Our situation was hopelessly uncertain.
We had arrived in Satan’s new city,
Where was the world? There was no pity!
Inge’s identification papers with the letter “J” for Jew. It is stamped on the day of deportation to concentration camp: “umgesiedelt 22.8.42” or resettled, August 22, 1942.
Waiting for food in the collection center at Killerberg in Stuttgart.
Finally, our turn to be deported came on August 22, 1942. There was no longer any way to avoid a transport. I was now number XIII-1-408, a person without any citizenship. We packed our meager belongings according to the very specific instructions we were given. All our money was taken from us. The police came to our apartment. Mama was told to place our keys on the dining room table. The official then said, “Now you can go!”
We were herded into a school gymnasium in Goeppingen and searched. My greatest fear was that the SS would take away my doll, Marlene. She had been a gift from my grandmother, the only token of remembrance I had of her. The officials removed Marlene’s head to see if any valuables were hidden inside her hollow body, but they finally decided to let me keep my doll. I was not so fortunate, however, with a wooden decorative pin. An SS officer took a liking to it and tore it off my dress.
A DUTCH BOY PIN
A Dutch boy pin nestled on my dress,
Standing strong with pride and happiness.
Greedy fingers tore him from me,
Did those hands know my destiny?
My last ornament before I’d depart,
These claws ripped him off and broke my heart.
“You won’t need this where you are going!”
A gift from my mother, lovingly attached,
All my struggles hopelessly outmatched.
I ponder, Whom was that pin given to?
Could another girl find joy if she knew?
Was it discarded, is it part of the past?
Does he still hope to find me at last?
The hall of the collection center for deportation at Killesberg in Stuttgart.
Arrival in Bohušovice and the march to Terezin.
From Goeppingen we were taken to Stuttgart, which was the main gathering place for Jews who were being transported. I was the youngest of almost twelve hundred people in the group. We were housed in a large hall at Killesberg which was usually used for flower shows. We bedded down for two days on the bare floor.
CHAPTER 6
A Place of Darkness
Our destination was Terezin, or Theresienstadt as it was called in German, a concentration camp in Czechoslovakia about forty miles north of Prague. It was built in 1780 by Hapsburg Emperor Joseph II in memory of his mother Empress Maria Theresa. The garrison was abandoned by the military in the 1880s and was settled by civilians. By the late 1930s, Terezin was in a state of bad deterioration.
On October 10, 1941, Reinhard Heydrich, Adolf Eichmann, and other high-ranking Nazi officials selected Terezin as a transit camp for Jewish deportees before their extermination in the East. The Nazis masked the camp as a “model ghetto” for propaganda purposes. The first Jews sent there in November 1941 were from Czechoslovakia. They were followed next by the elderly from Germany and Austria who were not expected to live long anyway. Many prominent doctors and lawyers, decorated war veterans, and distinguished Jewish leaders, like Rabbi Leo Baeck from Germany, were sent to Terezin. Their immediate deportation East to the killing centers would have aroused suspicion. Eventually, Jews from all walks of life arrived at Terezin from Austria, the Netherlands, Denmark, and other European countries, including people whose parents were of mixed Jewish and Christian origin.
I remember a particular transport of at least one thousand children from Poland in the summer of 1943. They came dressed in rags and were all very thin and dirty; many were sick. All were ordered by the SS to remain in quarantine in a special area. Rumors spread that they came from Bialystok, Poland, and had seen their parents shot before their eyes. A short time later they were sent to the gas chambers in Auschwitz.
WALLS
Walls, walls, walls are eyeing us all around,
Silently absorbing each wailing sound.
Unlike Zion’s, where they are our soul,
Here even our thoughts are under control.
Walls covered by a grassy knoll,
Death-defying leapers take their toll.
The red brick demons stand very firm,
Quiet objects demanding their term.
Soldiers march on them to and fro,
Guarding people with no place to go.
These walls are closing in on me,
Dare I dream to climb them and flee?
Terezin consisted of huge brick barracks, underground cells and old broken-down houses. It was sealed off from the outside world by high walls, deep water-filled trenches, wooden fences, and barbed wire. Radio, telephone, and newspaper communication with the outside was strictly forbidden. On rare occasions, however, bits of war information leaked into the camp. These rumors were called “latrine talks,” because the prisoners exchanged news in the public bathrooms. Stories often changed in content as they spread through the camp.
It was also forbidden for women to give birth, but a few hundred children were born during the years I was there. Breaking this rule usually meant immediate shipment to the East for both mother and child. Yet, miraculously a handful of these babies survived the war in Terezin.
Terezin.
The walls and trenches surrounding Terezin.
Backyard of the disabled veterans quarters in which we lived.
