’s dead, it will crush your spirit. And right now, Ben, the only thing that separates life from death for each of us is our spirit.”
“Now there are a few things you are going to need to know. Stay far away from the fences. If you touch the fence, you will die instantly; it’s electric. You will learn that you need to find ways to exchange favors with the other prisoners. That’s how we survive. Do you speak German?”
“Yes, not very well, but I do. And I completely understand it.”
“That’s good. Most of the language spoken here is a mixture of German and Polish. You’ll pick up more German as the time passes.”
CHAPTER 18
At four thirty every morning, Ben pulled himself out of the filthy, wooden bed where he slept. He never slept well and was still exhausted. He folded the thin blanket he’d been given. His entire body was covered in large red welts, bedbug bites, that itched and then burned when he scratched them until they bled.
Still half asleep, Ben raced to get in line for the bathroom so that he would have a chance to relieve himself before the whistle sounded, signaling that all prisoners must report for roll call. One of the first things Joshua warned him about was that being late or absent for roll call was cause for severe punishment. “There are two roll calls—one in the morning and one at night. Sometimes they have one at noon too. Make sure you’re on time,” Joshua said. “If you are late, our entire block could be punished. Last year it was the middle of winter, cold as hell, and one of the men in our block had dysentery. To make a long story short, the poor fellow couldn’t get off the pot. Because of him, we all had to stand outside in rags for the entire night. It was freezing. Five men died that night. They just fell over and died.”
Ben stared at Joshua. He was quiet for several minutes. Then Ben muttered softly, “That could happen to anyone.”
“Yes, it could. But don’t let it happen to you. Because when we were finally back in our block, the other men beat the hell out of the fella who caused us to be punished. They beat him so badly that he couldn’t walk. The next day the Nazis sent him to the hospital. He was never seen or heard from again. I’m sure they killed him there. That’s another thing: if you’re sick, don’t let them know it. That hospital is a death sentence.”
“You didn’t participate in the beating, did you?”
“Nahh. I don’t have the heart to beat anyone up. But I sure was angry with him. It was a truly miserable night we had standing out in the cold practically naked. I remember shivering; my teeth were chattering so badly I thought they would fall out.”
Joshua was a violinist by trade. Before he was arrested and sent to the camp, he’d played with an esteemed orchestra in Berlin. Now he played with the camp orchestra standing outside and playing songs by Wagner as the overworked, starving prisoners fell into line during roll call.
Ben followed the rest of the men from his block as they took their places in the roll-call line. He glanced up and shot Joshua a quick, wry half smile.
The guard, with his clean, pressed uniform and black, shiny boots walked in front of the prisoners eyeing them with disdain. Then he began roll call, not by name but by number. Each man, including Ben, had a number. It was the same number that had been tattooed into his flesh the day he’d arrived.
“Three-four-eight-seven-two-zero-nine,” the guard said.
“Here,” Ben answered.
Once everyone was accounted for, the prisoners were given a quick breakfast of bitter ersatz coffee. Then another whistle was sounded, and Ben got into another line. A guard then escorted him to his work detail.
Ben was assigned to a work detail at the rubber factory, which was built near the camp in order to make it more convenient for the use of slave labor. For eleven long hours he stood over large vats of boiling liquid. And by the time he returned to his block he was shaking with exhaustion. Joshua was concerned. He knew that Ben was too delicate of a man for the rigorous work in the rubber factory. That was one of the hardest jobs in the camp, and it had been known to kill stronger men.
When Joshua was not playing his violin with the orchestra, or practicing, he worked in the kitchen. This was one of the better jobs a man could have at the camp. It sometimes gave him access to extra food if he had a quick hand and was able to steal. Joshua had been given kitchen detail because he’d been lucky enough to make friends with one of the guards, SS Sturmmann Alarich Wolff. Wolff was repressing his own homosexuality. When Joshua saw the way the guard looked at him, he knew that Wolff was a latent homosexual, and he came up with a plan. A risky plan at the time, but it worked out well. That same day, when no one was around, Joshua approached the guard and discreetly offered Wolff what he secretly yearned for. At first Wolff was angry, and Joshua was sure he’d made a terrible mistake. But then Wolff reconsidered, and the two went to Wolff’s private office. Joshua swore to Wolff that he would never say a word to anyone. And he kept his promise. A year passed, and Wolff became so attached to Joshua that he grew protective of him. At the time, Joshua was playing his violin with the orchestra rather than working in the camp hospital. Wolff was afraid the hard work and exposure to disease in the hospital would be too much for Joshua, and since he didn’t want Joshua to die, he took him out of his job there and sent him to work in the kitchen.
