In these days, the sense of approaching doom has spread down to the great mass of people. This is not only because of the brilliant way in which science has demonstrated its capabilities. I sometimes feel that science only provides a rationale for people’s natural sense of dread at the work of their own hands, as witnessed by the sterile upsurge of philosophical pessimism that overcame the West after the second world war.
People sense it with all the pores and fibers of their body and soul, the feeling that the end is not far off. The miserable wretches cannot wait to let themselves go: murdering thousands of ordinary people would give them the feeling of strength so coveted by the weak in spirit. They know that an executioner feels superior to his victim, gloating at the fear-dazed eyes and the trousers slipping down because his belt has been taken away.
The well-fed brute also likes to starve his prisoner. Nothing lowers the will to resist more than hunger. But when, in accordance with the law by which evil destroys itself, the executioners begin to murder their own kind, who until recently have interrogated, tormented, and killed “alien elements” (or sanctioned their killing “for the good of the cause”), then yesterday’s “good comrades” suddenly disintegrate and, with cries of dismay, rush to prove themselves purer than the driven snow.
* * *
October 11, 1943
I remember Papa’s words, which he frequently used at the beginning of World War II:
“When you are surrounded by enemies, it is through them that you have to seek refuge.”
“When the friends are no longer there, we are forced to find refuge through the enemies.”
“It is the enemies who are standing in our way, and it is the enemies who can show the way to refuge.”
I believe that Papa was referring to some of the works of Leo Tolstoy. He read the works of this great Russian poet—especially during the years of 1939–41.
37: Survival to the End
The walls of the hospital had been blown away. When I climbed up to look at where my room had been, I could look out into space. I moved to the bunker hospital—along with all the nuns, doctors, and patients—where the hospital continued to function. I was allowed to find a room along with the other employees on the upper floors of the bunker. There were quarters for the doctors and nurses and a cloister for the nuns, where there was a large Catholic chapel. Since there were no elevators, we all had to use the stairs to commute down to the bunker where we worked. There was a series of tunnels that had been built in a zigzag pattern to cut down on air pressure in the event of a direct bomb hit; these tunnels led us down to the hospital. I continued to work and live there until I started to develop health problems.
My first sickness started with a large swelling that developed on the left side of my neck—from my left ear to the middle of my chin. There was no pain associated with the knot, but I did run a low-grade fever and was very tired most of the time. However, I continued my education while working in the hospital. I was concerned about the way that I looked, and I tried to always wear a high collar to hide the knot.
As I was playing around with some friends, I jumped off of a table to the floor and heard something “pop” in my right side. It was so painful that I went down to my knees, and my friends rushed me to the doctor. He diagnosed it as a ruptured appendix, and I was immediately taken to surgery where Herr Dr. Hoffman removed my appendix. He installed drains in my side to let the infection come out through these drain tubes.
As a result of the ruptured appendix, I developed peritonitis and became a patient in the hospital where I worked. My friends and the nuns were very good to me and provided everything that I needed, including moral support.
All of this happened shortly after the Gestapo had taken my mother, so I was still very worried and concerned about Mama. I would watch the door and expect Mama to walk in at any time.
About four weeks after Mama had disappeared, I received a card of notification from the Gestapo that my mother was a prisoner; the card had been mailed from Concentration Camp Ravensbrück, located in Fürstenberg.
* * *
RAVENSBRÜCK • Located fifty miles north of Berlin, this concentration camp for women opened May 15, 1939. The overcrowded camp housed Jews, Gypsies, Poles, Russians, Ukrainians, and other political prisoners, including Germans. Records show that some 132,000 women entered Ravensbrück between 1939 and 1945, with 50,000 women dying there. Nazis exacted slave labor, inflicting strict rules and grave punishment, even death. The Soviets liberated Ravensbrück on April 29–30, 1945. [Information from: http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/Ravensbruck.html, accessed July 10, 2008.] Particularly given the Nazis’ knowledge of the Jewish baby incident, Anna surely suffered severely at Ravensbrück.
* * *
This confirmed my worst nightmares that my mother was a prisoner, and there was no way I could help her. The postcard was very official, and it was mailed in October 1943. The card had my mother’s prisoner number on the front—her number was 23893. These numbers were tattooed on the prisoners’ arms, so there was no way out for her now that she was a marked woman. I cried my heart out, but my friends and the nuns were very supportive of me. They would encourage me to get well because that’s what Mama would have wanted. After the initial shock had worn off and reality set in, I got mad and decided that I was going to get well and look for my mother.
* * *
TATTOO • Nonna might have been under a misconception, either at the time of the incident or when she recorded her memories. Bodily tattooing of prisoner numbers took place only at Auschwitz. [Laurence Rees, Auschwitz: A New History (New York: PublicAffairs, 2005), 65.]