Terezin was originally built to house 7,000 people, but at times the camp was crowded with 60,000 prisoners. A Jewish Council of Elders was set up to regulate internal affairs. This group was chaired by the Judenaeltester, or chief of elders. The council’s most important duty was to draw up lists of inmates for deportation to the East, following SS instructions. Terezin was under the absolute rule of a Nazi SS commandant. Between 1941 and 1945, a total of 140,000 people were sent to Terezin; 88,000 of them were shipped to the killing centers of the East; and 35,000 died of malnutrition or disease in Terezin.
Prison blocks at the Small Fortress in Terezin.
A short distance from the large fortress, where I was, across the Ohre River was a smaller fortress called Kleine Festung. This also belonged to the Terezin complex, but it was a military prison and had its own SS commandant. It also served as a place of extra punishment for any misconduct we in the large fortress might commit. Our crimes were things like stealing potatoes, or being caught drawing a picture of the “real” conditions of the camp. The small fortress had solitary confinement cells and an area for firing squads. It was a brutal place that was feared as much as being sent to the East.
Terezin was a gruesome place. The inhuman conditions brought out the best and worst behavior in people. Hunger makes people selfish and irritable. After our arrival at Terezin we went through the Schleuse, a body-and-belongings search area in an underground cell. After the search for valuables we were sent to the attic of the Dresden Fortress, which was a particularly large brick army barrack containing exercise courtyards and gaping archways. This is where the “Angel in Hell”—Mrs. Rinder, a Czech woman—found us lying on the bare stone floor. She asked someone whether there was a child in the newly arrived transport. Fingers pointed towards me.
AN ANGEL IN HELL
We searched the dump for each potato peeling,
Stole from the dead without guilt or feeling.
Nothing seemed to change; time stood still,
Was there anyone left with good will?
To this planet of shadow and despair,
An angel came to give help and care.
One hand was clutched by her little son,
She wanted to mother everyone.
Through time she moved on unseen wings,
Bearing food and other needed things.
This stranger reached out with heart and hands,
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br /> Asking no thanks, or making demands.
Both would never leave the abyss,
Or be touched again by life’s kiss.
I search my heart for an answer, Why, why?
Where was justice, why their sentence to die?
Hundreds of people were moving hopelessly in this dark, airless, hot area. They stumbled over the covered dead bodies and got lost in the mass of new arrivals. Mrs. Rinder had arrived earlier in Terezin with her husband and young son Tommy. This good lady, whom we had never met before, gave me a mattress by dividing her son’s mattress in half. Mr. Rinder was fortunate to work in one of the community kitchens and therefore was able to share some extra food with us at times. A deep friendship developed between us until the fall of 1944, when the entire Rinder family was deported to Auschwitz and death in the gas chambers.
Under these terrible conditions, some people lost the will to live and took their own lives. A few days after our arrival in Terezin, my father saw a man starting to jump from an attic opening of the Dresden Fortress. Papa managed to grab the man’s legs and pull him back inside. To his amazement, it was an old man from our transport. Papa spoke encouraging words to him and made him promise not to repeat this act. The next morning a broken body lay lifeless in the fortress courtyard. Papa identified him. It was the same old man.
Sleeping quarters at Terezin.
Standing on line for food at Terezin.
Soon after our arrival we were moved to a different area. Most men, women, and children were housed in separate quarters. I had the good fortune to stay with my parents in the disabled war veterans’ section. Life was especially harsh and strange for children. We slept on the floor or, if lucky, on straw-filled mattresses, packed like sardines on double and triple-deck bunk beds. The rooms were smelly and steamy in summer and freezing in winter. We grew up fast and became self-reliant. The most important words in our vocabulary were bread, potatoes, and soup. I used to took out from the room where some birds had made a nest high up on a ridge. How I envied them. They could fly away from all this misery, while we stayed walled in.
Three times a day we stood in line, our metal dishes in hand, to receive our daily food rations from the community kitchens.
GAMES
We were not like other children at play,
The future becoming more uncertain every day.
Our playground was a garbage heap,
And the treasures from it we’d reap.
There our curiosity was stilled,
Finding remnants from dreams unfulfilled.
We put our imagination to the test:
Who could describe a sumptuous meal best?
“Don’t run around and waste your energy,
Save your shoes, don’t use them foolishly!”
We played checkers on a hand-drawn board,
With black and white buttons we scored.
“What was your day’s flea and bedbug catch?
Let’s have a bunk bed running match.”
We saw carts piled with bodies roll along,
And turned our heads away to sing a song.
Most of the kitchens were located in the open courtyards of the huge barracks. The lines were always very long. It was especially hard in the winter, waiting in the bitter cold. Breakfast consisted of coffee, a muddy-looking liquid, which always had a horrible taste. Lunch was a watery soup, a potato, and a small portion of turnips or so-called meat sauce; and dinner was soup. By the time the people reached the barrels from which the food was ladled out, they were so hungry and exhausted that they immediately gulped their portion down.