Joshua hated all Nazis, but he knew how to exploit the power he had over Wolff. The next time Joshua and Wolff were together, he told Wolff that he was worried about Ben. “This job he has in the rubber factory is too hard for him,” Joshua said.
“You like him, perhaps. You sleep beside him.” Wolff raised his left eyebrow.
“I like him, but not in that way,” Joshua said, smoothing the hair off Alarich’s face, “not in the way I like you. There is no one else like you, Alarich. You are my lover, but he is a friend. And I’d like to help him, if I can.”
“What do you want me to do?” Wolff asked, softened by Joshua's caresses.
“I want you to get him a job with me in the kitchen.”
“It’s a lot of trouble for me to go through for a man who means nothing to either of us.”
“I didn’t say he meant nothing to me. I said he was a friend not a lover. I want you to help him,” Joshua said. “Do this for me? Please?” Joshua put his hand around Alarich’s manhood. Then he lowered his mouth over the erect shaft. Alarich sighed. Joshua stopped. “Will you do it for me?” he asked.
“I could command you to finish.”
“You could, but you know it wouldn’t be as good as if I did it because I wanted to.”
“You are a little minx.” Alarich laughed. “Very well. I’ll arrange for your friend to work in the kitchen.”
“And I’ll take you to heaven in exchange for your trouble,” Joshua said.
CHAPTER 19
Ben was terrified when the foreman called his number the following day at the factory. “Three-four-eight-seven-two-zero-nine,” the man shouted. “Three-four-eight-seven-two-zero-nine, come to the front.”
Wringing his hands together as he ran, Ben almost tripp
ed and fell in a pool of liquid someone had spilled. He felt a muscle twist in his back, but he dared not stop When he got to the front of the room his back was aching, and he was so nervous that he felt a strong urge to urinate. “Three-four-eight-seven-two-zero-nine, show me your number.”
Ben pulled the sleeve of his uniform up to reveal his tattoo. The foreman nodded. “Follow me, Jew,” he said.
Ben wished he knew where the foreman was leading him, but he dared not ask. He clenched his teeth. They walked outside into a gust of cold wind that penetrated right through Ben’s thin uniform. He shivered but didn’t slow down.
“Ech, it’s too cold out here for me,” the foreman said, turning to one of the Nazi guards who was standing at the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. “You shouldn’t smoke, you know. Our führer doesn’t approve of smoking.” The guard nodded at the foreman trying to hide his disdain. But he threw the cigarette on the ground and put it out with the toe of his boot. “I need you to take this prisoner to the kitchen. I got a message from your superior officer. This man has been transferred.”
Transferred? Transferred? To the kitchen? Could it be possible? Ben’s heart leapt with joy. The kitchen. I am so afraid to let myself be hopeful. And yet I can’t help it. Is it really possible? Oh dear God, working in the kitchen I might even find a way to get my hands on a little extra food. And it certainly would be much easier than working in the rubber factory. He knew the kitchen would be hot but not as miserably hot as the rubber factory. And the smell of food would be far more pleasant than the smell of rubber and the heavy odor of sulfur that was always present in the factory. Sometimes he found that odor made him sneeze uncontrollably until his nose and eyes ran, and he could hardly see in front of him. Ben was so filled with joy at the possibility of working in the kitchen that he wanted to shout out loud, “Thank you,” to God, to the guard, to every ray of sunlight, to the wind, to everything, and everyone around him, but he knew better. Instead, he followed quietly behind the Nazi as they walked back through the large fence that read Work Makes You Free and then into the warmth of the camp kitchen.
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