* * *
I then developed rheumatic fever and became very sick. My joints swelled and were so painful that I could not even hold a pencil. I lost a lot of weight and became bedridden with the rheumatic fever. Within three or four weeks, I developed angina pectoris: the doctors diagnosed it as myocarditis, which had damaged the muscle in my heart. I was very sick for about two years, and when I recovered, I had to learn to walk again.
It was while I was sick and was a patient that I decided to continue my education, and I studied to become a nurse. The nuns were tutoring me as well as the doctors: Dr. Rudolph Hoffman; Dr. Zahn, my cardiologist; and a young doctor named Ingrid Nubel. She became a dear friend to me—later her parents came from Düsseldorf and offered to adopt me.
It was early in the spring of 1944 (February) when I received the first letter from my mother. The letter had been written in German. I knew that Mama had dictated it because she used my pet nickname in the letter. It was a brief message; the Gestapo would only allow eight lines in a letter, and they censored every letter that went out from the concentration camps. The letter read as follows:
Dear Daughter Nonna:
I am well. Do not worry! Stay well and wait for me.
I kiss you, Krumchen.
Your Mama, Anna
The letter was written from the women’s concentration camp in Ravensbrück, as was the first postcard. This letter was sent to the nuns at the Catholic hospital where I was being protected from the SS and the Gestapo. A Catholic priest who was in the KZ camps had arranged for this letter to be sent so I could hear from my mother. This gave me even more resolve to get well, even though I was heartbroken. If I had not had the nuns and my friends to support me, I am not sure that I could have handled this situation alone. I was very sick, but I never was lonely because my friends and the nuns would sit with me and read books and poems to me. I was unable to hold a book in my hands because the rheumatic fever had stiffened my joints. They were also very painful. I studied almost constantly when I was not asleep, and this made the time pass a little more quickly. The doctors were trying to find a way to treat the rheumatic fever and myocarditis, but the only medicine that they were giving me was salicylic acid. They were also giving me therapy treatments.
* * *
FLOSSENBÜRG • This concentration camp in the town
of Flossenbürg, Germany, incarcerated 111,000 prisoners between 1938 and 1945. About 73,000 prisoners died there. Malnutrition, lack of hygiene and medical care, and the brutality of SS guards caused most of the deaths at Flossenbürg. Nonna gave no reason why the Nazis moved Anna from Ravensbrück to Flossenbürg. The Second U.S. Calvary liberated Flossenbürg on April 23, 1945. [Information from: http://www.jewishgen.org/ForgottenCamps/Camps/FlossenburgEng.html, accessed July 10, 2008.]
* * *
I received another letter from Mama that was dated May 21, 1944, and was written on concentration letterhead from Flossenbürg Camp. This letter read as follows:
Dearest Nonna,
I am concerned about your health. How are you getting along? You are on my mind both day and night. You must take care of yourself and stay healthy. Don’t worry about me. I am doing fine. Please write to me by whatever means that are available. Ask the Oberschwester or Sister Pia—or anyone that you can trust to write me. I need to hear from you, and for you to let me know how you are doing. Please send me two toothbrushes and a needle and thread and anything else that you can round up. Do not send luxuries such as chocolates, but I need soap, toothpaste, and if possible send socks, panties, and a warm cap. It is very cold here. I am having trouble with my arms, but I am concerned about everything, especially since I have learned that you are having some health problems. Please write to me and take care of yourself.
Kisses—Anna
I didn’t know what Mama meant about having trouble with her arms, but I learned later that the Gestapo had been using Mama to entertain the “brass” by performing concerts both on the violin and the piano. When she refused to perform because she was sick, the Gestapo had broken her arms and, later, broke her fingers. With the help of friends, the nuns, and Father Nikolas (the priest who had been sent to the KZ camp), I was able to send packages to Mama with some of the things that she asked for. I was deeply worried about Mama and was so sad that she was going through such tortures. I just didn’t know how bad it was for her.
I received letters from Mama as follows: June 18, 1944; August 6, 1944; and a letter that was started on August 22, 1944, and finished on August 29, 1944, but which was postmarked on September 3, 1944. Each letter was written in German, and I knew that Mama was not able to write in the German language. So I knew that she was having someone write these letters to me. Each letter was inquiring about my health and encouraging me to take care of myself. Mama expressed her thanks to the Catholic nuns and the priest for taking care of me and protecting me. In each letter, Mama would ask for potatoes, dried bread (like Zwieback), and onions and any kind of food that would not spoil. Schwester Gutegera, who was in charge of the kitchen, always managed to get a few potatoes, onions, and dried bread together, and I would have these packages sent to Mama through the priest (who had a few privileges).