SOUP
Three times a day we stand on line,
Pretending that on delicacies we dine.
It spills over clothes and makes a spot,
People fight, push and shove a lot.
Soup, soup drink it down!
Today’s dinner is water with caraway seed,
Food unacceptable even as animal feed.
I don’t have a choice and gulp it down,
A little disgruntled wearing a frown.
Soup, soup run for seconds!
It is poured into a metal can,
Ladled out by an impatient man.
Thin or thick, with or without taste,
Not a bit of it will go to waste.
Soup, soup means life!
I must get more and get my fill,
To keep the cries of hunger still.
With a spoon we scrape out the last drop,
Not until barrel is empty do we stop.
Soup, soup, soup, soup!
I remember Mama marking off each day on our rationed loaf of bread to make certain that we would have enough left to last us a week. This was often difficult. When the hunger pains became too strong, she regretfully cut slightly into the next day’s portion of bread.
Birthdays presented a special challenge. One year I received a potato cake the size of my palm, prepared from a mashed boiled potato with just a hint of sugar in it. Another year Marlene, my doll, was given a new outfit sewn from rags. On my tenth birthday my gift was a poem my mother had written especially for me.
The smell of death was everywhere. Many old people had been sent to Terezin. They could not withstand the terrible conditions and died of starvation or disease. Two-wheeled hand-drawn carts were used alternately to transport our food and to take away the sick and the dead. We hand-pumped most of our water from polluted wells.
Two-wheeled cart similar to those used for moving things in the camp.
There were constant epidemics due to overcrowding and lack of hygiene. Rats, mice, fleas, and bedbugs were a constant menace to us. I contracted scarlet fever soon after we arrived in Terezin and spent four months in the so-called hospital. All the patients were isolated from the rest of the camp. I feared the worst—my parents’ deportation to the East without me. My condition grew worse every day as more complications arose. I was not expected to live. Measles, mumps, and a double middle ear infection followed the scarlet fever in rapid succession. I was infested with worms, I lost my voice, and my body was covered with boils.
Men washing themselves in a fortress courtyard at Terezin, using water drawn from a hand-pumped well.
IN THE HOSPITAL
We are two in a bed; the paint is peeling,
Flies cover the walls from floor to the ceiling.
I share my place with a younger child,
Most of the time our bed is defiled.
We speak in different tongues; yet we are one,
Two small windows let in rays of the sun.
At least fifty share our chamber here,
There is a feeling of death stalking near.
How thin our fever-ravaged bodies have become.
I have lost my voice; my senses feel numb.
We must leave this dungeon and recuperate,
What is our future, what will be our fate?
I made a new friend in the hospital. Ada was of German Jewish origin. She taught me a new song about Palestine, which is now Israel. Its words spoke of a perpetual paradise where the cedars of Lebanon kiss the sky. She promised me we would soon go to this place. “Just hold on a little longer,” she used to say. Ada’s dream never came true. She died at the age of nine in Auschwitz.
Just before my eighth birthday I was released from the hospital. Before I joined my parents, I was washed in a large bucket containing a disinfecting solution to help remove some of my lice. My hair had been cut very short, and Mama used a small comb with narrow teeth that dug into my scalp to try to rid me of the remaining lice. I still can feel the awful stomach cramps from dysentery, and the long walk to the public toilets, which were always overcrowded and without any privacy.
Most of the adults in the camp were forced to work. Some women were selected to work as slave laborers splicing mica, a product used by the Nazis in their war effort. This was considered a good job, since it sometimes kept a person from being sent to the East. Mama’s first job in the camp
was washing laundry from typhus patients. One day she found a very high stack of what appeared to be soiled sheets. As she tried to gather them up, she found to her dismay that they were dead bodies covered with sheets. People died like flies in Terezin.
Mama’s fortune improved when she became a nurse in the old people’s hospital. Often she chose the night shift so as to get an extra ration of bread. I recall those deathly sick people holding sticks to ward off the rats, which sometimes jumped into their beds. Every night someone died, and the staff divided the leftover rations and clothes among themselves.
Papa became a scavenger, rummaging every day in the garbage dump in search of potato peelings and rotten turnips. If he was extra lucky he might find boiled horse bones that we could cook again to extract any leftover fat and grizzle.
I made a bed for my doll in a cardboard box at the head of my upper-level bunk bed. One day I discovered a dead mouse in it, another victim of starvation. Not even a mouse could find enough leftover crumbs of bread to survive.
DIAMONDS ON THE SNOW
Winter had come; the earth lay frozen,
To be in Terezin, we had not chosen.
Snow covered up blight with a veil,
Bad times for hardy; worse for the frail.
Mama had gotten some valuable jewels,
Endangered her life by breaking the rules.
She entered the cellars during camp’s curfew,
Inge Auerbacher Page 3