I received a letter again that was written on October 1, 1944, postmarked October 3, 1944, in which Mama was not as positive and optimistic as she had been in her previous letters. She again asked me to please write to her and to keep her aware of my health situation. She would acknowledge the receipt of the packages and thank us for sending the food and other items to her. She also said that she had to hide her things under her bed because people were becoming desperate and would steal and even kill to survive.
* * *
PACKAGES TO ANNA • Prisoners were sometimes allowed packages, since the Germans provided so little. These possessions were the currency of the camps’ black-market barter system.
* * *
It was some relief to get this correspondence from Mama because at least I knew that she was still alive, and this gave me some hope that we would find each other again when the war was over. My health was not improving, and the rheumatic fever was really taking its toll on me. The doctors were doing everything in their power to help me get well, but I continued to be very sick—I was still bedridden. The time passed slowly, and as I look back on it, I was so intent on getting well that I really didn’t worry about the time that it would require.
I received the last card from Mama, dated April 11, 1945. The first thing I noticed was that her prisoner number had been changed from 23893 to 52234, and this was cause for horrible thoughts about what had happened to Mama.
* * *
CHANGED NUMBER • Anna’s prisoner identification number would have been changed when she was transferred from Ravensbrück to Flossenbürg. However, both Anna and Nonna seem surprised by the change, and they commented on it long after her transfer.
* * *
The card read as follows:
My darling daughter,
I am writing this letter hoping that it will reach you. When you get this, it is possible that this will be the last communication from me. However, there is hope that the packages may still be arriving from you. The packages must carry this new number 52234—I can only guess about this new number. How are you doing? I am well and wait for at least one more letter with news about you from the Schwestern. It would be only fair to hear from you once more before it is all over. Write everything if it is possible.
Your loving, loving mother
The war ended officially on May 5, 1945, after the Americans arrived and freed the prisoners out of the prison camps. But it was too late for my mother. The Germans had known that they had lost the war but apparently decided that they would kill a few more people before the Americans arrived. How sad that my mother had endured and suffered so much, and came so close to surviving, yet was destroyed just days before she would have been free.
* * *
ODE • It is unclear whether Nonna wrote this poem in the early postwar era or much later, when compiling her transcription:
* * *
ODE OF MEMORIES
Be still my heart.
The thought is generous
Of those who are near you.
Why trouble those who care and love?
The past is gone and what is ahead
Is still to be felt.
The sun is bright,
The skies are blue,
It is no longer you who murmurs.
So, why do we feel the pain?
Perhaps of someone else who is near us.
But forgiveness is only an act,
Of much generosity and wisdom.
38: Last Message from Mama
The last message from my mother came about four months after the war was over. A letter was left on my table beside my hospital bed by an unknown person or persons. The letter was scribbled on an old piece of paper and was folded into a small square. I never found out who left the letter, but my hands were bandaged and I could barely move because of the pain brought on by the rheumatic fever. I was also very sick with the ensuing myocarditis that had affected my heart, so a woman who was sharing my room in the hospital was kind enough to hold the letter so I could read it.
There was no date to denote when the letter had been written, but the letter was addressed to Nonna Lisowskaja. The first part of the letter was very hard to read since the first half of the page was written in Yiddish and Polish (not even good Polish). It was hard for me to understand since I could not or did not make out some of the words. But from my memory, the letter went something like this:
My dearest Kitten Nonnatchka—
(It was the name my mother called me when I was a small child, and I immediately knew that the message was not from anyone but Mama.)
It read on:
If this message will reach you, it will probably be the last one you will get from me and by God’s miracle we will meet soon. Don’t give up hope but if you don’t hear from me within the next six months or see me after it is all over, please, my Koshechka, leave Europe as fast as you can. Don’t waste time looking for me because you know that I would be coming to you first. Get away from Germany as far as possible. Your papa and I would want you to go to America, and that is where we would like you to settle. O God, I pray that you will stay well and alive. You are ma
ybe the only one that is left, so remember to stay strong and have a lot of courage. I am also so very grateful to all the Sisters (nuns) who helped to keep you in a safe place and take care of you. May God bless them for protecting you from all the horrors. Love, love you for me and your papa, and all of us for eternity.
Mamatchka (Mama)
* * *
ENDEARMENTS • Anna’s names for Nonna—Nonnatchka, Kitten Nonnatchka, Krumchen, and Koshechka, as well as her own Mamatchka—all employ German diminutive endings and are derived from either the word for “crumb” or the word for “little cat.”
* * *
At the bottom of Mama’s letter, there was the following message, written in pencil and in large letters in Yiddish:
The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister Page 18
